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joelsgreys · 6 months

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someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She is donning festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress; her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#asdfghjkl BYE #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #dbf joel miller #dbf joel x reader #fic: someone to be thankful for

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avis-writeshq · 2 months

Note

not me asking for it https://www.tumblr.com/avis-writeshq/744966259884556288/if-someone-asks-for-it-ill-write-a-fic-based-on?source=share

pairing: s9!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff, established relationship, SMUT warnings: 18+ CONTENT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !! oral fem receiving, spencer reid is a munch, hair pulling, fingering a/n: a promise is a promise !! based off of this post <3 i hope this lived up to expectations !! first time writing fem oral ha h a ha wc: 1.1k

Honestly, if there’s one person Spencer can blame for the situation he is currently in, he blames himself. After all, he should have known that a ‘gathering’ at Rossi’s house that was planned by Penelope would only call for a lot of teasing, a lot of ‘get to know each other!’ games (despite the fact that he has worked with this same team for more than seven years. What else is there to know?), and a lot of alcohol. He didn’t quite realise that these games would be of the drinking variety. Alas, here he is, sitting on one of Rossi’s incredibly expensive leather couches and cringing at the horrid taste of whiskey.

The game they’re currently playing is an alcoholic’s rendition of ‘who is most likely to?’, involving a thick stack of cards with different topics while each member of the team took turns reading out. Whoever ended up with the most amount fingers pointed in their direction was forced to drink.

Spencer hates this game. He has drank from his cup a grand total of six times, and he is not getting any more used to the spicy-poison-equivalent in his hand.

“Alright, this is a good one,” Derek announces with a manic snigger. “Who here is most likely to be a munch?”

There is no hesitation in anyone’s answers, and all six fingers point into Spencer’s direction. His jaw drops at the betrayal, his head spinning from the sheer amount of shots he had to take but also what the hell is a munch?

“I don’t even know what that means!” He insists.

“Oh–” Penelope wears a half delighted half pitying expression at his words. “We really need to get you onto the internet more. Reddit is probably up your alley.”

“Even Rossi knows what it means,” Emily cackles, gesturing to Rossi who looks all too pleased. “Hotch was my second option though.”

Aaron shrugs, sipping at his drink. “Guilty.”

A chorus of laughs and shrieks erupt from the group, leaving Spencer even more confused. “What?”

“Don’t Google it,” JJ chimes in. “Seriously.”

Spencer nods, and although he knows that he should have taken the warning seriously, the curiosity was getting to him and he had no choice but to search it up as soon as he got home. He gets the usual answers– the etymology of the word, what it means in the Oxford Dictionary, the popularity of the word since the early 1800s, and he really doesn’t understand what the fuss is. Does the team think that he eats loudly? Or that he chews with his mouth open? His brows furrow at the unsightly thought.

His interest soon shifts to a different a different link, namely The Urban Dictionary. He blinks, clicking on the link without much thought and– oh. He does not get much sleep that night.

***

Your relationship with Spencer isn’t a secret. At least, it was never supposed to be classified as such. He is simply an incredibly private person that even his closest friends don’t know that you exist. It simply never popped up in conversation– or so he says.

The relationship isn’t necessarily new either. It’s nearing the one year mark and you have gotten to the point where the two of you have been more ‘experimental’ when it comes to sex. He finds it embarrassing. You find it unsurprising that he would. You find it even more surprising when he breaks a kiss halfway to lower you onto his bed, your head falling to one of his very expensive memory foam pillows.

“I want to try something,” he announces softly into your ear, squeezing gently at your waist and looping his fingers into his shorts. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, body hot with anticipation as he pulls down your shorts. It’s only when he brings his face between your thighs do you realise what he intends to do. “Spence, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he repeats softly, his fingers running up and down the lacy fabric at your slit. “If you want me to stop, you can tell me.��

You shake your head immediately at that, your hands moving to his grip his shoulders. “No, I don’t want you to stop but– but Spence, this is the first time you’ve done this. It’s okay–”

“Let me do this for you,” he says, his breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of your thighs. “I’ve done my research.”

“What–”

You’re silenced as soon as he presses his lips to your cunt, only separated by your pretty lacy underwear. He groans quietly at the taste of your slick seeping through the fabric, and his hands hold onto your thighs to keep them parted. It’s so good, so good, but it just isn’t enough. He pushes the fabric to the side, watching the way it clings and sticks to your skin.

All it takes is one swipe of his tongue on your pretty clit for his brain to grow blank. The grip he has on your thighs grow firmer and his fingers dig in hard enough to leave little marks. His nose bumps against your clit while his tongue travels against your folds.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes against you, lapping at your dripping cunt. “Fuck, angel, you’re so beautiful.”

Then, he’s on you all over again. His lips wrap around your clit and he whines into you as he sucks at the bundle of nerves. Each one of his actions has your back lifting from the bed and your hands tugging at his curls, to which he responds with a quiet moan. Amidst the pleasure, your mind nags you to be gentle, and you loosen your grip despite it taking all of your self control.

“Do that again.” He says it as a demand, guiding your hands back into his hair. “Do it again, angel.”

His head is spinning and he craves for more of you, his tongue flattening against your clit over and over again. He brings his own fingers to brush against your entrance, coating them with your slick before slipping his middle finger inside. It’s only the first knuckle but it’s enough to have you squirming beneath him. He pushes further until it reaches all the way, and Spencer groans at the feeling of you tightening around him. He kisses your clit again at the same time he curls his finger inside you and it’s all too much.

“Spence–”

You gush around his finger and he licks and laps at your pussy like he needs it to breathe. His finger curls open and closed inside you while you rock your hips against his face, your grip on his hair tightening as each second of your high passes.

“So good,” Spencer moans, kissing your clit. “Taste so good. You can do one more, right, angel? Just one more, I promise.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

tagging the people who commented on the original post: @mosaicbrokenherz @doigettokeepyou @goblinintheblog @cassioxpeiaxmgg @daddytenebra @lilliumrorum @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @lightreiding

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dreamescapeswriting · 5 months

Text

My Little Muse ~ HHJ [M]

WORD COUNT: 4.9K (you broke my 2k streak hehe thank you)

GENRE: mafia!AU, continution of THIS piece, hyunjin simping for reader,building of relationship, fast paced, insta love, SMUT MINORS DNI (You WILL be blocked) cunnilingus (female recieving) protected sex

PAIRING: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

"Do you even know who that was?" The lady behind the counter of your pain shop questioned, her eyes scanning over your body as she looked at your appearance trying to see what it was that Hyunjin liked about you so much. You weren't even that special - to her at least. It was obvious by her tone of voice that she was annoyed by you because of a random man asking you out on a date, but it wasn't as though you asked him to pay you any attention.

"N-No." You stuttered a little, your eyes never straying from the man as he straightened out the black suit he was wearing and climbed into the back of a black SUV. Part of you was intrigued by him, he seemed so charming and confident when he'd told you to go on a date with him.

"That's Hwang Hyunjin." She stated as if it was meant to mean something to you, but you were new to the City and you had no idea who anybody was. You weren't much of a gossip so you didn't read town magazines, you mostly kept to yourself spending time at work or painting at home.

"Is he a celebrity?" You frowned, turning to look at the lady who was biting back a smirk. You could tell she wanted to say but she didn't, she just smiled and shrugged her shoulders at you.

"Good luck, he's relentless when he sees something he wants." Before you could ask what she meant she was going toward the back of the store while you looked around nervously wondering if everyone working inside of the store knew of the man.

It had been weeks of non-stop gifts coming to your apartment and your workplace and it was safe to say it was getting a little out of hand. It had started small at first, the occasional box of chocolates - which you never ate in case they'd been tampered with - then there were some notes that were left at your desk - all cute and sweet notes from HHJ but then when he realised you weren't responding the gifts got bigger.

One morning you'd walked into work to find a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers on your desk with a note attached, "I asked your boss what kind you liked, go out with me tonight? HHJ" Rumours were spreading quickly around the office that you were dating him which wasn't true. He'd given you his number a few weeks ago - along with one of the notes - and you'd saved it into your phone but never called him. You weren't sure you were comfortable going out with someone as the likes of him.

You weren't stupid, the moment you'd left the paint shop and headed home - empty-handed by the way, you weren't going to take such expensive gifts from a stranger - you'd researched him and found out everything there was to know about Hyunjin.

A ruthless leader, the tabloids painted him as a "kind-hearted" man who helped a lot of businesses grow and kept them protected from others who threatened to cause harm to the business or who stole. But if you dove deep enough there were articles that painted a not-so-pretty picture of him, a killer who took what he wanted whenever he wanted it and you didn't know which side to see.

Everyone you'd asked at work about Hyunjin had said nothing but kind things, everyone seemed to like him but you were never sure because of his title. "Mafia leader" didn't really scream "green flag" mostly, red flags all over with a hint of green if you squinted really hard enough.

"Yn, you've worked enough tonight. Head home," Your boss grumbled as he looked at you and over at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine pm and you'd already been there since 7 am, it was safe to say you were overworking yourself but you didn't care. You'd been hoping to wait out the black SUV you could see from your office window but it was still there and had been since 5 pm.

"But-"

"He's still going to wait there no matter how long you hold out," Brady told you, shaking his head.

"Give him what he wants. If he gets his date maybe he'll leave you alone." You sighed a little as you packed up your laptop and slid it into your bag, maybe Brady was right but you weren't sure you liked your boss telling you to go on a date with someone.

"I'll think about it," You mumbled, making your way toward the stairwell, counting down the steps until you'd be outside and in front of the black SUV that was waiting for you.

As soon as you stepped onto the pavement Hyunjin - along with two huge men - were waiting for you,

"You won't give up, will you?" You quizzed, wrapping a scarf around your neck as you tried to beat the cold air that was whipping around.

"Not while I'm alive," Hyunjin said with a cocky smile plastered across his cheek. He was standing there in a simple suit and yet it was like the freezing temperature didn't bother him one bit. You sighed a little looking at him and then at the two men who appeared to look cold.

"Fine. ONE date. That's it!" You told yourself that you were agreeing to this so that the two men beside Hyunjin could finally go and get warm again.

"Okay, one date." He nodded stepping to the side and offering you to get into the car. It was either a car ride home with him or the subway so you began to walk toward the car,

"You're not going to fight for more than one?" Not that you were complaining but you had expected a little fight from him after all the effort he'd done to get you to accept. As you stepped into the car Hyunjin pulled you back so that your back was against his chest and he whispered in your ear,

"Trust me, I know you'll be begging for more." His breath caught against your skin and that's what you blamed the butterflies that were fluttering inside of your stomach on. There was no way you were attracted to him, not when he was a walking red flag, so you brushed the feeling away and sat in the back of the car.

"I'll pick you up on Saturday. Wear something fancy," Hyunjin told you with a smile, lifting your hand to his lips and kissing your skin softly. He wasn't going to drive home with you tonight, he trusted his driver to take good care of you which was why he'd been sending him every morning before work as well as after. He couldn't stand the thought of you riding the subway every day, not when there were dangerous people about.

Not to mention, now that you'd been associated with him you were a walking target already and he wasn't going to let anything happen to you.

"I don't have anything fancy." You contended but he smirked at you, he'd already taken care of something he'd wanted you to wear for him.

"I'm sure you'll find something." With that he shut the door and tapped the side of it, watching as the car drove off into the night.

Hyunjin hadn't lied when he told you that you'd find something, when you'd walked into your apartment the other night there had been a box waiting for you with your name on it.

Inside was one of the most stunning dresses you'd ever laid your eyes on and you dreaded to think how much money it would have cost him. But there were more pressing questions you had. How did he get into your apartment? and How did he know your dress size? All things you were planning on asking him as you waited for him inside the lobby of your apartment building. It was far too cold to be waiting outside in your gown - which was what it was, a ball gown. Something you'd never thought you'd wear.

A long silky green ball gown that slit up your left leg and stopped just below the top of your thigh, revealing your leg in a sexy - yet classy way. You had no idea what Hyunjin had in store for you but you were a little worried,

"Miss Yln, Mr Hwang is here," You nodded at your doorman - Ted - said as you slowly got up from the chair and let out a deep breath. You were nervous about all of this, but you were more nervous about meeting up with Hyunjin, what if he didn't like the dress on you? What if he changed his mind and left without saying anything?

You had no time to question anymore as a hand slowly took yours and a kiss was placed upon your skin, you hadn't even noticed you were outside until you felt him touch you.

"You look beautiful, as always," He whispered to you, looking at you and taking in your appearance. His personal shopper had been right the dress was perfect for you, he had half the mind to stay in all night instead of taking you out with him.

"T-Thanks, you look good too." "Good" was an understatement, you don't think you'd ever seen a man look so hot in your entire life. He was once again in a suit but this one was different, he was in a tailored suit with a bow tie and looked just as fancy as you did tonight.

"We should get going, don't want to be late." He nodded over to the limo and your eyes bulged out of your head,

"Where are we going?" You quizzed as he took your hand in his and helped you into the back of the black Limo. It was dark inside except for some LED lights that lined the underside of the seats and some fake stars on the ceiling.

"An event I was invited to," Hyunjin answered, not giving you the answers you clearly wanted from him but he was enjoying getting to toy with you a little.

You'd come into his life so unexpectedly and he loved it, he found himself thinking about you when he knew he should have been working or when he was painting. Sitting in his art studio at home were countless paintings of you, all in different scenarios but you'd become his muse.

"What event?" He chuckled a little as he shut the door to the limo, glancing at you with a smirk on his face. He already loved that you asked him so many questions, you had a backbone and it was nice to have someone around him like that. Everyone else was so quick to bend to him and he hated how dull and boring that was. With you, he had to fight for what he wanted and you fought back just as hard.

"Do you always ask this many questions?" He arched a brow, holding out a glass of champagne for you to take and you studied it for a second wondering if you could take it or not.

"Yes, and you won't get out of them by avoiding them. I have many, starting with how you knew my dress size and how you got into my apartment?" You took the glass from him, watching as he took a drink from his own and you downed the glass that you were holding.

"I trust you did research on me?" He wasn't stupid, he knew someone would have told you his full name and you would have googled him sooner or later. Besides, he wanted you to know some things before going forward with a date with him,

"Well...Y-Yeah but that doesn't answer-"

"I'm a very powerful man, Miss Yln, I can get into any place I want and once I was in your place I found your dress size." He said it as if it was the most casual thing in the world for someone to do and you didn't know if it scared you or excited you.

"Do I need to sweep for hidden cameras?" Something you hadn't thought of before, what if he had it set up so he could see you changing?

"Spying isn't my style."

"No, but stalking seems to be." You grumbled at him, making him laugh with you, but you weren't joking.

"I wouldn't call it stalking. I was giving you gifts."

"And sending a car all of the time, finding out where I lived." You reminded him and he rolled his eyes playfully at you. It wasn't as though he'd paid for someone to give him your address, it was public information if you looked hard enough.

"Where you live is employer information, wasn't my fault you worked for me." Hyunjin shrugged you but frowned at him, you didn't work for him as far as you knew.

"I work for Brady."

"Who works for me. It's a big world out there, my little muse." The nickname sent a tingle up and down your spine and you hated yourself for it. You were supposed to be turned off by him but the more time you spent around him the more drawn to him you were.

"Muse?" You raised your eyebrow and he smirked at you a little,

"A source of inspiration."

"No, I know what a muse is, why are you calling me it?"

"It's a cute nickname," He shrugged not letting you know just yet that you were the one thing keeping his art alive and he would do anything to make sure he didn't lose his inspiration now he'd found it.

"This place is huge." You whispered to Hyunjin as you walked around the huge art gallery he'd bought you along to. All of the walls were painted a brilliant white colour so that the canvases and other art pieces stood out among the masses.

"It's lovely to see you Mr Hwang, and with a date? It's already rare to see you out but even more rare with someone with you." You stared at the journalist who seemed to be buzzing with excitement as Hyunjin dropped his arm to be around your waist, and your stomach flipped.

Those damn butterflies inside of you needed to stop, you wanted to crush each and every one of them for feeling for Hyunjin,

"I trust you'll keep everything off the books that you see here tonight. I wouldn't want Yn scared off."

"Of course, it's lovely to meet you Yn." The man bowed to you before leaving you both alone and you were a little speechless.

"Does everyone bend to your every command?"

"Everyone except you." He stated as he took two glasses from a passing waiter, handing one of them to you before drinking all of the contents from his own. He was nervous and he hadn't been this nervous for something in his whole life, at least not for a long time but being here, with you, made him nervous.

"You hate that, don't you?" You giggled drinking slowly from the glass and watching your date as he turned to look at you and smiled,

"No, I actually kind of love it."

"Why?" You didn't understand how a man who could get everything he could ever want by the snap of his fingers would ever want you. He could have anybody else and yet he wanted you,

"You don't make life boring. You're excited," He told you while looking into your eyes,

"So, you like me fighting you back?"

"My little muse, I love everything you do." Before you had time to process anything else he began to walk with you toward some paintings that were hanging up.

"Tonight's function is about raising money for schools." You frowned as he told you this.

"Art schools, if we raise enough money we can add more scholarship programmes for kids who can't afford to come to schools we provide." If your heart wasn't already singing for him before it was practically making an album devoted to him by now. If you were listening to him right he was building art schools for people,

"We?" You stuttered a little, there was no way it was true. Everything you'd been reading about him and it had never once mentioned this.

"Hmm, me and a board of chairmen. My name isn't on anything, I don't want people to know about it and use it against me. Or destroy it," He stared down at you, your eyes hadn't moved from his face the whole time it was like you were seeing him in a whole new light right now,

"What made you decide that was what you wanted to do with your time and money?" Hyunjin opened his mouth to speak but his eyes glanced behind you and he smiled warmly,

"Geum Ji Eun," He greeted, you spun around to see a teenage boy who bowed to you both and you did the same.

"It's beautiful, no?" Someone with a thick British accent asked causing you to turn your head to see someone standing beside you. You'd spotted him around as you'd been walking but you smiled a little at him, trying to be as polite as possible,

"Ah, now I see the real reason for your stare, you're the woman in the painting," You'd been staring at the painting for almost ten minutes now trying to figure out why Hyunjin would have painted you and displayed you here. The piece was labelled "Little Muse" and it wasn't the only painting that displayed you as the main focus but it was the one you were most drawn to.

It depicted you inside of an art studio in a white button-up shirt and shorts while painting on your own canvas, it was clearly something Hyunjin had created on a whim since you'd never done anything like that but it was beautiful.

"I don't think I am, I think it's just a coincidence," You laughed nervously looking around for Hyunjin but you could no longer see him from where you were standing.

"I don't think so, I think Hyunjin painted you for a reason." The man stepped closer to you and all of the hairs stood up on the back of your neck letting you know that something wasn't right.

"That reason being?" You backed off a little but he continued to step forward until you hit something hard behind you, panicking you looked up to see a bald man who could have been 6''5 looking down at you with an angry scowl on his face.

"He wants people to know you're his," The first man growled out, stepping toward you so that he was almost touching you,

"I suggest you move away from my future wife or I'll make sure you die a slow and torturous death," You said nothing about the future wife comment but watched as the two men scattered away from you clearly terrified of Hyunjin.

"Future wife?" You questioned him as he stepped closer to you, looking down at you and scanning your features trying to see if you were hurt or scared in any way but you didn't appear to be.

"How is it, that two men can scare you and you completely forget about them and ask me about something I said?" He laughed a little and shook his head at you, you were braver than he thought.

"I knew you'd never let them hurt me." You spoke without thinking about it first causing you and Hyunjin to freeze in place. He didn't think earning your trust would be as easy as it was.

"You trust me that much?"

"I-" You did and you didn't even know why, but you did and you weren't going to lie about it to him.

"I'm not sure why, but I do." A giant smile took over Hyunjin's face and he took you by your arm and began to walk around the gallery with you once again.

Throughout the rest of the evening whenever you were introduced to someone Hyunjin made sure to introduce you as his "future wife" which would have been something that put you off but for some reason it didn't. It only made you giggle and shake your head at him.

"Thank you for an amazing night," Hyunjin said as he slowly leaned forward a kissed your cheek, sparks flew from the contact and your stomach felt as though it was going to explode.

"Do you want to come up for a hot drink?" You found yourself asking, you didn't want the night to end and you needed more of him.

"Are you sure?" You nodded at him and Hyunjin paid his driver to wait for him but you smirked a little.

"Spend the night," As soon as the words left your lips Hyunjin's cheeks blushed bright red and you turned to walk into the building, swaying your hips a little as you knew he'd be watching you walk away from him.

"You're so hot," He groaned as you got into the elevator of your apartment, your body was pushed up against the mirror as you looked back at him a giggled.

"Do you know how hard it's been keeping my hands and lips to myself all night?"

"No one told you to," You whined out at him before he kissed your neck softly.

"You enjoy challenging me, don't you? Fuck, it turns me on so much whenever you fight back at me." He groaned a little before kissing up to your lips and kissing you deeply, grabbing your neck and pushing you into him.

He wanted to take his time with you and be gentle but he couldn't, not when he was craving you as much as he did right now. His lips moved to your neck and he began sucking on your skin, smirking as he heard a moan escape your lips that was almost as beautiful as you.

"I need to taste you," He groaned sinking to his knees in front of you making your eyes fly open,

"Hyunjin, we're in public,"

"I want to taste you, so I'm going to," Besides it was almost two in the morning it wasn't as though someone was going to get into the elevator with you.

He pushed the dress up and found you naked below the silk,

"No underwear?" He smirked before he gently began rubbing your clit making you gasp out, you were soaking wet for him and he wasn't going to waste a single second waiting to get to your apartment. His tongue dragged against your slit and you whined at him,

"Please...Hyunjin," You begged no longer caring that you were in an elevator with him right now.

"Spread your legs, I want full access to what's mine." He ordered and this time you didn't fight him, you moved your legs further apart and he placed one of them over his shoulder. He was ravenous for the taste of you, he wanted nothing more than to make you cum for him as he sucked on your clit slowly pushed two fingers into you and stole your moans away from you,

"That's it, little muse, let it go." He moaned out as you began to work your hips on him, grinding yourself into his face as he thrust his tongue into you. Your hands slowly moved to his hair and you gripped onto him tightly as you rode his face, moaning his name louder each time you rocked your hips.

"F-Fuck," You swore out, your eyes screwed shut as your orgasm hit you knocking you over the edge as you screamed his name out.

Hyunjin slowly raised and smirked as the elevator arrived at your floor and you stormed out dragging him but his blazer as you tried your best to hurriedly open your apartment door.

As soon as the two of you were in your apartment you threw your arms around the back of his neck and kissed him desperately, kicking off your shoes and biting down on his lip.

"I need you," You moaned out, the orgasm you'd gotten in the elevator wasn't enough, you needed more of him, all of him and you weren't going to stop until you had him.

"You sure? I don't want you to regret it," You knew he was teasing you and you hated him for it as you unbuckled his belt and pulled him free from the confines of his pants.

"Does it seem like I will?" You moaned out, pumping his cock in your hand slowly as he let out a low groan,

"I want you," You begged, pushing the head of his cock to your clit and rubbing yourself against him, the friction simply wasn't enough for you,

"Don't I deserve it?" You put on a pleading voice and Hyunjin growled, if he wasn't careful he was going to lose control of you and he wanted to savour every second he had.

"Tell me you want this," He ground out, looking down at you as you giggled a little.

"I want you to fuck me Hwang Hyunjin." Without a second to lose he followed you to your bed and smirked as you stripped out of your dress hurriedly making him strip too.

"You sure?" He smirked as he watched you glare at him,

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me," You mumbled as he laid you down on the bed, his head dipping down as he licked your breast biting down on your nipple and tugging it with his teeth, you whimpered out and your legs spread further apart. You pointed to the nightstand and Hyunjin ragged it open, finding a condom and rolling it onto himself with not a second to spare.

It was slow at first as he thrust into you, looking down at you as he gave you some time to adjust, his lips kissing you hungrily as you tightened around him. God, he was bigger than you thought he was and your eyes squeezed tightly as you tried to ignore the slight pain you were feeling, you knew it would pass soon.

“You’re so tight, little muse.” He groaned, slowly pulling out of you and thrusting into you once more, your walls stretching around him each time as you whimpered his name out.

"You're just too big," You hissed, pulling his hair a little as he groaned,

"But you can take me, can't you, little muse?" He teased pushing into you deeper and you could have sworn you could feel him in your gut,

“H-Hyunjin,” You moaned out, looking at him as he smirked a little.

“Faster…Please,” You begged before he nodded at you, thrusting in and out of you a little faster this time, your whole body shaking as you moaned his name out so loud you were sure your neighbours were going to complain but you didn’t care.

Sex with Hyunjin felt like nothing could ever harm you again, like nothing else in the world mattered as long as he was fucking you.

“I want you like this every night,” He groaned out, thrusting harder as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes.

“I want you everywhere, over my desk, in my office, fuck,” He grunted out as his cocked pumped in you again, the sound of your skin colliding growing louder inside of the quiet room.

“I need you all the damn time.” He grunted as he kissed you deeply, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him closer. God, you felt so good he never wanted this to end but he could feel his orgasm rushing closer each time you clenched around him and you weren’t far off either. He could tell by the way your mouth formed an O and your moans turned into quieter whimpers.

“Hyunjin,” You warned out as you squeezed around his cock, his hips moving at a faster speed as he grunted your name out. The new pace of his cock made your orgasm hit you like a truck and you cried out, squeezing him as you cried his name out loudly. Watching you lose it for him sent him over the edge as you milked his cock of everything he’d been holding back,

“You’re mine, little muse. My future wife, mine.” You slumped against the bed as you nodded at him, whimpering as he pulled free from you and discarded the used condom into the bin inside of your room.

“Yours.” You mumbled to him as he let out a breathy chuckle and made his way to your bathroom, running you a hot bath for you to relax inside of before he took you for a second time that night.

Throughout the years your relationship with Hyunjin only grew stronger the longer that you were together and you were always his “little muse” no matter who came into his life, including your daughter whom he called “mini muse”. The two of you were the light of his life and he was so thankful to run into you all those years ago in the paint store - which he bought and renamed “little muse” after you got married. It was safe to say Hyunjin was more than obsessed with you.

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ellemj · 5 months

Text

Candy Cane: 12 Days of Smut #4

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Warnings: profanity, stuck in an elevator, mentions of death, teasing, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I usually hate everything I write but this sure felt like some good shit while I was writing it. Hopefully it feels the same for whoever may read it. Thank you sooo much to @mashedpotatooooos for this beyond perfect prompt, as soon as she submitted it to me I was SCREAMING. So creative, so inspirational, thank you for feeding me with this brilliant idea.

A fucking candy cane. A fucking peppermint treat from the 1840s. That’s what’s going to be the Winter Soldier’s undoing? No. Really, it’s you. It’s the way you’re sucking on the damn thing. The way you’re wrapping your lips around it so sensually, savoring the taste with an innocent little gleam in your eye. That’s what’s going to kill him. He’s had enough.

The sound of a chair scraping along the hard floor breaks you out of your trance. Pulling your half-finished candy cane out of your mouth, you lift your gaze and look across the room to see Bucky silently disappearing down the hallway. God, he’s moody today.

“I bet that’s why they called him the Winter Soldier.” Sam scoffs. You raise an eyebrow at him as you resume your work on the candy cane. “Because his mood is always so damn icy.”

“That’s cute.” You say, refusing to dignify his bad joke with a laugh, although you have to admit, it was kind of funny. He’s right though, Bucky’s been a little extra moody this week. You’re not really surprised that he’d be someone who hates Christmas, it’s very on brand for him. It’s only three days away now and he hasn’t said a thing about it. The rest of you have been watching Christmas movies, having hot cocoa way too often, and at the very least pretending to be festive most days. But Bucky’s been staying in his room excessively more and frowning enough to end up on Santa’s naughty list. Something’s up with him. You’d have already asked what was wrong with him if you weren’t so annoyed at his inability to spit it out unprompted. The man is over a hundred years old but still has the communication skills of a teenager.

Only a few hours later, Bucky’s just finished up taking his frustrations out in the gym when you’re coming back from a run to the grocery store. You needed a few ingredients for the Christmas cookies you plan on baking tomorrow and there’s no better time to hit the grocery store than at night. Of course, just as you’re coming inside the tower, you see the elevator doors sliding shut. You rush forward, throwing your hand out to hold the elevator. Bucky lets out an audible sigh when he sees you step into the small space. He thinks about darting back out before the doors close both of you in, but he knows he’d have to explain himself if he did something that childish. So, he remains.

Bucky keeps his gaze trained on the screen above the doors, watching as it slowly counts each floor that you’re carried past. You, on the other hand, keep your eyes trained on him. He’s clearly just come from the gym, as evidenced by his dark athletic shorts and sweaty t-shirt. He doesn’t wear short sleeves often, so you take the rare moment to steal a look at his black and gold arm. That’s when he finally decides to give you a sideways glance. You’re just about to break the unusual silence by saying whatever pops into your mind first when the sound of grinding metal fills the air. You don’t even have a moment to brace yourself before the elevator practically skids to a screeching halt and throws you and your bag of Christmas ingredients sideways into one of the walls. You closed your eyes on impact, and when you blink them open again, you’re thrust into darkness. The power must’ve gone out. After just a couple of seconds, the very dim emergency lights kick on and you straighten yourself up, stepping away from the wall and trying to fully comprehend the situation that you’re in. Bucky’s analyzing you as you stand there, staring straight ahead in thought. You don’t look to be injured or very frightened that you’re trapped in such a small space, so he feels it’s safe to say that you’re not claustrophobic.

“The button to call the fire department isn’t even lighting up.” You say quietly, more to yourself than to the super soldier who stands a foot to your right. That means you’ll have to try your phones, and if those don’t work then you’ll be trapped in here until someone realizes that you and Bucky have been missing for too long.

“I’ll call Sam.” Bucky fishes his phone out of the waistband of his shorts and quickly types in his passcode, easily finding Sam’s contact since it’s one of the very few that he has saved. He’s just about to hit the button to put the call through when he notices the top of his phone displays a “no signal” alert. Shit. “No service.”

“Of course, no fire department and no phone service.” There’s a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice but you try your best to tamp it down. “W-what floor were we on before it stopped?” You know Bucky was watching the floor counter.

“Fourteen.” Suddenly, you can picture the elevator plummeting all the way down to the ground floor, killing you both on impact. However, the more rational side of your brain reminds you that elevators have emergency braking systems specifically designed to keep something like that from happening. You inhale a shaky breath and try to come up with at least a semblance of a plan in your mind, something to keep you from thinking too much about how you’re trapped so high above the ground in a little metal box. Bucky watches you closely as you move to sit on the floor, letting your back rest against the back wall and drawing your knees up to your chest. You begin rummaging through your little grocery bag and when your hand wraps around what you were searching for, you pull it out and begin opening the small package. Even in the dim light, Bucky can tell exactly what it is. Fucking candy canes.

“Do you want one?” You hold one out to Bucky but he gives you an almost displeased look as he shakes his head, staring down at the candy cane in your hand with disdain. So, not only does Bucky Barnes hate Christmas, but he even hates the most basic Christmas candy. You almost laugh to yourself at how ridiculous he is. He’s turning out to be an actual scrooge.

“Fine, more for me.” You unwrap the candy cane and lift it to your mouth, beginning to suck on the straight end of it. You’re not paying Bucky any attention now, so you don’t notice the way his jaw clenches and he averts his gaze as soon as the candy hits your tongue. He remains standing but leans back against the elevator wall, hoping the cold metal against his sweaty t-shirt might have the same effect as a cold shower.

It doesn’t.

Two minutes later, you’re still quietly working on your candy cane while Bucky has gone absolutely rigid. He has the back of his head pressed against the wall now and he stares up at the ceiling actually wishing that the emergency brakes would fail and the elevator would go crashing down to put him out of his misery. Why does it take you so long to eat those damn things? And how the hell do you not realize what you’re doing? Are you that naïve?

“Are you okay, Bucky?” Your voice is the last thing he wants to hear. He doesn’t even make a move to look down at you, because the fact that you’re already on the floor at the level of his dick and the fact that he knows what you look like when you’re sucking on something you really like will only make this situation that much worse. His cock is already fully erect in his thin athletic shorts, painfully so. The only reason you haven’t noticed yet is because you’ve been distracting yourself with your little snack and because Bucky’s shorts are so dark.

“Fine.” He croaks the single syllable out in just the right way to let you know that he is in fact, not fine.

“Okay, what is it?” You demand to know. Did Tony skimp on having emergency brakes installed and Bucky knows your death is imminent? Is the big scary man secretly afraid of heights or small spaces? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I said I’m fine.” Bucky repeats the words through clenched teeth. Who would’ve known that such a private man would be such a bad liar? You push yourself up off the floor now and stand to your feet, turning to face him head-on. You’re just about to threaten to stab him with your little candy cane remnant when your eyes land on what it is that’s got him so worked up. The bulge in the front of his shorts is on full display, pulling the seams of the fabric so tight that you imagine Bucky’s incredibly uncomfortable right now. But…why would he be so turned on in such a shitty situation? Is it the fear? The adrenaline?

“Bucky—”

“Stop fucking talking.” He cuts you off sharply, finally snapping his eyes open and meeting your gaze. Even in the dim lighting, you can see the frustration painted over his features.

“No, tell me what’s up with you.”

“We’re stuck in an elevator.” He says plainly, closing his eyes once more. He really does suck at communicating. Obviously, you can see that he’s aroused. He knows that you can see it, but he’s still standing here in front of you pretending like he isn’t. As you stare at the stubborn ass that you’ve just barely come to know over the past year, all you can think about is getting on your knees and sucking the bad attitude right out of him. Maybe that’s what he needs. He clearly needs something. However, the fact that he won’t simply speak his mind and instead chooses to act like a moody fifteen-year-old most of the time still irks you. You want him to open his damn mouth and speak.

“Look at me.” Your voice is so calm and even that Bucky immediately wonders what you’re up to, but he doesn’t open his eyes. You take two steps so you’re standing right in front of him, and then you repeat yourself. “Bucky, look at me.”

“What part of stop fucking talking doesn’t make sense to you?” He snaps, opening his eyes. When his gaze meets your face, he’s met with the sight of you, dragging your tongue along the side of that damn candy cane and he nearly cums right there. He’s thankful that you can’t have possibly seen the way his cock practically jumped in his shorts when his eyes landed on your tongue.

“It’s the part where you think you can mope around here constantly and treat people like shit that doesn’t make sense to me.” You suckle on the end of your candy cane for a short second before pulling it back out of your mouth and adding one bold part to your little tiff. “It’s also the fact that you’re standing here with a hard dick while simultaneously acting like you can’t stand me. That really doesn’t make sense to me.”

Bucky lets out a sound of annoyance at the way you’re matching his attitude. He’s especially annoyed that you actually mentioned his dick, but he’s a lot more focused on fighting the urge to reach out and snap your precious candy cane into a thousand tiny pieces. You see the way his eyes keep flitting to your mouth as you enjoy your candy. Honestly, once you see the look in his eyes and pair that with the huge tent in his shorts, you don’t know how you didn’t put it together before. Maybe it’s because you fear you could die in this elevator, or maybe it’s because you’ve always sort of wanted to know what it’d be like to have such a strong effect on a man like Bucky, but an idea pops into your head that you just can’t seem to shake. You want to make him tell you what he wants. You want to force him to communicate with you, and then you want to reward him with everything he needs. Besides just being an irresistibly hot idea, it’s also a sure way to keep you from thinking about the elevator plunging into the basement at any given moment. You both need this.

That’s what leads you to sink down to your knees at Bucky’s feet. He thinks he’s hallucinating at first, but when he hears your light little laugh as you pop the candy cane back into your mouth, he knows it’s real. Your pretty eyes stare right back up at him as you slowly pull the candy cane out of your mouth, keeping your lips pressed tightly around it.

“Fuck…” Bucky mutters, screwing his eyes shut tightly as he feels a fresh wave of heat rush through his body. You haven’t even touched him yet he feels like he could have an orgasm on the spot. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not? You don’t like this?” You tease. You push the candy cane past your lips once more but he’s refusing to look down at you, so you take matters into your own hands. You hold the candy cane with your left hand while your right hand lands lighly on Bucky’s thigh, dangerously close to where he needs your touch the most. He inhales sharply and snaps his head forward to look down at you again. “Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

“I need you to stop with the candy canes.” He says harshly, giving you an icy stare. You laugh, but you can’t deny that he actually communicated something. So, you remove your hand from his thigh and fix the wrapper around your candy cane as good as you can before leaning over to drop it back in your grocery bag.

“Was that so hard?” You ask, returning to your position on your knees at his feet. He lets out an exasperated sigh, wondering why the hell you’re not getting back up.

“Are you going to stay down there until the elevator starts up again?” He narrows his eyes at you. You shrug your shoulders.

“Until the elevator starts up again or until you tell me what you really need, whichever comes first I guess.”

“I told you already.”

“Right, but that wasn’t all you needed.” You point out. He watches as your eyes leave his face and coast down his neck and torso, until your gaze lands on the taut fabric of his shorts. You’re perfectly eye level with his hard-on and it’s not making this situation any easier on him. He feels his cock twitch again from the way you’re looking at him. He weighs his options in his head. How bad would it be for him to cross this line? To tell you how badly he needs you to suck his cock the way you’ve been sucking those candy canes the last couple of days? It couldn’t possibly be that bad if you’re already on your knees offering it. If anything, he can at least feel better knowing you crossed a line first. Besides, what if you two never make it out of here? He knows you will, people get stuck in elevators all the time and you rarely hear about it killing people. But, what if? He can’t deny himself this potentially one, final pleasure.

So, Bucky learns to communicate.

“Fix the problem you created.” Bucky’s stare is cold and calloused, but the way his chest rises and falls at a quickened pace and the way his pupils dilate as he looks down at you makes you feel powerful. You test the waters, sliding your palms from his knees up his thighs and then curling your fingertips beneath the waistband of both his shorts and boxers. He remains focused on you, not giving you indication that he wants you to stop. So, you tug his shorts and boxers down until his cock springs free, nearly slapping against his lower stomach as your drop his shorts to his feet. Your eyes are glued to his impressive length, taking in the way precum is beginning to drip down his shaft and the way his balls look so full and heavy between his legs. He’s growing impatient, wondering if you plan to sit there and stare at it or do what you really want to do to it. He’s just about to showcase his impatience with you when you reach up and wrap your right hand firmly around his cock, holding it with just the right amount of grip as you give it one long stroke from the base to the tip. You tighten your fist around the head and let his precum lubricate your palm before stroking back down to the base and spreading the wetness around his shaft. The way his head falls back against the wall makes you feel high. You like having this kind of power over him. You wonder how much more power you might have if you used your mouth, but why wonder? Leaning forward, you continue stroking his cock with your right hand while you plant your left hand on his thigh and press your lips to the tip.

“Shit.” The curse falls from his lips so freely that you can’t stop yourself. The next thing you know, his cock is sliding past your lips and the tip is brushing against the back of your throat as you nearly fully deepthroat his entire length. You only have an inch left to go but you aren’t sure you can fit it all. Bucky looks down and sees your hesitation. He knows he should’ve restrained himself. He knows he should’ve let you take this at your own pace, but he needed it. He needed to feel your throat tighten around his cock. He needed to see how fucking pretty you’d look with every inch of him in your mouth. So, Bucky gently placed his right hand on the back of your head and applied a little pressure. Just enough pressure to make you swallow the rest of his cock. As soon as he felt your nose brushing against his skin, he pulled you back by your hair. His eyes roam over your face now, checking in to see if you’re okay. Your eyes are wide but your pupils are blown with lust. Not only are you okay, but you’re on cloud fucking nine. With the tip of his cock still in your mouth, you nod up at him, letting him know it’s okay to do it again.

Bucky guides his cock into your mouth again, pulling your head closer and closer to him until he feels your throat tighten as you gag around his length. When he tries to pull you away this time, you grip both of his thighs and stare up at him so hungrily that he groans at the sight. You don’t want him to go easy on you, you want him to take what he needs. It’s only a second later that Bucky puts both of his hands on your head and holds you firmly in place as he begins thrusting his cock into your mouth. He’s slow and careful at first, trying not to give you more than you can handle. But the first time you moan around his shaft, slow and careful goes out the window. He fucks your throat, letting his balls rap against your chin with every deep thrust. The obscene sounds and the way you fight to maintain eye contact with him sends him straight to the edge of his release so much sooner than he expected.

“I’m gonna cum.” He rasps, praying that you won’t want him to pull out. Although, he could easily picture himself cumming all over your pretty face. Your only response is to grip onto his thighs even tighter while you look up at him so submissively. That’s all it takes. Bucky gives your mouth one more thrust and then holds your head in place, with your lips wrapped tightly around the base of his cock. You feel every drop of cum as it trickles onto your tongue and down your throat. After a few more seconds, Bucky releases your head and watches as you sit back on your knees, swallowing everything that he gave you. When you lick your lips he swears he could go for round two already.

“That was so much better than a candy cane, Bucky.”

TAG LIST: @gyokujyn @mrsjoequinn @thealloveru2 @nixxaswrld @ordelixx @sweettae02 @frombkjar @hellfirebabe @edelweissbarnes @claireelizabeth85 @fandomsfeminismandme @sunnyhummingbee @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @crist1216 @wlkdead

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier #12 days of smut

1K notes · View notes

lovelyhan · 1 year

Text

— underlying pretense ⟢

pairing: wonwoo x reader

summary: being two of the most popular streamers across the board, your subscribers often speculate if your constant bickering with wonwoo has some underlying pretense. little did they know, the two of you have everything on display on a single, unsuspecting twitter account.

word count: 10.3k words

tags: fuck buddies, not quite enemies to lovers but it's the thought that counts, streamer!wonwoo, streamer!reader, attempt at humor, smut

warnings: wonwoo n reader run a shared porn account bc they're filthy like that, alcohol consumption, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: thank you sm for giving the teaser some love! this was just supposed to be pwp filth but...it grew itself a plot :| it also has some valorant jargon here and there but i'll come clean and say i've never played a second of that game my entire life LMAO

this is part of the game over series!

smut tags: sex tapes, unprotected sex, degradation, daddy kink, hard dom wonwoo, choking, overstimulation, aftercare

additional notes for the chat names!

texts: 🐈‍⬛ (ww), 🐈 (reader) discord: W0nwoo (ww), Koyahngi (reader) twitch: everyone_woo (ww), Koyahngi (reader)

taglist: @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @minnie-mouser22 - @seoksoop - @hanieb - @dreamhannies - @renjunphile - @thvhannie - @sysymei

Wonwoo doesn’t make it a habit to watch your streams for two reasons.

The first is because you’re one of his tightest competitors in the streamer market. Giving you even a single view means that he’s contributing to your rise in popularity, which is very much detrimental to both Wonwoo’s pride and his career.

Not that someone who only plays boring, open-world games can easily dethrone one of the most renowned competitive players on the platform, but he learned the hard way to never underestimate the charms of a cute girl who knows her way around both technology and the wallets of her subscribers.

The second reason is…somewhat related to the first.

They’re all hanging out in Seungcheol’s apartment when Vernon opens up a Twitch stream to watch. Wonwoo is in the middle of a petty but intense Fruit Ninja competition with Mingyu on their phones, so he doesn’t get to see which streamer he’s watching. Vernon is the type that likes to give newbies a chance, though, so at that moment, Wonwoo couldn’t really care less.

But when he hears a familiar, high-pitched voice dish out her opening tagline for every stream, even Mingyu notices the way Wonwoo's face scrunches up with distaste.

“Can’t believe you pulled a Koyahngi and Chill while Wonwoo’s in the same room,” Seungcheol laughs when he returns with some beer. “We all know he’s allergic to the sound of her voice.”

“Hey, I think it’s cute,” Vernon says. “Her outfit is, too. Look.”

Wonwoo, still stewing in his annoyance, doesn't move an inch, while Mingyu scoots closer—glancing over Vernon’s shoulder before letting out a wolf whistle.

“I really don’t see the benefit to playing Stardew Valley in maid-cat girl fusion cosplay, but at least she’s still in theme—oh, shit.”

Seungcheol looks at him once he settles himself on the sofa as well. “What’s wrong?”

“My phone died while I was in the middle of a game,” Mingyu whines. “Wonwoo-hyung, lemme borrow yours. We still haven’t decided who’s buying takeout tonight.”

While Wonwoo would’ve normally responded by scoffing at Mingyu to just borrow a charger from Seungcheol, he completely ignores him—stern eyes glued to his phone as he types away at rapid speed. The moment he hits send, Wonwoo hears a soft chime ring over Koyahngi’s lo-fi background music.

You pause for a moment from whatever introductory segment you have planned and tell your viewers you’re just going to answer a text. Wonwoo’s friends are none the wiser when he receives a reply the moment you put your phone back down and interact with the chat.

🐈‍⬛: What did I say about wearing that outfit?

🐈: hmm, can’t remember :P

Fucking brat.

“Hyung?” Mingyu calls out after emerging from Seungcheol’s room—presumably to hunt for a charger—when he spots Wonwoo already halfway to the door. “Where are you going?”

“Friend’s having set-up problems. He texted me asking if I could come over and take a look,” he reasons calmly as he slips his shoes back on. “I’ll head back here once I’m done.”

Seungcheol pouts at him. “You better! Mingyu over here told us you’ve been busy with some girl, that’s why you couldn't hang out with the boys anymore.”

Vernon glances behind him to shoot Wonwoo an incredulous stare. “Wonwoo-hyung? With a girl? You’re not just making stuff up, right?”

Mingyu immediately springs into action, blabbering something about how Wonwoo isn’t the heartless prude people thought he was, but Wonwoo really doesn’t give two shits about how his friends perceived his sex life. In fact, he was more interested in what’s playing on the screen of Vernon’s iPad—the view now unobstructed because the youngest has deigned to move away.

Again, the second reason why Wonwoo doesn’t watch your streams is related to the first.

You’re literally his tightest competitor, but when he sees you all dolled up in your stupid fucking catgirl outfits, he’s suddenly no different from the degenerates vying for your attention in the chat.

And there is nothing else that Wonwoo hates more than being thrown off his game like that.

Funnily enough, he’s reminded of the very thing that started this constant back-and-forth he’s been toeing around with you for a better part of the year when he slips into the driver’s seat of his car. Just before he can drop his phone into one of the cup holders on the middle console, a Twitter notification lights up on screen.

Wonwoo would’ve thought it was from the account dedicated to interacting with his viewers outside of streams. He’s got a decent number of followers there after all. Except the notifications for his official Twitter account have long been muted because of the massive online traction his tweets gain everyday.

No, this one’s from another account entirely.

He feels no shame, opening up the most recent video you put up. What he does feel is a sick sort of pride at the sheer amount of engagement that the video received overnight—those faceless Twitter accounts in the replies looking for other desperate fucks to recreate it with.

This is one of Wonwoo’s favorites. Part of the select few that he actually deigned to keep hidden in the gallery of his phone for…future use. He can barely contain his own heady arousal as he watches the same clip he took with his own camera the previous night.

Those desperate little noises you made. The way your body writhed while getting a good dicking down. And how you were so fucking eager to slide Wonwoo’s cock back inside your cunt after having him cum all over your tits.

Seeing you wearing the same goddamn fishnet bodysuit beneath your stupid maid costume on the stream not only made him pop a hard-on in the middle of boys’ night, but also called for drastic interventions, so to speak.

🐈‍⬛: Finish up that stream asap. I’ll be there in 20.

🐈: fuck you, i just started 5 minutes ago

🐈‍⬛: You know I don’t like it when you talk back, right?

🐈: fine

🐈‍⬛: What?

🐈: …yes, daddy

🐈‍⬛: That’s what I thought.

It all began during a relatively harmless Discord call between their circle friends.

Hanging out with other streamers isn’t such a foreign concept to Wonwoo. If you live in the same apartment as renowned social butterfly Kim Mingyu, you’re bound to get roped into his goings-on anyway, so Wonwoo relents every time—telling himself there’s no harm in meeting a bunch of new people, as long as they aren’t shitty teammates in-game.

Tonight, though, it’s Vernon who brings a new face to their server, and their Discord tag is something that Wonwoo recognizes almost immediately.

“Hey,” says one Koyahngi#0000, sounding a lot different than Wonwoo remembers. “It’s nice to meet you guys. Vernon said I could come hang out.”

The others in the voice call greet you with varying degrees of enthusiasm—from Jihoon’s mirrored but relaxed ‘hey’, to Soonyoung’s immediate invitation to team up with him on a new FPS game they’re trying out for the night.

As if having the same train of thought as Wonwoo, someone immediately pings him from the private server he shares with Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Vernon—one that Mingyu pathetically named as GAM3 BO1s. Wonwoo is quick to click on it more to eliminate the annoying red ping notification than anything else.

Min6yu: hey isn’t she the new streamer who always gets on wonu-hyung’s nerves

Min6yu: bc her voice is always so…squeaky

Min6yu: @W0nwoo

5coups: hasn’t it occurred to u that maybe that’s just part of the online persona

5coups: i think the reason why wonwoo is annoyed is bc she’s stealing his brand

5coups: you know, as the government-assigned twitch cat

V3rnon: you guys aren’t seriously talking about the person i invited in a server i’m also a part of, right…

5coups: gotta live with it, vern. you know gyu is the town gossip

W0nwoo: can we talk about this later?

W0nwoo: i can’t be the only one hearing soonyoung wailing in the call because we’re taking too long to form teams

The first few rounds progress exactly as Wonwoo envisioned them to be—with you being a constant dead weight to Soonyoung’s team, as Wonwoo’s comes out victorious each time. But it seems that the only person remotely miffed by your presence is Wonwoo, as everyone else in the call would resort to saying things like, that’s alright, you’ll get better with practice or come hang out with us more often so you can get used to it!

Wonwoo isn’t a fan of the latter, but if the tides of favor are pitted against him, twelve to one, he can’t just overrule the majority like that.

Of course, he doesn’t have a personal vendetta against newbies. That’s where everyone starts. Back in high school, Wonwoo used to be so bad at aiming his shots in FPS that Mingyu wouldn’t talk to him for an entire day because Wonwoo inadvertently embarrassed him in front of some girl he was trying to get with at the time.

But there’s just…something about you that ticks him off.

You aren’t even using that pick-me-girl voice you typically do on your streams whenever you’re in a voice call with them, but it’s like you’re playing badly on purpose just so his friends could coo and coddle you. Wonwoo seems to be the only one who can see straight through the farce, and he doesn’t know how to fucking deal with it.

Or maybe he shouldn’t have to deal with it. He can just suck it up whenever one of his friends invites you to play games or fuck around in a Discord call. It’s not like anyone’s holding Wonwoo at gunpoint to interact with you.

Except one day, Jeonghan thought it would be a wonderful idea to have a quote-unquote friendly Valorant competition on-stream.

Wonwoo isn’t as opposed to it at first. These little contests have always been a constant since they all started gaming years and years ago. Chan, Minghao, and Jun left the call a bit early for some prior commitments, which means the opposing team would be Jeonghan, Joshua, Woozi, Seokmin, and Seungkwan. Should be easy enough.

But just when Wonwoo thought he’d be playing with his usual Valorant team consisting of Seungcheol, Mingyu, Vernon, and Soonyoung, he’s presented with a bit of a surprise.

“What?” Wonwoo blurts out of instinct once the news that you’re going to be replacing Soonyoung for today’s stream reaches his ears. “What’s wrong with Soonyoung?”

Jeonghan tuts at him in the call. “Now, Wonwoo-ah. Weren’t you the one who suggested switching things up every now and again? You’re the only one who seems miffed at the idea of getting to play alongside our new friend over here.”

“Yeah, and there’s a new banner coming out tonight in this gacha game I’m playing,” Soonyoung quips. “I’ve been sponsored with a fuck ton of cash to use on summons, so I gotta do the rolls live. Actually, I’m gonna head out now. Good luck!”

The moment Soonyoung leaves the call, you’re all-too quick to jump into the spotlight.

“Don’t worry, Wonwoo, I’ll try not to drag you down too much,” you tell him, and Wonwoo startles at the sound of your voice speaking to him directly. “You might have to carry me a little, though~”

He doesn’t like the idea of letting you have the last word, but Wonwoo would rather not antagonize you right before a joint stream with his buddies. Even if you seem to thrive off pushing his buttons whether knowingly or unknowingly, he has enough tact to keep things civil, especially in the middle of a voice call.

At least, that’s the plan until all of you are several rounds into the first game.

“Do you have some sort of grudge against me?” Wonwoo mutters into his mic as his agent dies for the nth time on stream, while you—having played Sage since the beginning—stand over him without doing a single thing. “You haven’t tried to resurrect me even once.”

The jeering laughter of his other friends on the call inadvertently pisses him off, but the sound of you simpering is what makes his blood pressure rise into dangerous levels. “Oh? Sorry, I kind of forgot how Sage’s abilities work. My bad!”

“This is our twentieth round,” he reminds you, eye twitching with annoyance. “And you literally just resurrected Cheol, like, a minute ago.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to waste her ult on scrubs who can’t dodge headshots,” Mingyu snorts and Wonwoo has to keep himself from getting up from his chair just to give his best friend in the other room a knuckle sandwich. “I dunno if Wonwoo-hyung’s just terrible today or if Seungkwan actually got better at using sniper guns, but this is the most fun we’ve had in a while.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole,” Wonwoo grunts.

He can hear Seungkwan laugh as well. “It’s a compliment, but that somehow still feels like an insult—whoa! Shua-hyung, Vernon’s planting a spike in—”

Before Seungkwan can even finish the sentence, his agent is swiftly annihilated by yours from behind—making quick work of Joshua, who was hiding behind a cargo holder while you’re at it, too. Wonwoo can hear Jihoon belting out a string of very colorful language that Jeonghan might have to edit out once he cross-posts the stream on YouTube. But with all agents from their team having been eliminated, the twentieth round inevitably goes to Wonwoo’s team.

Normally, Wonwoo would’ve been glad to celebrate his team’s victory, even if he was hard-carried for an entire round because of some careless choices early on. But the fact that his best friends are all-too enthusiastic with that last play you made did his peace of mind no favors.

“See, we told you you’d get better with practice,” Mingyu says, and Wonwoo would honestly like to digress.

You’ve never been bad at FPS. That’s just what you wanted everyone to think, so the moment you finally made groundbreaking plays, all attention would magnetize solely on you. Not that he’s been much of a glutton for the spotlight, though. Wonwoo simply despises people with hidden agendas, no matter how harmless, and the fact that he’s the only one who realizes this makes it even worse.

It doesn’t help that he has a hunch that whatever blatant dislike he has for you, is very much reciprocated on your end.

Your friends assumed the constant bickering you had with Wonwoo during these streams is nothing but good-natured banter at the end of the day.

However, Wonwoo knows much, much better that this is more than just to boost the viewer engagement because of how entertaining it is to watch the two of you argue about the smallest things. (Typical ‘everyone_woo and Koyahngi catfight’, as Soonyoung horrifically dubbed it.)

There has to be something he can do to make you see yourself out of their circle as soon as possible. Pretending you don’t exist just won’t work anymore because: 1.) Wonwoo is very, very easy to get a rise out of and; 2.) You always seem to go out of your way just to fuck with him every chance you get.

He needs to get rid of you, stat.

Don’t misunderstand, though. Jeon Wonwoo isn’t some sort of vengeful person who makes it his life’s goal to break you off from their circle entirely. It’s not like he’s actively looking for some dirt on you so he could finally make his idiot friends see the light about your real personality. He kind of just hopes that karma would do its thing without requiring Wonwoo to lift a single finger.

Eventually, that does sort of happen. Just not in the way he ever would’ve expected.

Wonwoo isn’t particularly fond of using Twitter. Aside from the fact that he doesn’t have much to say for his followers to see, the things that appear on his timeline can be a bit…questionable.

From threads justifying that everyone_woo and min6yu_k have been dating since middle school, here’s why to the blatant Twitter porn that his other, more degenerate streamer friends keep bringing onto his feed with their likes—Wonwoo is yet to have a pleasant experience with the stupid app. He mostly just uses it to post stream schedules ahead of time, and thank the occasional follower when they make nice cat-themed merch for Wonwoo to see.

Wonwoo doesn’t know what compelled him to scroll through the dumpster fire that is his Twitter timeline on this specific day, at this specific hour. When he has nothing better to do, he usually just channels the boredom into working out.

But today is more of a lazy day, and Wonwoo wants nothing more than to lounge on his gaming chair while waiting for something interesting to pop up. Why he’s expecting such a thing on Twitter is beyond him, but he’s already here anyways, right?

About five minutes through his infinite scrolling, it finally pops up.

It’s another porn video liked by this guy he collaborated with for a Twitch event once—a rather…promiscuous person named Johnny. Now that he thinks about it, Johnny seems to be the main source of all the NSFW content popping up in Wonwoo’s feed, and he considers soft blocking him for a due timeline cleanse altogether.

But when Wonwoo finally reads the caption attached to the video…

🔞 • @_asd624915 pov: you’re fucking k0y4hng1 from behind 🤤

He scoffs the moment he finishes reading it, attempting to just block both the person who posted the video and Johnny at the same time. But what catches Wonwoo’s eye is the red neon setting of the scandalous clip.

Wonwoo doesn’t have to watch your streams to be familiar with the trademark neon red lights you had set up inside your gaming room. The streamer portrait at the bottom corner of your screen always contrasted with the games you played, and it was sort of an eyesore sometimes.

As the degen who tweeted it described, the girl in the video is being railed from behind while her partner films the entire thing with his phone. Wonwoo couldn’t make out any other details because of the stark, neon red lighting, as well as the shitty 480p quality, so he figures that person just wants to project his sick fantasies about you on some amateur sex tape.

Thinking about why Johnny would even like this sort of thing gives Wonwoo a headache, so he just quits the application altogether—deciding to finally drag his ass back to the gym so he can just let it pass.

It’s none of his business anyway.

Except it happens again a few days later.

The gaming community isn’t completely full of people with questionable tastes. There are still streamers like Saerom that Wonwoo would actually consider a friend outside of his usual circle. She used to be more popular back when battle royale games were still a hit, but Saerom has since lied low in the gaming scene, and only goes live on Twitch at least once every three months.

So Wonwoo finds it a bit surprising to see her in the chat for tonight’s stream.

His newer viewers don’t seem to know her, but some of the veterans on his channel all greet Saerom happily—spamming the chat with the cutest emojis available on stream. He thanks them for their discretion, as he can’t quite scroll back to read her first message. The chat is moving a little too fast, and things are getting a little too heated in the Valorant Icebox map.

Wonwoo isn’t quite used to queueing solo anymore, so after carrying the rest of his team for thirteen rounds straight, he decides to cut the stream earlier than he usually would. He says goodbye to the viewers, not forgetting to give Saerom a quick special mention before ending the live.

However, just when he’s about to shut off his computer, he gets a Whisper notification.

SAEROM: hey, you’re friends with koyahngi, right?

everyone_woo: Uh. Sort of. Why?

SAEROM: oh um

SAEROM: i’m sorry if this seems a bit odd…but i’m just concerned about her.

Saerom’s response makes him arch an eyebrow.

Did something happen to you? And is it so bad that a semi-retired Twitch streamer is reaching out to him just to check in on you?

everyone_woo: Is something the matter?

everyone_woo: I haven’t really hung out with them in a while, so I wouldn’t know

SAEROM: oh, i see

SAEROM: it’s just that…there are some weirdos on reddit saying they discovered her sex tapes

SAEROM: i had something similar happen to me in the past even if it's complete bs, so i’m just looking out for her, yknow?

SAEROM: their reasoning is so stupid too! just because the girl in the video has red mood lights, doesn’t mean it’s koyahngi, right?

Huh. She must be talking about the same video that Johnny unknowingly put on Wonwoo’s timeline a few days ago. He hasn’t really been paying attention to social media platforms that aren’t Twitch and YouTube, so he wasn’t aware that those clips managed to gain some traction in the degen community after all.

everyone_woo: You know how fans and viewers can be sometimes.

everyone_woo: That’s the reason you laid back for a while, right?

SAEROM: well, yeah but just bc it’s a normal thing, doesn’t mean i have to just sit back and watch it happen again to other people

SAEROM: sigh sorry i’m rambling. all of this just doesn’t sit right w me, and you’re the only friend of hers that i’m still in touch with

SAEROM: you must think it’s weird for me to be fussing abt someone i’ve never spoken to before lol

Wonwoo feels quite the opposite, actually. It’s kind of relieving to know that there are still people like Saerom in this world—caring enough to be frustrated on your behalf even if the two of you have never interacted.

everyone_woo: Would it make you feel better if I talked to her about it?

SAEROM: omg? you’d really do that?!

SAEROM: seoyeon was completely wrong abt you, you're not a cold-hearted guy at all!

everyone_woo: …So is that a yes or?

SAEROM: ok first of all, i’m not sure if that’s necessary ‘cause idek if she knows me

SAEROM: you don’t have to Talk to her about it, but at least look after her for me?

everyone_woo: Ok. I’ll try.

SAEROM: thank you, you’re the best!

It’s only when he’s halfway through his evening shower that what Wonwoo just offered to do for Saerom finally dawns on him. The moment the realization hits, Wonwoo closes his eyes and let the steady spray from the showerhead prickle his face—breathing deeply through his mouth before...

“Fuck!”

Mingyu asks what the commotion was about when Wonwoo joins him at their two-seater dinner table. He probably heard him not-so gracefully lose it inside the bathroom, but Wonwoo is too pissed at himself to entertain Mingyu’s question, and thankfully, his roommate is sensible enough not to pry.

“Gyu, can I ask something?”

Wonwoo asks this in the middle of cleaning up after dinner. He’s in charge of doing the dishes, since Mingyu was charitable enough to cook dinner for both of them tonight. Mingyu glances at him from the couch, pausing the RPG he fed into the PS5. “Yeah?”

“If you have something important to tell a girl, where would you do it?”

Honestly, Wonwoo thought it would be alright to check up on you through a quick message on Discord. But the nature of your supposed…problem is a bit too sensitive to bring up in a casual conversation. He figures that talking to you in person would be more appropriate. Never mind the fact that every other instance Wonwoo has met you in real life consisted of him completely avoiding you.

The sound of the water running is the only thing that can be heard throughout their apartment as Mingyu processes Wonwoo’s question with an unreadable look. It’s the first time he’s seen his roommate look so serious about something, so Wonwoo decides to give him some time to answer while he scrubs off some particularly tough fond sticking to the frying pan.

In reality, Mingyu actually had a last-minute meltdown in his head the moment Wonwoo asked the question. His roommate and best friend for more than ten years never expressed feelings or interest in other people. So the fact that Wonwoo is coming up to him now, asking about where to confess his feelings is kind of a big deal.

(Okay, that’s definitely not what Wonwoo asked, but it might as well be, right?)

So to speak, Mingyu is trying to handle the situation as delicately as possible. He just knows the moment he lets even the tiniest laugh slip, Wonwoo would just scowl at him and drop the matter entirely. Which Mingyu does not want to happen, because surprise, surprise. He’s actually rooting for his normally stoic roommate!

“Hmm, I think the new samgyeopsal joint downtown serves some mad bulgogi,” Mingyu suggests because barbecue is always a safe choice. Unless the girl Wonwoo’s trying to get with is a vegetarian, but that’s out of the scope of Mingyu’s concern right now.

Wonwoo scrunches his brows together. “Samgyeopsal? Do I really have to eat with her?”

His roommate looks at him like that’s a pivotal piece of information that everyone is aware of. Everyone but Wonwoo, it seems.

“Duh! It’s to set the mood and stuff,” Mingyu says, and Wonwoo is starting to wonder if they’re talking about the same thing. “Anyway, it’s better to invite her out for dinner. Nothing beats grilling meat and sharing a beer after a long day, am I right?”

Mingyu isn’t exactly wrong about that.

Every time they all went out for samgyeopsal and a few drinks, the atmosphere has always been oddly comfortable. He might not like you as a person all that much, but Wonwoo would want you to be comfortable before he asks about…the thing.

“Fine,” Wonwoo relents just as he’s finished putting the last plate on the drying rack. “Thanks for the input.”

When Wonwoo slowly pads back to his room, he wonders again if he should really exert this much effort for someone he doesn’t even get along with. Sure, he told Saerom that he’d check up on you, but…she insisted that he didn’t necessarily have to talk to you, right?

All of a sudden, Mingyu starts clapping all the way in the living room—effectively startling Wonwoo from his quiet contemplation.

“You can do it, hyung,” he says with an earnest smile. “I believe in you!”

Wonwoo simply shoots him a bizarre stare before slamming the door behind him, muttering about how strange Kim Mingyu could be sometimes.

W0nwoo: Hey. Are you free tomorrow evening?

Koyahngi: …did you send that to the wrong person or

W0nwoo: No?

Koyahngi: who are you and what did you to do wonwoo

Koyahngi: the Real wonwoo would rather throw an entire match than ask me if i’m free tomorrow evening

Koyahngi: you better start fessing up or i’ll tell mingyu

W0nwoo: Can you stop being weird about it? I just need to tell you something important.

Koyahngi: oh? professing your undying love for me already?

W0nwoo: Just answer the question.

Koyahngi: oooh you like ordering people around huh? but yeah i should be free after my stream.

Koyahngi: where are we going, lover boy?

W0nwoo: New samgyeopsal place downtown. Gyu said you already went with them once.

Koyahngi: okay, sounds like a date to me.

W0nwoo: Whatever. Just don’t be late.

Of course, you make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late.

Wonwoo is already in the middle of grilling the restaurant’s famed bulgogi when you slide yourself into the seat adjacent to his, grinning so sweetly at him, Wonwoo almost rolls his eyes.

You aren’t dressed the way you usually are in streams and conventions, having settled with a worn out sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. It’s a far cry from all those complex catgirl outfits that Wonwoo has no idea how you have the patience to put together every stream. The switch up throws him off a bit, but he doesn’t comment on it—content with grilling his meat in silence as you flag down a waiter to get your order in.

“So,” you start, lacing your fingers together, “what does the elusive everyone_woo want from little old me?”

He forgot that if you’re annoying in their damn voice calls, you’re ten times worse when you’re actually in front of him. Wonwoo breathes in the fumes from the grill, willing the succulent aroma of grilling meat to calm him down before he responds.

“You should eat first,” he insists, popping a piece of beef into his mouth. “You might lose your appetite if we talk about it right away.”

You snort. “You make it sound like you know a deep dark secret that can potentially ruin my life.”

…In a way, he does, yeah.

Wonwoo assumed that eating outside without the company of your mutual friends would make the entire ordeal awkward as hell. He’s used to bearing the brunt of uncomfortable silences, but it’s just like you’re built to never feel cumbersome in your life—easily carrying the conversation with someone you supposedly hate, and hates you right back.

You’re not someone who just talks and talks without discretion either. You know perfectly well when to fill the silence and when to let that silence set. Given that majority of his interactions with you involved his twelve other friends, that’s not something Wonwoo would’ve noticed about you right away.

Fine. Maybe you aren’t as bad as he thought.

“Oh, right. Do you remember Saerom? The famous battle royale player from a while back?” you suddenly ask, and Wonwoo nearly chokes on his beer. “She popped into my stream earlier. It was fucking crazy! I’ve looked up to her since I was still in college, and then I see her leaving little hearts in the chat.”

As Wonwoo attempts to compose himself, he feels slightly reassured by the thought of Saerom easing herself into your orbit. The fact that you consider her as some sort of idol might just be a bonus, too. He wonders if he still needs to carry out what he’s supposed to do tonight, but then again, he’s already here.

And he’d be lying if he isn’t the tiniest bit concerned about your PR once that Reddit fiasco starts spreading around.

That evening, he learns that you’re somewhat of a lightweight. Just two beers in, and your face is already red, and you’re laughing way too much in between sentences. Wonwoo has a sinking suspicion that he won’t be able to get his main agenda over with tonight.

He takes it upon himself to help you into the passenger seat of his car, trying to keep your grappling hands off him as you whine about how this is the only opportunity that you’ll get to be in close proximity to Wonwoo before you go back to hating each other again in the morning. Wonwoo can only sigh in complete defeat—wondering why he ever thought doing Saerom this tedious favor was worth it in the first place.

Thankfully, you’re coherent enough to tell him your address, and much to Wonwoo’s chagrin, you live on the other side of the district. It makes him ponder about why you accepted his invitation if the restaurant was completely out of the way, but then again you’ve always been a little eccentric.

“We’re here,” he says, nudging your knee once he pulls up in front of your apartment complex. “Can you climb up the stairs or am I going to have to be your human crutch again?”

Blinking out the sleepiness swimming in your eyes, you manage to beam at him with a smile that makes your eyes crinkle.

“Your duty is not over~”

You did not just fucking quote Sage in your drunken stupor.

There are only two things that pisses off Wonwoo these days. The first is Mingyu’s penchant for leaving his dirty clothes in the bathroom after a shower. The second is every single thing about you, which is un-fucking-fortunate for him because he’s forced to play Good Samaritan while you repeatedly wail, “Even death cannot stop me,” and every single one of your favorite agent’s in-game voice lines for no one but him to hear.

Wonwoo distantly wonders, if those weirdos on Twitter and Reddit saw you now, would they still think about you the same way?

When he’s finally in front of your door, you fumble a bit for your keys—doing a pathetic little fist pump once the lock turns on the first try. Wonwoo sighs.

“Y’know…” You peel yourself away from his grasp before leaning against the doorframe, staring at him in the fluorescent light of the hallway. “Saerom-unnie already mentioned the rumors going around about me after my stream.”

At that moment, Wonwoo feels like an anvil has been dropped into his stomach. He narrows his eyes, wondering if this is some sort of conversational bear trap that he’s in danger of falling for. But the look in your eyes is a little too glazed over to be anything but honest.

“What did she say?” he asks instead.

You hum, chuckling to yourself as you fold your arms in front of your chest. “That you went out of your way to check on me on her behalf. So sweet of you, Wonwoo. Here I thought you were just some asshole who’s never dated a girl in his life. That definitely explains why you’re always so mean to me.”

Wonwoo’s gaze turns stony in a split second—the familiar dregs of irritation prickling the back of his neck. “I’m assuming you’re at least sober enough to walk back inside your place without my help? If that’s the case, I’ll be going—”

“They’re all true, you know.”

Your voice came out so softly, Wonwoo would have missed it if he wasn’t as observant as he is. He scrutinizes you for a moment, deciding whether or not you’re messing with him again, but the way you hold his gaze so confidently tells him it’s the latter.

“Of course, I didn’t tell that to Saerom-unnie,” you sigh, carding your fingers through your hair. “But yep. The girl in the video that a bunch of creeps are saying resembles me? That’s actually me.”

The clip in question replays in the forefront of Wonwoo’s mind like he didn’t spend days forgetting about it altogether. He shakes his head when he catches himself thinking about it a little too long.

“Okay.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “Why are you telling me then?”

You shrug. “Beats me.”

“You’re being very strange tonight, you know?”

“Yeah. I know,” you chuckle, leaning your head back while exposing your neck in a way that’s a bit too sensual to be normal. “Maybe it’s because I know the truth’s safe in your hands. Kinda weird if you think about it, though—trusting the guy who hates your guts with a dirty little secret that could end your entire career.”

If the context was any more different, Wonwoo would’ve agreed. This is what he’s been waiting for, right? To get enough dirt on you so he can convince his friends to just kick you out of your little circle altogether.

But as insufferable as you might be, Wonwoo isn’t such a terrible person that he’ll throw you to the wolves without an ounce of remorse. He’s seen what scandals like this have done to the careers of old streamer friends he no longer has contact with. Even if you’re purposely living your life on the literal edge, he would never consider deliberately ruining it.

He tells himself that the only reason he feels that way is because he refuses to get his hands dirty from…whatever you’ve got going on for yourself. Not because of outright concern for you. Definitely not.

“If you don’t have anything else to say to me,” Wonwoo starts, trying not to think about the flush on your cheeks while you’re slumped against the doorframe, “I’m heading back home.”

He turns around with full intention of leaving without hearing your answer. However, you completely anticipated his next move, immediately snapping into motion to grab Wonwoo’s wrist before he could even take a single step away. He grunts with surprise when you tug him closer—enough that your chests are flush against each other.

“I just remembered the other reason why I decided to tell you,” you giggle, running a finger along the rim of his glasses. “My old dom quit on me, so I need to bring in someone new to make more content with.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen by the second as the implications of your words start to connect in his head. “What?”

You roll your eyes. “No need to act so prissy with me, Wonwoo. I make sex tapes on the side for the entire world to see. As of the moment, there’s no one to have sex with. You’re a semi-attractive guy that’s pressed up against me right now, and I’m pretty sure fucking around with you wouldn’t be too—”

“Stop. Holy shit. Stop talking,” Wonwoo rasps. He physically has to push you away so he can hear the sound of himself talking over the thundering of his heart.

You pout at him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t once thought about fucking me. I’m pretty sure your other friends have entertained the idea at least once.”

“Can you shut up for one fucking second?”

That seems to do the trick. In fact, Wonwoo doesn’t miss the dazed yet pleased look in your eyes the moment he says the words with a bit more authority that he meant to channel into his voice.

Oh, you are so fucking sick.

“Look,” he sighs in between, dragging a palm over his face out of perplexion. “This probably isn’t a conversation we should be having in the hallway of your apartment complex. If your neighbors overhear, what then?”

“Hmph. You think I’ll let myself live in a place with paper thin walls? The soundproofing here is great, mind you. The couple that lives a few units over might be having the wildest sex imaginable and we’re none the wiser!”

“That’s not the fucking point,” Wonwoo growls. “You’ve obviously had too many to drink tonight, and you’re spilling all your life’s secrets willy-nilly. Don’t proposition me like that again when you’re not sober enough to deal with the consequences after.”

You simper, hands gliding to the lapels of his jacket as you tug him back. He has to physically bite the inside of his cheek when those fingers glide across the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt, grazing across every ridge of his muscled chest.

“Oh? Those consequences you speak of sound a bit too tempting to ignore.”

Wonwoo looks at the pristine ceiling of the fourth floor hallway, as if praying for some sort of deliverance.

“Go home and get some sleep. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, testing the waters of…whatever the fuck this is, and Wonwoo finds relief in the fact that you actually do as he says, stepping away from him just like he ordered.

“Not even a good night kiss?” you ask—the teasing lilt in your voice yet to fade.

Mustering all the self-restraint left in his body, he turns on his heel and walks away without another word.

Wonwoo doesn’t hear from you for a few days after that.

He convinced himself that the conversation he had with you just outside your apartment was nothing but a fever dream. Though he only had one glass of beer, as he’s supposed to drive home, he can’t really underestimate the effects of alcohol.

But just when he thought his life had finally resumed his preferred cadence of normalcy, another unexpected visitor hops onto his latest stream—sending the chat into a complete frenzy.

Unlike the mixed reactions that Saerom’s arrival last week incurred, seeing the renowned Twitch streamer Koyahngi leaving cat emojis in Wonwoo’s stream chat is enough to drive his entire viewerbase up a wall.

Thankfully, he isn’t playing a game that requires 200% of his utmost concentration—having given the open-world gacha game that Soonyoung keeps begging them to play a chance—so Wonwoo gets to peer over at the messages flooding across one side of his screen. One in particular catches his attention: why are a bunch of hot girls dropping by wonwoo’s stream these days?

Wonwoo ultimately decides to brush them all off for now.

However, unlike Saerom who just observed his stream quietly after making her presence known, you constantly made comments about his overworld progress—saying that he’s building this character wrong, and that there’s an easier way to go around the obstacles; he just needs to use his head. Wonwoo forgot that this is a game that you also played frequently, and having to be on the receiving end of all your unsolicited advice made him want to end the stream altogether.

Except he can’t dish out his snarky rebuttals like he typically would on their friendly Discord calls because, wow, his viewers really were eating this shit up. Since the two of you typically argued on your friends’ streams and not his, Wonwoo hasn’t seen the gravity of these splintered interactions until now.

His eyes parse through the fast-paced comments flying into the chat, catching on a few questionable ones, like someone begging for the TikTok fans to make edits, the fanfic writers to create stories about the greatest enemies-to-lovers couple in Twitch history, and so on.

Wonwoo has been making his livelihood off the internet for years, but he still can’t get used to how strangely people behave sometimes.

He half-expects you to continue pestering him even after he finishes up with the stream, but his Discord notifs remain oddly silent, and Wonwoo decides to just hit the gym when Mingyu asks if he wants to come.

After he’s satisfied with today’s session, Wonwoo waits for Mingyu by the locker room, as his roommate is still getting their usual trainer to spot him while he does his bench presses. But when he fishes his phone out of his gym bag, he’s surprised to see a couple of messages from yours truly.

Koyahngi: sooo are you free tonight?

Koyahngi: i haven’t posted anything in a while, my followers must miss me

Wonwoo scowls at his phone once he reads the contents of your messages—earning himself a wary stare from this one person that passed him in the hall. Clearing his throat, he schools his expression into complete neutrality as he types in a response.

W0nwoo: Why do I have to get roped into this again? Can’t you just make your own content by yourself?

Koyahngi: they’re more into seeing the actual thing that just me playing with myself

Koyahngi: that, and i’m kind of really horny these days

W0nwoo: …So this is your idea of a booty call?

Koyahngi: pretty much, yeah.

“Wonwoo-hyung, you wanna get some chicken before we head home?” he hears Mingyu call out at the other end of the hall.

He has half the mind to tell him that stuffing his face with fried food right after working out is counterproductive as hell, but then again, it’s not like Wonwoo can reprimand him when he won’t even be there to begin with.

“I…actually have other plans.”

…

What the fuck is he doing here, honestly?

It’s not like Wonwoo doesn’t have any sort of sex drive or anything. In fact, the night after he dropped you off at your apartment, he might’ve had to…relieve himself during a quick shower before bed. Not that he’d ever admit to ever doing it. Letting off some steam every now and again is understandable though.

But this? Sitting at the foot of your bed as you got ready for him to fuck you silly?

This is a different breed of foolishness.

He seriously considers sneaking out of your apartment before you can emerge from the en-suite. Wonwoo can just shoot you a quick message, saying that this was all a mistake, and that he hopes you can find a more suitable partner to fuck around with. Because…he doesn’t just do these kinds of things with other people. He wouldn’t go as far as calling himself a romantic, but casual sex has never really interested him—insisting that there are other things in life to focus his energy on.

However, you come out of the bathroom before he can even hope to make up his mind, a cute robe patterned with pink kittens hiding your body from view. You muster up a kind smile as Wonwoo swallows thickly.

Yep. No backing out now.

“You look so tense for someone who just came from the gym,” you chuckle, making a beeline for your desk to grab your phone. “Aren’t work outs supposed to be a form of stress relief or something?”

“They are, but a certain someone is stressing me out again.”

“Hm. I wonder who?”

A few moments later, the mood lights hooked up to the ceiling start to glow, and you pad over to flip off the light switch. Almost immediately, the room is plunged into near-darkness, and Wonwoo feels himself take in a sharp breath when he sees how the red lighting paints your objectively cute robe in a more…lascivious light.

“So how do you wanna do this?” you ask before finally making your way towards the bed—planting a knee on either side of Wonwoo’s hips before hoisting yourself up to sit on his lap. He doesn’t dare to move an inch.

“Why are you asking me? Aren’t you going to direct how your own content plays out?” he questions gruffly, keeping his palms firmly at his sides despite the sudden compulsion to place them on your hips.

You chuckle as you make a show of biting your bottom lip—one finger trailing down the dri-fit shirt that Wonwoo changed into after showering at the gym. “I don’t think you understood what I was telling you the other night. You’re my dom, Wonwoo. You get to call the shots, not me.”

He closes his eyes with a withering sigh, wondering what sort of atrocities he’s committed in a past life to warrant having to end up in this situation.

“Don’t we have to get this on film? Can’t exactly hold a phone when you’re all over me like this.”

A soft giggle reverberates in your chest before you roll your hips, earning an exasperated groan from the man below you. This time, Wonwoo can’t contain the need to touch you, and his hands migrate to your thighs as he presses his hips further against yours—eyes never straying too far from your own.

“You don’t have to think about that just yet,” you murmur, trailing your lips along the cut of his jaw. “Let’s get a feel of each other first. I’ll let you know what I like, and you let me know what you like, yeah?”

It gives him so much vertigo, seeing you like this under the same red lights he’s always found disparaging to catch a glimpse of in your streams. Wonwoo is tethering dangerously across the tightrope of his self-control, but when you lace your fingers around his nape to press your foreheads together, Wonwoo realizes the effort is completely futile.

“What do you say, daddy?”

He doesn’t have a daddy kink. He knows he doesn’t. He’s always found it weird how others got off at the prospect of calling their sexual partners such a thing.

So why the hell is Wonwoo crushing your lips together like he’ll die if he doesn’t kiss you right this second? Why are his fingers gripping the swell of your ass as tightly as they are—grinding you down on his hardening length with a growl resonating deep in his chest? And why does he feel a rush of pride surge straight into his skull when you whimper against his mouth?

As he busies himself with devouring your lips, you shrug off the sleeves of your robe, making Wonwoo peel himself away for a second to get a glimpse of what you’ve been hiding underneath. When he’s rewarded with the spill of your bare breasts, he takes a sharp breath through gritted teeth—rolling his hips upward at the thought that you’ve chosen to forego underwear altogether.

“What’s your safeword?” he rasps, mouth hovering above your chest before he goes in for the kill, nipping and biting at your skin with the intention for it to hurt. A sick sense of satisfaction ripples in his chest when you moan out his name in response, and Wonwoo all but secures a strong arm around your waist to keep you from falling off.

“Red,” you mewl, all while you discard your robe altogether, rutting your bare cunt against his middle.

He sighs, reaching between your thighs to get a feel of just how ready you are for him. Wonwoo nearly bites down harshly when he finds you wet and wanting—your essence already trickling out of your needy hole and onto his sweats.

“Fuck,” he groans, lathering his free hand in your slick. “So fucking wet for me already. Did you touch yourself before I got here?”

“Mmmm,” you purr, taking his bottom lip between your teeth. “Fucked myself with a little toy thinking it was you.”

You assumed your eagerness to finally lie with the guy you’ve been trying to get with for months might spur him further into action. But something unspeakable shifts in the air and for a moment, Wonwoo is so silent, you figure he didn’t hear what you just said. Just when you’re about to call out his name, however, Wonwoo quickly maneuvers you off his lap, shoving you back onto the mattress with little heed for your comfort.

At first, you thought he was about to manhandle you into oblivion, but when the searing warmth of his body departs from yours, you look up at him with an inquisitive scowl.

“Sounds to me like you don’t need my cock after all,” he says coolly, yet fails to mask the anger sparking in his dark eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that? You’re obviously content with using a toy instead, right?”

“Wonwoo,” you groan, frustrated that he’s playing games now when you’re finally so goddamn close to what you’ve been hoping to happen for months. “Can you not go too deep into the domspace because I really, really need you to rail me like, right fucking now.”

“Shut up,” he scoffs before crossing his arms together. If it weren’t for the outline of his cock bulging through his sweats, you would’ve thought he was genuinely displeased with you. “Cocksluts like you don’t have the right to make demands.”

Fuck.

You only had a hunch back then, but Jeon Wonwoo might just be the dom of your dreams.

Instead of playing the brat like you always do, you let out a helpless whimper, sliding down to the floor before crawling to Wonwoo’s feet. He watches your movements with an impassive stare, looking so immovable even as you prop yourself up on your knees to nuzzle his clothed cock.

“Then what can I do for you, daddy?” you ask, fingers catching purchase on the strong flesh of his thighs. The heady scent of musk and detergent pervades your senses, and it takes every ounce of patience for you to keep yourself from pulling his sweatpants down and take him into your mouth. “You’re not just going to stare at me all night while you’re all pent up like this, right?”

Whatever semblance of playfulness you deigned to parade around Wonwoo is quickly snuffed out when he roughly grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his ticked off gaze.

“I don’t think you understood your own words when you said I’m the one calling the shots here,” he growls, and you can feel another gush of slick seeping between your thighs. “You’re not allowed to talk until I say so. Keep those cheeky fucking comments to yourself or I’ll leave you high and dry. Got that?”

Oh my god, he’s fucking perfect.

When Wonwoo finally gets to fuck the frustration out of his system, he lies next to you on the sheets—waiting for you to swim out of that post-orgasmic high as he inspects the damage he’s done to your body.

It’s been a while since he’s gone out of his way to hook up with someone, so he isn’t surprised to see the plethora of love bites and bruises he ended up scattering across your skin. Wonwoo feels particularly pleased with himself when he sees the deep rise and fall of your chest—the bloom of hickeys you’ve amassed on your breasts still recognizable even under the deep red lights.

“I think I might be in love with you,” you sigh wistfully once you finally come to your senses. Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I haven’t come that hard in months, Jesus.”

“Compliment me any more and it’ll get to my head,” he says before adding—much more sincerely than he usually sounds— “Are you okay?”

Turning around to face him, you pull him down for another kiss. Wonwoo grunts against your lips but snakes a hand around your waist anyways.

“I think you’re just about ready to film us now,” you whisper into the kiss, licking into his mouth in a way that’s stoking the ebbing flames of his arousal back to life. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at your request but moves to the nightstand where he unceremoniously discarded his phone before fucking you stupid. There are a couple of texts and other Discord notifications on screen that he completely ignores in favor of handing it to you unlocked.

You adjust your position on the mattress, easing your legs apart with the silent invitation for Wonwoo to come between them again. He can hardly believe that you’re still looking at him with the same bedroom eyes that you’ve been giving him since the night began. Just how much cock can you take, really?

“The mood lights shouldn’t be too dark, so don’t use flash,” you instruct him, handing Wonwoo his phone back with the Camera app already up and running. “Other than that, you’re free to do whatever you want to me, daddy.”

Wonwoo heaves yet another internal sigh as he positions himself between your legs, rubbing his half-hard cock along your ruined cunt. With a bated breath, he hits the Record button.

He hasn’t watched a lot of Twitter porn for a dozen reasons, but Wonwoo figures he shouldn’t get your face in the frame. Now that he’s finally in the shoes of whoever was fucking you from behind in the first clip he saw, he realizes it’s a little hard to keep filming this debauchery while subsequently trying not to lose his mind from how good your pussy feels. And he isn’t even inside you yet. Fuck.

The sensual way you move your body to meet his shallow thrusts makes him want to just chuck his phone back on the nightstand and ravish you all over again. But Wonwoo doesn’t do that. He simply continues with his ministrations, relishing in the cock-drunk look in your eyes once you reach out to pump his length in your smaller hand.

You don’t talk; neither does he. All that matters is the sensation of his cockhead sliding across your wet pussy lips while you jacked him off with a hazed out look in your eyes.

A possessive part of him takes great pride in knowing he’s the one making you feel like this; that he’s the reason behind that depraved expression you’re wearing. The moment you guide Wonwoo’s cock back into your tight channel, he uses his free hand to clamp his strong fingers around your throat—pressing down with just enough pressure to make you feel lightheaded.

The squelch of your cunt is sickeningly sweet, especially knowing that you still have his load inside you. Wonwoo is a bit too eager as he fucks his spend even deeper into your abused cunt, all while maintaining a steady grip on his phone as he captures all this on camera. He’s ruined you so badly that each time he slides himself to the hilt, he can see the creamy ring of your mixed juices at the base of his cock.

You’re driving him so fucking crazy, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

After a few experimental thrusts, Wonwoo picks up the pace—the grip he has on your throat tightening ever-so slightly. Just enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Fuck it.

He tosses his phone somewhere on the bed before moving to hook your legs over his shoulders. You shoot Wonwoo a bewildered look, a question already resting on your tongue, but the words are ground to dust when he pushes himself back into your sopping heat—deep enough that you can feel the fat head of his cock graze your cervix.

“Fuck, daddy!” you wail, completely helpless as Wonwoo pounds into you with unforgiving vigor. “So good… So fucking good.”

If you uttered those words the first time he fucked you earlier, he would’ve choked you out for going against his ‘don’t speak unless I say so’ rule. But Wonwoo is just so obsessed with the tight fit of your cunt fluttering around his cock that he can’t even find the headspace to be mad about your disobedience.

“You’re such a greedy fucking slut,” he growls, nipping the lobe of your ear. “Can’t get enough of this cock? You had to come onto me and let me ruin you twice in a single night?”

The only response you can come up with is a high-pitched keen of his name as Wonwoo feels your cunt pulsate around him, squeezing his cock so fucking tight as you lose yourself to your nth orgasm. He hisses as he pulls himself out of the velvet heat of your pussy, jerking himself a few times before he’s painting your tits with white ribbons of cum.

Wonwoo delights himself with the sight of his emission shining atop the marks he’s left on your body, and even entertains the thought that he won’t ever mind seeing such a sight again.

It takes about thirty minutes for you and Wonwoo to clean up—at his insistence, of course. After all, if he’s going to break you apart, it’s only fair for him to put you back together once all’s said and done.

For some reason though, you haven’t stopped looking at him weirdly as he runs a clean washcloth all over your spent body. Like the concept of aftercare is something completely foreign to you. But instead of bringing it up, you ask Wonwoo if you can borrow his phone again, and all he gives you is a small grunt of affirmation before padding over to the en-suite to get himself cleaned.

“You didn’t stop recording when you tossed it away?” He hears you laugh from the bedroom. “Oh my god…”

He didn’t…? Oh, well. He was too goddamn horny to notice anyway.

Wonwoo gets dressed while you continue tinkering with the video he took on his phone—airdropping it to yours so you could do a couple of changes. Turns out, there are a couple of instances where your face got caught in the frame, and you’re going to have to crop it and trim out the part where you’re audibly moaning each other’s names if you want to keep committing these acts of deviance on the side.

“Gotta say though, you’re a natural at getting my good angles,” you say, sounding completely pleased. “I wouldn’t mind having you over again~”

“Don’t push your luck.” He scoffs as he fastens the string of his sweats and puts his glasses back on.

But the two of you know he’ll be back either way.

When Wonwoo gets back to the apartment, he finds Mingyu lounging in front of the TV despite it being almost three in the morning. Something about marathoning a new drama that Wonwoo might’ve heard in passing. As exhausted as he is, he decides not to reprimand Mingyu altogether and marches straight to his room.

But just as he’s about to collapse straight into bed, his phone buzzes with another notification that makes him click his tongue in annoyance. It’s been going off non-stop since he left your place, but he didn’t pay it much mind since he assumed they were all Twitch and Discord notifs. Some of his friends did like pinging him unnecessarily even in the dead of night.

Although when Wonwoo realizes they’re Twitter notifications, he pauses.

He muted the notifs on his Twitter account ages ago.

Confused, he takes off his glasses and places them on the nightstand, eyes narrowed when he realizes a new account has been logged onto his phone. An account that just happened to tweet the same video he just took on his phone not two hours earlier.

🐈 • @ goodcat_badcat miss me? 💦

As fate might have it, a text notification hovers on top of his screen—with a contact name he doesn’t remember putting himself, but recognizes all the same.

🐈: hope you enjoyed the show, daddy <3

As he reads through the text, he wonders distantly when this will all come back to bite him in the ass.

But then again, Wonwoo really couldn’t care less.

part one - part two - part three - part four

end notes: hehe i really enjoyed writing this, so i hope you enjoyed reading as well! this is actually slated to have a second part sometime in the future, but for now, i think it'll do well as a standalone. i'll let wonwoo and reader fool around with their spicy sex life first before giving them ~feelings~ to worry about ^__^

this is part of the game over series!

#seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #wonwoo smut #wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo #streamer au #lovelyhan #🐇 1k #🐇 500 #full length fic 📚

3K notes · View notes

oddinary4bts · 6 months

Text

Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

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livingemkayde · 11 months

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ch i. chaser

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller

chapter one of chaser

warnings: 18+. minors please dni. smut. semi public (kissing) and if you count the bathroom inside a bar. unprotected p in v. dom!joel. a bit of an age gap that's implied but never touched on much (reader might be 22/23 ish and joel is maybe 35/40 in this). no use of y/n!

a/n: lil teeny teeny tiny one shot that i've been thinking about alot and needed to get down on paper! cant help myself when it comes to a cliffhanger ending. Hope you enjoy hehe <;3 (not related to my dbf!joel mini series at all! but working on the fourth part soon 😀)

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

Getting fucked against the door of a bar bathroom was not on your plans for the night — but your panties were ruined at his first glance. “Fuck, knew you'd be perfect,” he says into your ear, grabbing at your ass. You hear him pump himself a few times before rubbing the tip of his cock through your weeping folds. “Gonna ruin you,” he moans when his tip catches your entrance...

"Cheers!”

You throw your glass towards your friend, Olivia, sitting across from you in some dingy bar in downtown Austin, Texas.

"Cheers," you say back to her — kinda half heartedly — you don't know if it's something you should be cheersing about.

"C’mon — live a little?" She pleads with you.

"I know, I know. I'm just — I don't know — nervous?”

"It's normal to be nervous. I think it'll be something good for you though," she says while peering around the bar.

You down the shot. It's the first of many. Even though you know you have your interview first thing tomorrow morning.

"There she is!" Your friend says enthusiastically, while you grimace at the bite the vodka leaves in your throat.

"I need a chaser — fuck," you manage to get out before coughing and leaving your stool and her behind.

Babysitting.

Well, the ad really said nannying, but, you're a glorified babysitter.

Fresh from college with an English degree under your belt and you're — babysitting.

Not really what you had in mind for your post grad life, but you needed the money, desperately. And at least this way, you didn't have to work 12 hour shifts for minimum wage. And you could hang out with a cute kid for a couple hours.

You were nervous, but after looking for a job for so long, and finally getting a call back, you needed this.

And it was your friend, Olivia, who dragged you out to a bar to celebrate your interview — not even job.

You approach the bar, leaning against it to whisper into the bartender’s ear that you needed a chaser, your hands finding the wood while you dig your nails in there.

You thank the bartender graciously, bringing the cup to your lips while turning around simultaneously.

When you move to walk back towards Olivia, you bump into something — no — someone.

"Sorry, darlin’,” a deep voice draws your eyes from your chaser sloshing around a bit in your hand to dark eyes looming over you.

You look up and see a handsome man — maybe a bit on the older side — but you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t think he was hot. But this is not the time for anything. Not with a very, very important interview looming right around the corner.

You try to brush it off and move back towards Olivia.

“‘S alright,” you mumble out when your eyes meet his, he stands a good head over you, his Carhartt jacket fits snug around his biceps – he just looks…good.

You give him a small smile goodbye, but he catches your hand.

“Can I get you ‘nother?" He asks, his eyes twinkling under the soft string lights attached to the ceiling of the bar.

Maybe you're so entranced by his broad stature, or his dark drawl, or the glint in his eyes, but you don’t really register what he's asking.

"What?" You reply back dumbly.

He chuckles a bit, the warm sound of it overtaking your breath.

He gestures down to your hand where your chaser stands half spilled.

“Your drink,” he says with a smirk on his face.

He waves down the bartender and asks him to give you another.

When it comes, he takes the cup out of your hand and replaces it with a fresh one. When his fingers brush, yours, your heart skips a beat.

"There," he says finally — while his other hand squeezes your forearm. The skin under his fingertips burn.

You don't know what's gotten into you, maybe it's the shot already rooting itself in your system, or the thought that this could be your last night of fun — but you look at him through your lashes and ask — tentatively —

“What did you say your name was?”

Hook.

“I didn’t, sweetheart,” he looks at you, his arm stretches out to brace his hand against the bar — caging you in.

“Oh — sorry. Thought you might've…never mind,” you reply sheepishly, showing him a smile.

“You wanna know my name?”

“Only if I get to ask you two questions,” you play with the cup, leaning closer to him, “and I'm not sure you're ready for that.”

Line.

“Think I might be,” he leans in, whispering to your ear over the roar of the crowd. “Gimme your worst.”

Sinker.

You raise your glass in his direction, prompting him to give you his name.

“Joel.”

You don't know why that name sounds extremely familiar. But you chalk it up to being slightly drunk and his musky scent filling your nostrils makes the tell tale stickiness between your legs blossom.

“Joel,” you test on your tongue. Something about this guy is intriguing to you. Maybe it was all a game at first but when his eyes flick between your eyes and your lips — you aren't sure if it's a game anymore.

“Nice to meet you,” you say. He flashes you a gruff smirk.

“You buy all the girls you ‘bump into’ at bars drinks?”

Joel’s closer — if possible. He smells woodsy and he can't keep his damn eyes off your lips.

“Nah,” he smiles, looking back into your eyes, “Just the pretty ones.”

You shouldn't blush as hard as you do.

Somewhere between all the looks and flirting your hand finds his chest, resting above his heart.

“You think I'm pretty?” you reply with a teasing look.

“Don’t get cocky now,” he bites back.

Honestly, whatever you were thinking about before Joel was thrown out the door at the sound of his rich drawl. Now all you can think is him — the whiskey on his breath, his hands finding your waist, and him leaning down — closer.

You look down to his lips — surrounded with gruff facial hair that you really want to run your fingers through. You don’t care about anyone else at the bar. You don’t even remember you came here with Olivia. Not when he stalks forward, leaning in so you whisper into his ear —

“Kiss me?” in a hushed tone only he can hear.

He leans back a bit to stare at your face, a knowing smirk already playing on his lips.

“You only had two questions.”

Caught a fucking live one.

“Kiss me,” you rephrase — a declaration, a statement, or even a demand — not a question.

“There you go,” he growls before ducking his head down to kiss you. It's a little rough — his movements. But he's gentle with his lips. Joel grabs your face with one hand, the other finding purchase on your hip while squeezing hard.

You moan into the kiss which has you blushing. You didn't mean to sound so desperate for a man you just met. You get even louder when his thigh slots itself between yours — your skirt hikes up a bit, his jeans rutting against your core.

You feel him smirk against your lips at that.

“Joel—” you whimper when he ducks his head to place heavy kisses on your neck.

“Bathroom,” he groans before giving you a quick peck and stepping away from you with a darker look in his eyes. Your thighs clench in anticipation.

You let him saunter through the crowd towards the restrooms.

Fuck, what is happening? You're not even that drunk. He just tastes intoxicating and a bit sweet to your surprise and you want more. You know what will happen if you follow him in there, and there's really no hesitation as you down another shot, chug your chaser and disappear into the crowd.

You knock on the door to the bathroom and it opens almost immediately.

Joel pulls you inside, pressing you up against the door until it closes. He's on you immediately — pulling down the straps of your top, exposing skin, hiking up your skirt to reveal panties.

He groans when his fingers feel the wetness through cotton. You moan into his mouth.

“Been watchin’ you all night,” he whispers into your ear, you snake your hand down at his words, feeling him through denim — your fingers threaten to tug at his zipper, “Pretty girl…”

“Fuck — please —” you whine at the feeling of his length but he cuts you off.

“Say my name,” he says — already tugging down the zipper on his jeans, freeing himself, and pushing your panties to the side with his other hand.

“Joel — jesus —”

He flips your body with strong hands on your hips.

You bet you look fucked out. Your shirt, halfway pulled off your body, with an open mouth and eyes dusted with lust as you moan out a name you just met ten minutes ago.

Joel presses you against the door, your hands find purchase in the wood, clawing at the flat plank.

Getting fucked against the door of a bar bathroom was not on your plans for the night — but your panties were ruined at his first glance.

“Fuck, knew you'd be perfect,” he says into your ear, grabbing at your ass. You hear him pump himself a few times before rubbing the tip of his cock through your weeping folds.

“Gonna ruin you,” he moans when his tip catches your entrance but he pauses there.

“Please, Joel —” you whine and he sinks in more. The stretch leaves you speechless, you whine incoherent nonsense to him. He groans and fights the urge to dive in.

“Beg me,” he mumbles.

“What?” You can't really hear much over the ringing in your ears.

“You want it? Beg,” he demands through gritted teeth.

That's new.

But you aren't complaining by any means.

“P-please I—” You're flushed now.

“You what?” He inches out this time, you moan at the loss.

“I n-need you — god — please, Joel.”

“Fuck. You want it like this? Up against the door? Where anyone can hear you?” He slides back in, almost enough.

“Yes — yes, please. God, please,” you beg, balling your fists and biting your lip.

He complies, surprisingly, sinking into you without hesitation while mumbling a small needy under his breath. You almost scream at the feeling and he has to cover your mouth with his hand in response.

The stretch is almost too much. But somehow it feels nice to be pressed against the door — the pressure getting to an all time high. You could be screaming — saying anything and you wouldn't be able to tell. Everything seems fuzzy around his girth when he starts pumping in and out of you.

With each slam of his hips you get pushed further into the door, your cheek resting against the wood while his hand wraps around yours, pinning you down.

“Fuck — so fuckin’ tight,” he groans into your skin.

You aren’t gonna last long — you make that much known — whimpering to him over your shoulder.

“Joel — I’m-I’m not gonna —”

“I know baby, I know.”

He cages you in — chasing after his own orgasm.

“Doin’ so good for me,” he groans, “Made for me.”

That sends you over the edge. You get impossibly tight around him and he clamps down on your mouth when you cry out in bliss. He doesn’t let up. Even when you relax around him — spent.

“Jesus,” his hips stutter as he moans into the back of your head with an open mouth.

“Inside — please,” you whimper through your overstimulation.

You moan at the feeling of his hips punching faster even though he’s dead silent, chasing his high.

You think he might pull out and you really want him to stay in.

“‘M on the pill — Joel,” you moan but he pushes you harder into the door, squeezing your hand tight when he comes inside you.

You can feel the hot stickiness of it roll through you — coating your walls. He only lets out a few grunts and moans — mostly stoic behind you.

When Joel pulls out, he spins you around and kisses you. You aren’t sure how you don’t slump to the floor. But a buzzing from your phone knocks you both out of it.

Olivia.

You answer quickly.

Hello?? Where the hell are you?

“Sorry Liv! I got caught up in the bathroom. Give me a second,” you give him a knowing look but he waves you off, fixing your shirt and pulling down your skirt.

When you hang up, he kisses you again.

“I gotta go,” you mumble to him reluctantly. He’s still running his hands along your body — his lips ghosting your shoulder.

“Friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see you again?” he says.

You almost let the unconscious no, sorry slip from your lips but you think about it. You really do — and you want to see him again too.

“Yeah,” you echo, giving him a small smile before handing him your phone to put his contact in.

Joel shoves it back into your hand after typing it in. He opens the door, motioning for you to step out first.

Hm. You note.

Gentleman.

“Thanks,” you mumble. You’re about to leave, but he catches your arm, spinning you around before landing a soft kiss on your lips one last time.

“See you soon,” he whispers.

Miller.

The name stares back at you — etched into the mailbox.

You rub your hands on your pants to rid them of the sweat. You have no idea why you’re so nervous. You didn’t get good sleep last night, the hangover creeping into your early morning, making you run a bit late.

But fuck it.

You needed this job.

And people like you. Right?

You hope that much as you make your way to the front door. You also hope this family will be nice — and you pray to god you get the fucking job.

You knock tentatively and hear a small voice mixed with a gruff one, coming to the door.

You do see Joel soon. Way too fucking soon.

Because he stares back at you when the door swings open, accompanied by a young girl.

He’s speechless.

You both are.

ch ii. wild things

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prettyboyeddiemunson · 2 years

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when i think about you, i touch myself

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you & eddie have been friends forever. when he arrives early to your house one day to hang out, he encounters something unexpected. part 1 of 2.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: smut, obviously. basically reader touches herself and eddie watches, unbeknownst to her.

a/n: i don’t know if anything like this has been done yet, so i’m sorry if it has! i have no time to read or see every single fic out there. if you want added to the taglist, let me know! also, this should go without saying, but minors DNI.

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Hanging out with y/n had always been a major highlight for Eddie. The two had been friends since her arrival in Hawkins during Eddie’s second senior year, when she herself had entered her first & only senior cycle. She chose to remain in Hawkins after she graduated, a fact that left Eddie completely baffled. She was smart, she was driven, she could grab the world by the ass if she wanted, so why stay in a shitty town like Hawkins? In any case, though, Eddie was glad that she was still there; it gave him something to look forward to, aside from Hellfire Club and shows with his band.

Weekends belonged mostly to them, unless they had other obligations. She also never missed one of his Tuesday shows, and they always hung out together afterward. They would go to one of their homes–usually hers–where they listened to music, smoked weed, drank beer, and just enjoyed each other’s company. Not only did they have fun every time they were together, but they were each other’s rock. Eddie didn’t have a best friend–hell, he barely had a handful of real friends–but y/n was as close as it got for him. When something good happened, she was the first he went to so they could celebrate together. When he needed to vent, or was angry, or frustrated, she was the first he came to so that she could calm him down; it was something she was damn good at doing. They knew everything about each other–or at least, almost everything. Eddie had a secret, one that he would never dare speak aloud.

He was in love with her.

He could even pinpoint the exact moment it happened. It was close to the end of the 1984-85 school year, and that particular day had been terribly rainy. Neither of them had an umbrella or raincoat, and by the time Eddie had driven them to her place, it was coming down like a damn waterfall. Both had become soaked in the short distance from Eddie’s van to her front door, and they had to change into drier clothes right away. She’d put on a long shirt with shorts beneath, and she gave him some oversized clothes that she believed would fit until his own were dry. Once they were toweled off and changed, they sat on the couch to watch a movie before her parents got home. Eddie didn’t even know what the film was, nor could he tell anyone if he tried to remember. y/n had taken to lying against him, cuddling close as he held her in turn. The warmth of her body, the sound of her laughter at the film, feeling her just existing against him as her focus remained on the television…it had been the most beautifully simple thing in the world. It had opened an absolute Pandora’s box of emotions for him, and he fell fucking hard for her.

He could never tell her, though. He knew that someone as beautiful as y/n would never love him in return, nor would she ever want to. How could she, when she was a goddess and he was Eddie Munson? He was a freak, an outcast who drank too much, did too many drugs and dealt even more, was a high school senior at the age of twenty, and played D&D with a group of teenagers. Not only that, but she was always dating someone–in school and out–or gushed over this person or that person, so the feelings were likely unreciprocated. Eddie felt as if he deserved an award for not losing his shit and revealing his true feelings in the process, every damn time someone new entered her picture.

But, little did he know, things would soon change with the most unexpected turn of events.

***

One day, when Eddie and y/n were set to hang out, Eddie was supposed to practice with his band first. To his equal delight and dismay, however, the session was moved to the following day, due to another obligation of a bandmate. So, instead of waiting several hours to go see y/n, he decided to go over a little early and surprise her. He had a pack of beer and a bag of weed with their names written all over it, and was ready to unwind with her. Metallica blasted from the van’s speakers, jazzing him up as he drummed on the steering wheel and sang along. He was having a blast, and by the time he reached y/n’s, he was bursting at the seams with excitement. He wanted to get stoned off his ass, kick his feet up with a beer, and find ways to make her laugh. To him, her laughter was the best music, and he was so happy that he could bring it out of her the way he did.

Eddie pulled in behind her vehicle, killing the engine and getting out with his goods. He discovered that the front door was locked, and found the key in the hiding spot she’d once shown him. He let himself in, looking around at the empty place upon entering. It was eerily quiet, which was confusing to him. She had to be home; her vehicle was parked outside, but it appeared as if no one were there. Worry soon stole over him, and he hastily placed the beer & weed on the nearest surface before frantically searching for her. He was paranoid that something could be terribly wrong, and he knew that he would never relax until he was certain that she was alright.

He found out where she was soon enough. As he was turning a corner to walk into another room, he heard moaning coming from upstairs. It wasn’t a painful, distressed sound; it was pleasurable, and loud enough that he heard it downstairs. Eddie stopped in his tracks, listening closely to see if he’d been correct. It was silent for what seemed like forever, and Eddie began to doubt what he heard. But then it came again, a little louder than before, and he knew that he was right in the first place. He assumed that the sound was coming from her bedroom, and Eddie couldn’t help but feel jealous at the thought of her with someone else. She wasn’t even his girlfriend, but goddammit, he was desperately in love with the girl. How much longer could he endure seeing her with other people, before it finally broke him or drove him to confess his feelings? The universe was always playing some kind of sick joke on him, but dangling y/n in front of him & then yanking her away had to be the cruelest, by far.

Eddie listened again, inching up the stairs to get closer to her room. He heard no other voices, and no sounds that indicated she was having sex with someone. He was perplexed, but kept moving, being careful not to make any noise that would alert her. He wanted to see what was going on, and whether she was with someone else or not; he wouldn’t be able to let it go until he knew. He was aware that, while his curiosity would eat him alive if he didn’t investigate, he may not like the answer that he received. He needed it, anyway, and mentally prepared himself for what he could potentially find.

Eddie followed the sounds of her moans to her bedroom door, already feeling like a creep. Her door was open a sizable crack, and he could see through it well enough without having to open it any further and possibly giving himself away. He was relieved to see no one else in the room with her, but y/n was still moaning as she lay upon her bed. A thin blanket covered her lower half, one arm thrown above her head as the other was hidden by the covering. It clicked for Eddie what was going on, and he swallowed thickly as he watched her hand moving under the blanket. She had a shirt on, but no bra, because he could see her nipples clearly poking through the fabric as they hardened.

While Eddie was completely stunned by the sight, he knew that it was wrong to stay. To do so would not only be such a perverted move, but it would be a complete invasion of her privacy. He reluctantly forced himself to look away, feeling flustered as he turned to leave. He would just have to come back later, at the original time he was supposed to; a few hours wasn’t too bad to wait. But damn, did he really want to stay and watch her, no matter where the hands on his morality compass sat. He had an obligation as a good friend and a decent human being to leave her to her own devices, but seeing her like that? The very girl that he’d thought about in the same way, many times, was touching herself right in front of him; to say that he was torn was a serious understatement.

Eddie cursed under his breath, and took two steps toward the stairs. That was as far as he got, because he’d frozen dead in his tracks by what he heard next. His big brown eyes only widened, and if he’d still had hold of the stuff he brought with him, it would have dropped to the floor. The same sound came again, and Eddie swivelled on the spot to assure that it wasn’t wishful thinking. But no; it had been clear as day that second time, and then it came a third.

“Eddie!”

His name, coming in the form of a hot moan from inside of her bedroom. The first time, he’d wondered if she had seen him before he had walked away and was simply calling for him. He was in utter disbelief that she would be fantasizing over him to begin with, because why on Earth would she? Eddie did ponder the notion that it could be another Eddie, but did she even know anyone else with that name? His mind turned over every conceivable reason, but y/n did not stop saying the name. Eddie forced himself to walk back to her door, peeking in to see what she was doing. What he saw caused his breath to catch in his throat, and his gaze was immediately glued only to her.

The blanket was down a little further, barely covering y/n’s lower half. Her fingers were working faster, and Eddie could tell from the placement of her hand that she was most likely rubbing her clit with her middle finger. The arm that was previously above her head was now grabbing at her throat, rubbing her neck before dipping inside of her shirt to grab her breast. Her back arched and her eyes squeezed shut, and she cried out as she began pulling on her nipple. The hand below the blanket slid down further as she toyed with her breast, and she gasped loudly at the sensation. A filthy string of moans escaped her, and Eddie could only assume that she was fingering herself at this point due to her new hand placement.

Eddie could feel blood rushing to his cock, and he stood rooted in place as he continued to watch. He felt like some sort of disgusting creep, and he didn’t know how he could look her in the eye ever again. At the moment, however, the most rational part of his brain had gone out the window. His jeans were growing tighter by the second due to everything she was doing to herself in there, and his mind was now clouded with lustful judgment. Every stroke of her fingers, every pinch of her nipple, every sound she made, it was driving him absolutely wild. He didn’t think he could ever be more attracted to her, but this whole situation was proving him completely wrong.

“Eddie,” she breathed, her eyes still closed as she massaged her breast. Eddie could see her rolling the hardened bud of her nipple between her fingers, and her head snapped back as she fucked herself even deeper and more rapidly. Her breath quickened, and a lazy smile formed on her lips as she mewled. “Eddie, fuck…”

y/n’s hand shifted to the opposite breast, and he noticed the hitch of her breath when she made contact. Her legs were shaking under the blanket, and her back lifted slightly from the mattress once more. Her hand moved upward after a few minutes, rubbing quick circles on her clit as she began to grow louder & more desperate in volume. It was the hottest fucking thing that Eddie had ever seen, and he felt so dirty for even thinking it. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, and yet there he stood, spying on his best friend while she had a personal moment. It felt like such a violation, but his goddamn never-ending curiosity had forced him to remain there. Not only did he want to watch her masturbate to him, but he had a nagging desire to know what she was thinking. What had gotten her so worked up in the first place? What was she fantasizing about at the moment that had turned her on so much, that she had to get herself off to it? The line he was walking with the whole circumstances was a fine, risky one, but the painful erection he had was demanding he stay until she finished. After that, maybe he could–

No. No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t make himself known and tell her that he’d heard everything. Jesus jumping Christ, what was wrong with him? If he wanted to potentially damage the friendship beyond repair, then of course he could go in there and reveal what he’d done. While the only remaining shred of sense he had was telling him that it was a stupid idea, the horny part of him needed it to happen the other way. Fuck, he wanted her so badly that he ached, and if she rejected him or never spoke to him again, then he would absolutely deserve it. But she was moaning his name; something told him that, while she may be surprised, she would most likely welcome him. Either way, he was prepared, and with a shaky sigh, he turned his full attention back to her.

“Mmm,” she hummed, her mewls turning more heated as her breathing grew heavier. Her hands worked fast, the quickest that Eddie had seen them so far. “Shit, you feel so fucking good.”

Eddie was unable to stop the grin that formed on his face. He could tell that she was close, and sure enough, it didn’t take her long to cum. The sounds she made as she reached her orgasm were like music to Eddie’s ears, and his cock throbbed in his pants because of it. His name fell repeatedly from her lips, her face twisted in ecstasy as she arched her back, her legs pushing the thin covering further down to expose her mound. Eddie bit the corner of his lip, unzipping his fly to alleviate some of the pressure on his erection. He watched as she came down from her high, blissed out with sweat shining on her skin, her nipples still erect beneath her shirt. Her hands came into view from where they’d been, and Eddie could see the fingers that she’d used on her pussy were glistening. Eddie knew, right then and there, that he was beyond fucked. How could he not go in there, after seeing that? He was ready for anything–rejection, acceptance, anger, surprise, whatever may come. If he didn’t work up the nerve now, after everything that he’d just seen, then he never would. He knew himself well enough to know that much.

Taking a deep breath and shelving his nerves, Eddie gave y/n a few minutes to regain herself, and then stepped inside of her room.

________________________

itty bitty taglist: @littledemondani @korescomaactuallyaactually @rriverrgrace @dumpsterfireoflove

#im nervous about this one OOP #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine

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withleeknow · 3 months

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wishful thinking. (05)

chapter five: say what you mean

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; mentions of sex, kissing, we’re starting to dip our toes into angsty territory !!, less edited than i’d like but what’s new lol word count: 2.8k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip, just so I can adore you I want the entire street out of town just so I can be alone with you Now go when you’re ready My head’s getting heavy, pressed against your arm Just to adore you, I adore you

Adore - Dean Lewis

Whenever Minho asks if you two could hang out together at your place, it usually means that you will end up in your bed.

Tonight you suppose is no different.

Even though you often cap off the night having engaged in activities that could make the Victorian lady in Hyunjin faint, it’s not all that you do. Both you and Minho never let yourselves forget that you’re friends first and foremost. Sex is the added benefit that should never take anything away from your friendship. He is still one of the people you’re most comfortable with, one of the few people whose company you enjoy.

You’re sprawled out on the couch in your small living room when Minho returns from the kitchen with a plate of freshly peeled tangerines, the same ones that he brought over earlier. You push yourself to half-sit up so he could squeeze himself between you and the armrest, before you go back to laying your head on his lap as you two resume watching a bad movie that you put on.

“I hate this so much,” you comment, your eyes glued to the TV screen.

“You picked the movie,” Minho says. “It’s not that bad. The plot is kind of decent.”

“I’m not talking about that. Jeez, if they wanted to make a movie where the main character is a graphic designer, you’d think that they would at least consult someone who knows literally anything about visual art. Look at that horrendous typography job, the text isn’t even aligned with the edges and corners. This is hurting my soul.”

Your cushions (Minho’s thighs) shake lightly as he laughs at your dramatic outburst over something as trivial as a fictional character’s poor standards of digital art. But you really aren’t kidding; the way the woman on screen is butchering the text alignment is quite literally making that very particular part of your brain want to shut down for the next five to seven business days.

“They should’ve consulted you first, is that right?” Minho asks.

“They really should have. I could’ve done wonders for them,” you say matter-of-factly. “I almost majored in graphic design, y’know.”

You have a habit of biting your tongue around others because you know that people don’t really care about the same things you do. Whenever the opportunity arises for you to share tidbits about your interests, excitement would tumble out of you only to be quashed soon after when no one wants to listen to your silly little rambles. It’s disheartening, you’re used to it.

But you never feel that way around Minho. He always lets you babble on about anything and everything, even if he might not know what the hell you’re talking about. He indulges you. He never makes you feel neglected or ignored.

“Hmm, my little genius artist.” He taps your cheek once, and when you turn your head to glance at him, he tells you to open up before he slips a slice of tangerine past your lips. “You’re right. Even I can tell that it’s horrendous.”

You hum appreciatively when the sweetness of the juicy fruit floods your tastebuds. Minho’s hand trails down your arm to rest on your stomach, just below your ribs where he fiddles with the worn fabric of your sleep shirt. If he moves his hand up, he would be grazing your bare chest underneath your shirt. You didn’t bother with a bra because, well, comfort above all else, especially within the four walls of your own home. Besides, it’s nothing that Minho hasn’t seen anyway.

He keeps on feeding you tangerines in between your complaints about bad design standards until the movie ends and the plate is cleared. The only sound in the room is the soft music on the TV as the credits start to roll.

You turn to lie on your back, staring up at Minho. “That was deeply disturbing.”

“You chose it,” he reminds you. “You went in knowing what the premise was.”

“Yeah, I have no one to blame but me. I had too much faith in humanity.”

“And you call me weird.”

“You are weird,” you say. “But I like weird.”

Minho looks down at you and for a moment, he says nothing. His fingers trace something on your stomach. A heart or an odd circle, you don’t know; you’re always bad at deciphering those. His eyelids fall a bit, softening the usual sharpness of his gaze.

Then he’s pulling you by your shoulders, guiding you to sit up and before you know it, you’re situated on his lap with one of his hands on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. Minho tugs you closer, meeting your lips in a kiss in which you waste no time returning.

He’s sweet, like the tangerines that you were sharing all evening. It tends to start like this - sort of randomly, whenever it feels right. He squeezes your side in a comforting gesture as his tongue slips into your mouth. There are times where it’s more urgent, where one of you is needy and desperately seeks the escape and release that can only be found in the other’s embrace. Other times, it’s slower, more gentle, where you can really focus on making each other feel fully satiated.

This, right now - you would pinpoint somewhere in the middle. There’s no fiery clothes-ripping urge, nor a need to lay the other person bare and knead every single knot of stress from their system. Today, there’s just languid wanting; an unhurried inclination to be close.

Him and his tangerine flavored kiss, you and your resolve built on shaky foundation.

You start rolling your hips over his, tugging on his shirt because you want to feel his skin against yours. Minho stops you though; he puts both hands on your hips and pulls his lips away from yours. You blink, dazed, confused.

“I...” he starts, trying to even out his breathing as he finds the words. “I don’t want to have sex tonight.”

Embarrassment instantly washes over you. The rejection is a little humiliating; it’s the first time you’ve ever felt like this around him. Your cheeks catch fire from the mortification, and you’re very aware that you’re still sitting in his lap, right over his crotch.

Wanting to climb off of him and just fucking bury yourself in a ditch, you start stuttering like an absolute fool, “Oh... Y-yeah, no, of course! Shit, shit, I’m sorry. Of course we don’t have t-”

Minho holds you in place, one of the hands on your hips goes to cup your cheek to make you look at him. It effectively shuts you right up.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” he says, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in an earnest apology. “I just want to keep kissing you. Is that okay?”

You’re at a loss for words. He’s holding your face, your waist, so delicately. He looks drunk on your presence alone even though neither of you have had a single drop of alcohol tonight, so sincere in his simple request that you feel your heart swell tenfold.

You want it too. You’re more than okay with just kissing him.

You don’t answer him verbally. Instead, you just nod and move to kiss him again, your hands tangled in his soft hair. The sweetness of the tangerines grows more and more distant as you chase his lips, but you can taste his smile. It’s infinitely more saccharine, and it only grows sweeter when he holds you close and knocks the breath out of you.

When you pull away for air, you slump against him, hiding your face in the crook of his face, shy all of a sudden. He keeps you there but continues with his onslaught of kisses - on your hair, your cheek, your neck, anywhere his lips can reach. Like he simply can’t get enough of you.

“You really like kissing,” you comment, giggling quietly as you do. “Even when we… y’know, bone.”

“Bone? You’re so romantic, babe.” You feel the rumbles of Minho’s chest as he lets out a hearty laugh, the sound of which fills the space of your modest home, embeds itself in every nook and crevice, in between every minuscule crack in your walls until the whole place feels warmer, brighter somehow. “Are you complaining?”

“No... just pointing it out.”

“Well, I like kissing you,” he says. “You’re not a terrible kisser, I guess.”

You sit up straighter and catch the teasing grin on his face before you roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks. You really know how to sweet talk a girl.”

“Says the girl who uses ‘bone’ to describe sex.”

“It’s a perfectly good euphemism for ‘sex’.”

“You might as well just say ‘boink’.”

“Literally shut up.”

“Sure.”

Then he’s pressing his mischievous smile against your mouth once more, and you can’t really wrap your mind around how it’s even possible that he keeps getting sweeter and sweeter. His sugary kisses send warmth tingling up your spine, make a fluttery sensation erupt in your stomach. You’re lightheaded, and not the kind that can be remedied by a sufficient fix of blood oxygen.

Even though you’re perfectly content with kissing, there’s a certain implication that comes with only kissing that you’re not sure what to do with. He’s literally inside of you on a weekly basis and yet, this feels much more intimate than anything you two have ever done.

Because friends don’t kiss each other the way he’s kissing you right now. Friends don’t kiss each other the way you’re kissing him back.

A chime from your phone breaks you two apart, the intrusion forcing a mildly frustrated grunt from Minho. You find the mobile device hidden between the cushions of your couch, and after you quickly scan the notification on the screen, you tell him, “It’s Hyunjin.”

“What did I say? It’s always him at the scene of the crime,” Minho mutters, speaking in the same tone that one would when their sibling interrupts a round of their favorite video game. “What does he want?”

“Just wants me to send him a photo of the sample portfolio from our class.”

“Ignore him. He can wait.”

“He’ll call me if I don’t reply.”

“He’s so annoying,” Minho grumbles but loosens his hold on you nonetheless. “Hurry back.”

“It’ll only take a minute, you big baby,” you chuckle, pressing a swift peck to his lips before you get up from the couch and head toward your bedroom with your phone in hand, searching for the binder that Hyunjin is asking about.

Once you’ve snapped the picture and sent it to your friend, you return to the living room. When Minho hears your footsteps, he holds out an arm, silently beckoning you into his embrace again. And you do. You slide into the space next to him, slotting perfectly against his side.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace along his forearm until they reach his wrist. “This is pretty,” you say, touching the thin link bracelet that he always wears, the one with a small charm hanging off the center in the simple outline of a dove.

“You like it? I’ve had it for ages.”

“Mhmm, it suits you.”

A moment passes where you both sit in silence as you fiddle with the gold jewelry, and you can feel Minho’s eyes on your face the entire time. After a while, he pries your fingers off his skin, only to swiftly take off the trinket.

“No, Min. What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer you. You attempt (in vain) to pull your wrist back but Minho is stronger. He holds it in place as he clasps the chain around your wrist.

“Minho, you are not giving me your bracelet.”

“Relax. It’s not like it was passed down from my great-great-grandfather. It’s just a random bracelet I bought when I was 18.”

“Why would you even give me your bracelet?”

He shrugs, as though he’s merely doing something as simple as letting you borrow you a pen. “It looks good on you.”

You look down to where his hand is still on your skin, his thumb gently sliding over your pulse point as he admires how the dainty gold reflects the dim lighting in your home.

And he’s right. It does look good, but he probably doesn’t mean it in the same way that you’re thinking of right now. You think it looks good because it’s something that belongs to him that’s now wrapped snugly around your wrist, like some sort of affirmation spoken in a language that only the two of you can understand.

Minho leans over and presses his warm lips to your forehead. It takes you by surprise, the way he does it as if it’s second nature to be this affectionate with you. It’s a tipping point, then suddenly your thoughts are running rampant.

The instruction has always been plain and simple: No strings attached.

But...

The chaste kisses with no expectation of sex, being protective when you’re in the presence of other guys, even giving you his bracelet to wear just because you said it was pretty.

Why do all of these sound an awful lot like strings?

You hesitate, then you ask, “What are we doing?”

“Hmm? You wanna watch another movie?”

“No, that’s not... What are we doing?” You don’t even know what word to put more emphasis on.

Minho looks at you and loosens his fingers. What he can’t understand through your words, you think he sees it in your eyes. “Say what you mean.”

“Are we friends?”

“Of course we are.”

“Are we still friends?”

“Do you not want to be friends anymore?” He cracks a smile, but you can tell that he’s just doing it to lighten you up. “You have terrible timing. I literally just gave you a bracelet.”

“Friends don’t do that.”

“Friends don’t give each other bracelets?”

“Friends don’t kiss like that.”

Minho seems a bit taken aback, though he regains his composure in mere seconds, his voice calm as he tells you, “Friends don’t have sex either.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. What are you saying? You brought it up.”

You open your mouth, only to subsequently close it because your thoughts were never really that coherent in the first place. You look away from him to glance down at your wrist.

“You’re being confusing,” Minho says quietly, honestly.

“I just… I don’t want anything to change.”

“Did anything change for you?” he asks.

“No,” is what you tell him after a long minute, when what you really mean to say is I don’t know. You can see it as it happens, some stars fading from his eyes, some light growing more faint in his irises. Though the despondence on his face disappears so fast that you’re not sure if it was even there at all, or if it was only a figment of your imagination.

Then you throw the question back at him. “Did anything change? For you?”

Minho’s answer is the same as yours - a clear No - and yet, it makes you feel like you’ve been punctured by something sharp. You don’t know why your heart drops upon hearing him say the exact same thing that you did, but you try not to let it show on your face. Your poker face isn’t anywhere as good as his, but you hope that it’s enough.

You give him a tight-lipped smile and nod a little.

“Then nothing’s changed.” He strokes your hair, emphasizing his point with a soft smile as he reassures you, “And nothing has to change. It’s a bracelet, don’t overthink it. We’re good.”

Sometimes, the decisions you make are bad because you can foresee the outcomes, or at least, you have an idea of the consequences will be later on and yet, you still choose to go through with it anyway.

Just like how you chose to watch a movie you knew would drive you crazy with its trivial details, you choose to accept the feeling of Minho’s bracelet around your wrist. You choose to believe him when he said nothing has changed, and that nothing has to change. You choose to sweep under the rug the thoughts that you’ve been having about him lately. You choose to overlook the reason why you’ve been having those thoughts instead of facing it head-on because you’re terrified of what you’d find if you dig deeper.

You choose to let the conversation end here though it still lingers in your mind, and you choose to let him kiss you goodnight when he leaves because tonight has already been a series of bad decision after bad decision anyway.

And when you fall asleep, it’s the soothing coolness of the golden dove against your skin that lulls you to slumber, like he’s here right beside you to hold you through the night.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom (italicized = can’t tag)

series taglist: @eyesforlino @armystay89 @nuronhe @becomingmina @astro-doll-the-star @hyuneyeon @jisunglyricist @yoontaethings @thisisnotjacinta @cupidcure @wyzminho

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uglypastels · 1 year

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Caught Me Slippin' | escort!eddie au

(a/n) yes, this fic is based on the Kiss Quotient, and, therefore also Pretty Woman. Thanks to everyone who voted on the poll for me to work on this fic. I had a lot of fun with it! So, even though its a bit all over the place, haha, I hope you still like it.

If you want to see more of this fic, please send an ask and we can chat about it but Do Not Ask For Part 2. This is a One Shot.

Summary: [modern!au] feeling insecure about your skills in bed, you decide to find someone who could help you learn. Except, when the guy actually shows up, a mistake seems to have occurred. Fortunately, you're both quite adaptable (or, at least, you try to be), and the night quickly takes off into unexpected territories.

Word count: 13.2k

Warnings: SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. dual POV. rich!female!reader. shorter than Eddie. self-consciousness. slight miscommunication - quickly resolved. swearing. drinking. awkwardness. [mention of infidelity, side characters]. non-monogamous relationship. smut. male sex work (obviously). slight dom! Eddie. inexperienced!reader. mentions of bdsm- bondage, sadomasochism. nipple piercings. nipple play. fingering. oral (f receiving). light pussy slapping. Eddie has an innocence kink. I'm probably not representing sex work 100% accurately, but this is [fan]fiction. You should always take it with a grain of salt. + apparently, kind of angsty, idk i guess I'm dead inside.

if you think I'm missing any warnings, please let me know, and I'll add them. if you do not like the sound of any of these- then this is not for you. do not read.

All the errors left unlearned, oh

But I am the luckiest guy

Not the loneliest guy in the world

- David Bowie, The Loneliest Guy

What the hell were you doing?

Sitting at a bar, which was mistake number two. One of many, for that matter. The third was ordering a drink you knew you wouldn’t drink but had picked when panic swooped over you as the bartender walked up. The red liquid looked quite pretty, but you could smell the alcohol the second the girl put the glass in front of you. An attempt at a sip was made, and you brought it to your lips, but the bitterness overwhelmed you.

There was one thing you had gotten right, and that was at least picking a bar that wasn’t crowded. The music played at just the right volume, and people kept to themselves, to their booths and their tables. You tried to let your mind wander off, not to overthink– that would only cause more anxiety– but it always went back to what the people around you were talking about. You never meant to be nosy, and you never butted in… but it was entertaining what random strangers had to say to each other.

— You’re shitting me.

— No, I’m serious. Sarah told me herself. She walked in, and there he was, fucking their pool boy.

The table behind you erupted in a chorus of gasps.

— Poor Sarah, though.

— Yeah, well, she had been sleeping with her yoga instructor.

How were people so comfortable talking about such things in public? Where everyone could listen in? You almost felt bad for this Sarah that her complicated marriage was being shared with the entirety of this small bar, surely then retold all across the city.

You glanced around you, side to side. The bar counter was quite long, with enough space for eight barstools to stand next to each other. Besides yours, four more were occupied. Having opted for the last chair, you were worried about someone sitting on one of your neighbouring chairs, but luck had been in your favour.

That is, until he showed up.

Your first, and probably, the biggest mistake that you made that night.

♤

From the second that Eddie sat down beside her, he could tell something was wrong. He always could with such things. As well as assume what might have been the cause of the problem.

Her eyes widened, nearly doubled in size, as he sat down next to her. He couldn’t have made a mistake; she had sent what she would look like and be wearing, and the description was accurate. She should have known what Eddie would look like as well; that’s basically what the whole selection was based on, look, and yet… the way she stared at him… he had the urge to wave his hand in front of her to make sure she wasn’t going into shock.

‘Hey,’ instead, he opted for a kind smile as he leaned against the bar, asking for a quick confirmation of her name, and took a moment to take her in properly while she defrosted and returned to reality. She was cute, to his surprise, definitely not the type he would usually be coming across these nights. Pretty and young, but mostly, shy. The bar was definitely not in her comfort zone, and he had picked up on that the second he noticed het sitting there, back stiff in nerves, drink untouched except for the little straw she stirred around in circles mindlessly. At first, he thought, maybe it’s all an act. The shy and naive girl next door, he was into it, but no. Now he knew better; she was terrified.

A few seconds later, when his eyes moved back up to her face, she spoke her first words.

‘Who are you?’

♤

There had been a mistake. There must have been. Whoever the guy sitting next to you was, he was not the guy you had paid for.

Jesus that sounded so stupid. How could you have been so dumb thinking it was a good idea to hire a guy for the night. As if that would make you feel better, make all your problems disappear.

The man blinked in confusion. Your reaction had clearly been a surprise. As he stumbled over his words, you took him in quickly.

Long brown hair fell over his shoulders in messy waves. He had layered up, but not for practicality. You couldn’t see how the leather jacket or the denim vest over a thin t-shirt would help him against the evening cold, not to mention his ribbed jeans. Overall he looked like he had been directly cut out of an 80s rock magazine. Sure, some women must be into that kind of look; you couldn’t even deny he was pretty attractive, but it was not what you had wanted. Not for now. You needed something simple. Comfortable. Easy.

Those large rings and metal chains were most definitely not comfortable. Or simple. Or easy.

Oh god.

♤

‘I’m Eddie,’ he stated, hoping it would clear something up, but her confused stare didn’t falter. ‘Didn’t you book…’ Eddie knew all the people around him were poking their noses into everyone’s business, so he tried to pick his words wisely, ‘... the appointment?’ Fuck, did he walk up to the wrong girl? He knew it would have been too good to be true to get an actual girl his age. People always lied on these forms. He was ready to apologise and walk away, but she answered.

‘I did.’ Her eyes wavered again over him. ‘But not you. There must have been some kind of mistake, I–’

‘Is everything good here?’ The bartender walked up, towel across her shoulder, her piercing blue eyes digging right through Eddie. Her question had been directed at the girl, and she nodded quickly.

‘All good, just a little misunderstanding.’

‘Alright then,’ The bartender sent Eddie another suspicious look before heading to the other side of the counter to take another order. This was fucking fantastic. Yeah, just great.

♤

‘Ok, so who did you think you were meeting?’ Eddie asked when the woman behind the bar walked away, slightly backing away from you, letting his shoulders fall.

You tried to remember the name of the guy who caught your attention last evening. Would the name mean anything to Eddie? You didn’t expect all these guys to hang around together...

‘Shit, yeah, ok, that makes sense.’ You could see all the puzzle pieces coming together behind his eyes. ‘He’s out on a date tonight as well. They must have sent us each other’s… wait,’ he quickly grabbed his phone.

♤

Eddie searched through his emails. It didn’t take long to ignore the few spam messages he had gotten since this morning. And there it was. The booking confirmation he had received. Having gotten them so often, he had read it on autopilot, not even realising that his own name was missing. All he had needed, he thought, was his client’s information. But there it was, literally the first two words of the email: Dear Steve…

Oh, the office would have a field day with this.

But some of him also could not wait to ask Steve how his date went.

♤

‘Yeah, they fucked it up,’ after a few seconds, Eddie had turned his phone around to show you an email. Even though you only needed the first two words to understand the mistake that occurred, you took the time to read as much of it as possible to make sure it was real. From what you could tell, it seemed legit. Just what business operated solemnly through emails… and apparently, not even automated ones.

‘I’m really sorry for the inconvenience,’ Eddie apologised as he pulled his phone back and placed it into his pocket. ‘I can call the office and get you a refund. I promise you that this is usually nothing of the standard we usually operate at.’ You appreciated his professionalism. Despite never thinking you were that judgemental, perhaps you had actually judged him a bit too harshly at first glance. And he was quite attractive…

‘No, wait,’ you stopped him before he could dial the number of his boss, or whoever was in charge. ‘Uhm… did your… friend… send you something? About his date?’ Steve was now, of course, also on the wrong job. Eddie looked up at you for a second, before glancing down again at his phone to check his notifications.

‘No, haven’t heard anything from him. I guess the other person didn’t seem to care which one of us they got.’ he chuckled, which surprised you. Did other people not care about who they slept with? You get to pick a person for a reason, don’t you?

‘I don’t need a refund.’ You stated after a short moment. Eddie glanced up once more.

‘Are you sure? It’s a lot of money–’

‘No, I mean, I would like to continue the night… with you.’ This was, for sure, getting out of your comfort zone, right? Being adventurous, getting a life, all that shit your friends nagged you about for years. Eddie smiled with the corner of his mouth.

‘Alright then, would you like to get out of here?’

‘Yes, please,’ you let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, the volume in the space picked up quite a lot as more people entered, drowning out your conversation, but it was getting a bit too much for you. ‘Just… one minute.’ you stood up, heading to the bathroom, but Eddie called your attention for one more second.

‘You forgot your purse.’ he looked down at the ground where your bag was lying. You gave him an awkward smile and picked it up before making your way to the back of the bar.

Closing the stall door behind you, you wished for some decent internet; thankfully, it wasn’t the worst. You didn’t bother trying to be quick about it. There was no doubt in your mind that he knew you were looking him up online. With shaking hands, you typed in the name of the agency where you had found Steve. They had a list of all their “models”, as they nicely labelled them, and you scrolled through them. There was the guy you had planned on spending the night with. You had picked him because he looked sweet, and hot, obviously, but with enough cockiness thrown in the mix to tell you he knew what he was doing. And the little sales pitch the website had written up for him to sell the fantasy worked well. You didn’t bother rereading it now, but it was something to do with “the sweet jock that knows how to take care of his girl”. It was extremely cheesy, you were more than aware of that, but cheesy was good. It was safe.

Your friends would have probably laughed at you.

They probably would have picked out a guy like Eddie.

Speaking of the guy waiting for you at the bar, you found his profile. First thing first, the picture. That was definitely him; you recognised the unruly dark hair and brown eyes. He had several photos posted in his profile, like most of the men on the website, and they were of semi-professional quality: self-taken, but with a very nice camera and lighting. He had put effort into his presentation. First, there was the portrait, showing his handsome face, shirtless but cropped to the shoulder, revealing enough of the silver chain around his neck but not showing what was actually hanging off it.

The following picture was a full-body pose, with clothes on that were not significantly different from the ones he was wearing now. No denim vest, but a different leather jacket on top of a black shirt. Dark denim jeans with a belt, buckled by what looked like to be steel handcuffs… had he been wearing that tonight as well?

Your throat tightened up as you swiped to the next post, which was, of course, the obligatory nude. All the “models” had to have them, since that was basically what people paid for. If it wasn’t for the fact that the site saw itself as one of the “classier” agencies out there, the naked pictures would have been the only ones available. You, for one, appreciated the variety.

Eddie was posed on a bed, on his knees. With one hand in his hair, and the other over his thigh, he didn’t leave anything to the imagination. Despite not even looking at the camera, the smug smile on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing. He got you looking, and he knew you liked it. Yet, what you couldn’t stop looking at were the tattoos that covered his pale skin. Dozens of them, at least, varying in size and style, covering most of his arms, upper legs, ribs…

You scrolled on, remembering he was still waiting for you outside, but the next picture didn’t make anything better.

It had been a session shot. You had stumbled across similar ones on your initial look at the website. The men posing out the act of some kind of intercourse. Different positions, different actions, whatever described their style in the profession. For Eddie, that included the shot of a naked woman in bed, the same bed in which he had taken the previous picture. Her limbs were spread apart, tied to the bed corners. Her eyes were covered with a black and white bandana, and the rest of the features tightened in bliss as Eddie was positioned between her legs. His mouth was right at her core. If that wasn’t enough, he had put some props up on display next to the woman; some extra handcuffs, a vibrator and what you assumed to be a flogger.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

♤

She returned after a few minutes, and Eddie could immediately tell his assumption was right. The poor thing couldn’t look him in the face. She sat back down on the barstool, holding onto her purse, lip between her teeth and eyes on anything but him. Yeah, she had looked him up.

In all honesty, he thought it was a good thing. He didn’t care for people who didn’t do their research into things. Saying that, as quite a spontaneous person, you couldn’t jump into things head first all the time. Sometimes, it was important to test the waters. Make sure there were no sharks swimming around.

‘I paid for your drink,’ Eddie remembered. She looked at him, stunned.

‘Oh, you really didn’t have to.’ Did she seem apologetic?

‘Please, its the least I can do, for, you know, being the wrong guy and all.’ He smiled, hoping she would return the favour. The corner of her mouth curved up the smallest amount, still quite unsure of the situation.

‘Really, I–’ she was ready to get her wallet, most likely pay him back, but Eddie stopped her by placing his hand over hers. That made her freeze, look back up at him. Eddie felt two pairs of eyes on him. Hers, and the bartender behind him, most definitely reassessing the whole situation. Everything about this evening was going to shit. He could probably wave his perfect 5-star rating goodbye, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but he for sure as hell was not going to get put on any registers tonight. However, trying to seduce a stranger into bed with him when he is so clearly not the type for this girl… why was he even trying so hard?

He didn’t like using the term “vanilla”, it got too much of a bad rep, but that is what she seemed to be. Her clothes weren’t flashy, not even considering for “outgoing”. She wasn’t the type to go out and hook up, let alone get an escort. He wasn’t surprised she had decided to go for a guy like Steve. But Steve wasn’t here; Eddie was. He now had the job of taking care of this girl in any way she wanted him to.

‘Ok, shall we?’ She took a deep breath as she got up.

‘Are you–’ maybe they should talk about this? He didn’t want her to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with.

‘C’mon,’ next thing he knew, she grabbed Eddie by the wrist and whisked him off the barstool, dragging him along outside. It was early in the year, but late in the evening. The air was crispy, and the wind blew harshly. Eddie had definitely not dressed warm enough for the night, but that would have been an understatement for her. She would freeze in a few minutes.

‘I got a room in the hotel just across the corner,’ she spoke, rather determined. Some people might have mistaken it for confidence, but Eddie saw the other signs. Her clenched jaw, her consistent avoidance of eye contact… she was putting on a brave face. And that’s how people get into situations they don’t want to be in.

If it had been warmer, he would have stopped them on the street, but he had to get her out of the cold, so he let the girl drag him across the sidewalk to the hotel's entrance. It was big. The warm lighting reflecting off of all the decor, giving it a golden glow.

She did not stop walking until they reached the elevator. She clicked the button, and the arrow above the doors pointed down. The numbers slowly descended from 14.

‘I know you looked me up.’ Eddie started, having no idea how to introduce the topic fluently.

‘Ok.’ She was biting her lip nervously.

‘So I know you know what my usual gig is.’ They both watched the numbers go down. 7… 6…

‘So we’re on the same page.’ She glanced up at him; he could see it in the reflection of the metal doors.

‘I don’t think we are.’ The elevator pinged open as Eddie said so. They walked inside.

‘What do you mean?’ She finally looked him in the eye, only momentarily, but he saw that some of her fear slowly faded as she pressed the button to her floor. 15.

‘That, yes, I usually am pretty rough with my clients,’ he couldn’t hide the smile on his face, but could anyone blame him? He enjoyed his work. ‘But that’s because they want me to be rough.’ He looked at her intensely. Not to intimidate her, but to show her the seriousness of his words. ‘I don’t do anything that you don’t want me to do. You paid for an evening with… well, not me, but it’s all the same. If you get your money’s worth from a good pounding, I’m more than happy to oblige. From cuddling and watching a movie? All fine by me.’

♤

It’s all the same.

But it wasn’t, was it? They weren’t all the same.

‘What about you?’ you asked just as the elevator opened on your floor. Eddie let you walk through first. Now, you couldn’t look away from him, letting your head almost spin around a whole 360 to get your glance at him.

‘What about me?’ He had his hands in his pockets. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be anything scary about him. His hair was soft. His jacket, while not exactly winter-weather proof, looked cozy. The patches on his vest were hand sawn. With an image of him sitting at home, sewing them on, one by one, you got a sudden urge to ask about them, but who did that? Surely, in your situation, questions like that were out of bounds.

‘What do you like?’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ he chuckled, which confused you.

‘Doesn’t it? I might not be the most knowledgeable about the whole sex thing, but… shouldn’t both people involved be getting off? Doesn’t that make it better?’ You had reached your door. Weirdly, from having focused on the conversation as you walked, you didn’t feel any nerves unlocking the door. The room was dark, and you switched the light on. The nerves still didn’t bubble up. You could do it.

‘I suppose so– wait, you’re not a virgin, are you?’

You shook your head no.

‘Ok. not that there is anything wrong with that. Everyone’s living life at their own pace, I just don’t feel comfortable with that kind of responsibility. No one’s first time should be with….’

‘A professional?’ you raised your eyebrow, suggesting a possibly more classy term for what he wanted to say.

‘Nice.’ He smiled, and made his way over to the bed. You watched him get comfortable on the edge as you took off your light jacket. Your arms were freezing from the cold air outside, but the hotel room was cosy. Not to mention, the nerves were heating you up once more by the second. This was it. Eddie spread his legs wide, almost calling for your eyes to look at his thighs and how they stretched the material of the jeans.

When your eyes moved back up to his face, you were terrified to see that he was staring right back at you, devouring you with his gaze. He definitely saw you checking him out. But it was becoming harder to concentrate when you looked at how his large hand grazed over the faint stubble on his face.

‘C’mere,’ he said with a nod, and thoughtlessly, you followed his order. Eddie took you by both hands once you were close enough and placed them on his shoulders, then let his hands settle on your waist. His eyes found yours for a quick check. When you gave him the green light with a smile, he immediately mirrored it and asked: ‘what were your plans for this magical evening?’ He briefly tightened his grip on you and kept moving his hands up and down lightly as you tried to respond. As if that wasn’t hard enough with his eyes staring deep into you.

‘No, uhm, nothing special.’ You didn’t need special. Special meany complicated, and you just needed someone to help you out with the basics.

‘Making it special is kind of my one job, you know,’ he pulled you in for a hug so that his face was only a few inches away from your stomach. His arms now enveloped your frame, hands comfortably positioned over your ass. A complete stranger was hiking up the hem of your shirt, touching your bare skin underneath it. ‘So, what is it that you want?’ When he pulled up enough of your shirt to actually reveal the skin underneath, he placed a soft kiss on your side. That feeling alone felt electric. He kept on leaving fluttering kisses over your middle. It was a strange sensation as well as a pleasing one. So simple, and yet it had a great effect that you couldn’t quite explain.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to concentrate on Eddie’s question as his kisses continued. What did you want from this night? But should you tell him the complete truth? Wasn’t there some way to avoid the embarrassing details? Then again… how could he ever help you with your needs if he didn’t know what they were?

‘I want…’ you gasped lightly when his teeth grazed your skin. For some reason, that pushed you over the edge to just put everything you worried about out there. You were already here, in this hotel room, with him. Fuck it.

♤

‘I want you to help me be good at sex.’

Eddie didn’t mean to stop. He saw in her reaction that that had been the wrong thing to do. She must have seen his widened eyes and taken it for judgement, while really, it had just been a small surprise. He wasn’t exactly used to people asking him to teach them how to have sex.

‘Sorry, uhm, nevermind. Just ignore me.’ She scratched at her neck while looking away. That won’t do. Eddie had to fix this before they would do anything else.

‘No, wait. Let’s… let’s talk this through for a moment.’ He led her by the hand and let her sit on the bed next to him. ‘Get comfortable. Is there anything in the minibar?’ he noticed the small fridge in the closet across the room and hoped she would understand his question to ask permission to use the service provided in the room.

‘Go ahead, take anything you want.’

‘Living large, are we?’ He cocked his brow before making his way over to the minibar. The selection of drinks was quite understated for a place like they were in. two cheap beers, a small bottle of champagne and two sodas. From what he had gathered at the bar, she didn’t seem to be a big drinker, so he grabbed a beer and a soda can. ‘Here.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ She didn’t look up at him as she took the can from him. Fuck, what was she embarrassed for? He doubted she would speak up in the conversation by herself, so just started out with a question. ‘Why do you think you need help with sex?’ She said she wasn’t a virgin, so she’s had experience. With a glance at her hands, he saw no ring or sign of regular wear of one. That, of course, didn’t exclude the option of a boyfriend or a partner. Maybe even a guy she just wanted to impress. The possibilities were endless, and for some strange reason, at the thought of her having sex with someone else, a strange feeling started gnawing at Eddie’s guts.

‘Because I’ve had sex a few times and so far it’s been awful.’ She sighed. ‘But I know that, to get better at it, I would have to go and endure endless dates to find a guy who would want to sleep with me, but then what if I do meet a great guy but just put him off because I’m shit in the sack?’

‘Don’t you believe that, if you did really find the right guy, he would help you? Or not even mind your alleged lack of skills “in the sack”?’ Eddie asked, taking a sip of beer. She just looked at him with a look that told him everything. Right. Men are egoistic scum. She had a point.

‘Sorry, you must think I’m insane.’ She tapped on the top of the can. The metal ticking sounded hollow in the quiet room.

‘I really don’t.’ If it wasn’t for the fact that he had a moral spine, he would have happily told her about some of his other clients.

‘Yeah, but I’m just wasting your time talking your ears off with absolute nonsense,’ she tried to laugh at it, lessen the tension.

Eddie leaned over the bed on his elbow. ‘Don’t you know that escorts are the new therapists?’

‘Wasn’t that bartenders?’

‘I brought you your drink, didn’t I? Call it a 2-for-1 combo deal.’ He put his beer in the air for a toast and took another sip. ‘And I was serious earlier. You already paid for the whole night, so I’m all yours, sweetheart’ He hoped that didn’t sound dismissive. The last thing he wanted to do (again) was to upset or offend this girl, who genuinely looked and seemed amazing. The idea of her not being able to find someone for herself, having to go down the process of finding someone like him to make her feel good…

‘Are all the guys at your agency this nice?’ she looked up from the lip of her can, bringing his mind back into the room.

‘No, Steve is a giant dick,’ Eddie laughed.

‘Right, while you have one,’ she teased.

‘Ha. Funny.’ He pointed at her in appreciation before taking a sip of the beer. ‘But I suppose you’re not wrong.’ She had seen his pictures; she knew what he had in stock. He wondered what she thought of it– sure, she might not have been ready for his regular repertoire, but that didn’t mean “never”. But what he wanted to know the most, which felt like the biggest surprise, was what did she think of him? For the first time since he started this gig, he wondered what she thought of his appearance. Did she like his tattoos? Was his hair too long, maybe? Were his clothes too shabby? Perhaps it was because she had not actually picked him. She had chosen Steve.

Oh, Stevie. They couldn’t be more different.

‘Are you sure you’re ok with me… being here?’

♤

‘I am.’ You didn’t know what else to reply to that question. Of course, the night was not going anything like you had expected. Until two hours ago, you were planning to have some alright sex with, what you could describe as a “regular hot guy”. Instead, you were on the bed, fully clothed, drinking a coke next to a Metallica reject. Was it too late to still do any of the things you had initially paid for, or was the mood entirely ruined? Did people recover from going into highly personal and dramatic tangents in front of the escort they had hired?

‘Ok, cool. Just… making sure. Fair warning, I might do that a few more times through the night.’ The idea of still having an entire night to spend with Eddie made you really happy. Even if you didn’t know what to do with him in this small room. With a large king-sized bed in the middle, and not much else but the essential hotel decor, the room was perfect for exactly the reason you had booked it and not much else.

Just as you thought it was getting a bit too quiet between the two of you and had wanted to speak up with a question, Eddie opened his mouth to say something as well. So you also simultaneously apologised and let the other person say their piece.

‘No, go ahead,’ you nudged him. Whatever he had to say would probably lead the conversation better.

‘I was just wondering, when you said “help be good with sex”, which aspect are we talking about here? Just regular? Oral? Foreplay? Like, what are we talking about here?’

‘Uhm, pretty much everything.’ You winced at yourself. So far, all your attempts at intercourse had been not great. It always felt awkward and uncomfortable. The guys would get what they were there for and didn’t feel the need to wait around for more. And if it kept on happening, then the math was simple, wasn’t it? Just look at what the overlapping factor was in all the situations. It was eventually your friends one night, after a few bottles of wine, who suggested the idea of just hiring a guy to teach you what to do. It would be so much easier. No feelings, and they know what they are doing. Foolproof plan.

And somehow, you still managed to make things complicated and weird.

♤

‘Now see, I don’t believe that,’ Eddie smiled. There was no way she didn’t know how to do anything. Especially since most of it was just pure instinct. There is a reason why people call it “messing around”, and it’s not because of any guide or formula that one should be working off of to get it right.

‘Well, then you should ask the other guys.’ Again with that little smile, trying to undermine her own feelings.

‘No, fuck them. I bet they didn’t even make you cum.’ He accused. Her lack of response was enough of an answer. Eddie could bet his entire wage that she thought it was her fault they didn’t get her to climax and that… that actually pissed him off. How often had he had his clients tell him how their husbands, the men supposed to take care of them, never bothered to fulfil their one simple and honestly fucking delicious duty? A thought sparked in his mind, and he couldn’t keep back the grin that sprouted up with it.

‘What?’ she asked at the sight of his smile.

‘Have you ever?’

‘Ever what?’

‘Had a climax?’

‘Oh,’ the way she got shy talking about it, to Eddie’s embarrassment, turned him on. The best thing was they didn’t even have to play pretend. ‘I mean, I think?’

‘You think?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ she cleared her throat, ‘Uhm… I’ll just be right back.’ And having said that, she ran to the bathroom.

As she closed the door, Eddie pondered on the idea of undressing. It would speed things up, possibly breaking the icy wall that closed her off. With one naked person in the room, it was hard to think about much else, which meant less to worry about. But he didn’t think she would actually appreciate it. No, she needed to take it slow. And he would happily guide her through it all.

♤

You splashed some cold water in your face. There had been no reason for you to run out of the room like that except for being a total chicken. The way Eddie was so open and comfortable, talking about all of that… brought out a new fear in you. One you didn’t know you had. One you couldn’t even identify. You just knew you had to get out from under his gaze. Those big brown honey-glazed eyes.

Why the hell did you leave the room? He was sitting so close to you. Your legs were nearly touching. He still sat with his legs spread, basically inviting you to get between them. And what do you do? Run away.

You splashed some more water onto your face.

There wasn’t much makeup on your face to begin the night, and whatever you had left of your mascara and blush was wiped off with the towel you grabbed. One more look in the mirror to ensure no grey ink streaks down your cheeks, and you were ready to get out again.

Just one big breath in. and out.

The bathroom door handle moved silently, and you pulled the door open to be met with Eddie’s chest. He was standing right in front of you.

‘Oh, hi.’

‘Hey, just wanted to make sure you were ok in there.’ He knocked on the door frame in a delayed manner for extra effect. Knock knock. You noticed he had taken off his vest and jacket. Just in his t-shirt now. The sleeves ended right at his biceps, revealing the sleeves of tattoos he hid underneath all those removed layers.

‘So are you alright?’ he asked when you didn’t respond to what he had said earlier. The question pulled your thoughts out of the clouds and your head up to look him in the eye.

‘Yeah, yeah, just…’ your mouth was extremely dry. One more second and no words would be leaving it ever again. It was just gonna have to come out now. Then, with a quick exhale, you admitted. ‘I’ve never had an orgasm.’ From Eddie’s reaction, it didn’t seem to have been any news to him. Like it was the most normal conversation, which, given his job, it probably was. You tried to ignore the thought of him and the many women he must have helped.

‘Well, I would be more than honoured to change that for you.’ He took a step forward, and the proximity forced you to look up at him to see his eyes.

‘Is that a rehearsed line?’ Apparently, your one outburst of truth led to the pandora’s box in your brain, and now you couldn’t shut up, saying the first thing that came to your mind. And unfortunately, it was still filled with the images of him with other people; him making all of them feel ecstatic.

Luckily, Eddie laughed at your presumption. His head tilted back, and when it came back down, and his eyes were once again locked in with yours, his lips pulled up into a smirk. One of his hands found its way up to your cheek before he leaned in. you were ready for him to kiss you, but instead, his breath lingered over your skin. So close that you should have been able to touch him, and maybe you did. Because there was something that made your mind a thick haze, impossible to navigate through. Everything spun around you except for Eddie.

‘So what if I did rehearse it?’ his words hit your jaw as he hovered over you, then whispering directly into your, he asked: ‘What if I’ve already planned 10 different ways in which I want to make you writhe underneath me? Would you mind that?’ Would you mind?

Whatever for?

In a shaky breath, you spoke the only thing you could think of at the moment.

‘Kiss me.’

♤

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

He must have been grinning like an idiot, and he could only hope it didn’t put her off as he brought their lips together and kissed her. Deeply. Passionately.

The hair around her face was slightly wet, as was her jaw, telling him she had just spent the last minute splashing water in her face. She tasted sweet, like the coke she had been drinking earlier.

Her hand crept up to his collar, shyly grabbing at it and pulling it down, revealing the slightest inch of the tattoo on his clavicle. Not that she would see it, having closed her eyes the second their lips connected.

Eddie let one of his hands find its way back to her waist. Holding on to each other, they stumbled back onto the bed. She let out a whimper as Eddie’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and he fell backwards, taking her right down with him.

It was a slow tear-away, leaving both in a haze. Eddie watched her sit up straight, straddling him and keeping him locked. If she moved, she would feel how hard he was getting.

‘I assume kissing was not on the agenda of the lesson?’ He brushed some of his hair out of his face.

‘Well, if you have any tips–’ she tugged at the bottom of her shirt. A nervous habit, probably, but all Eddie could think about was how he wanted that material as far away from her as possible.

‘You’re joking, right?’ She must have been. The kiss, though brief, had been… he felt alive after it. His chest was tight as he caught his breath. ‘Fuck, c’mere.’ He pulled her right back. It might have only been one kiss, but it had been more than enough for him. He was already hooked.

♤

His lips were slightly chapped, but not in any way to make you feel uncomfortable. Nothing that some chapstick before going out into the cold couldn’t solve. You could smell the bitter beer he had just drank, and despite the drink having been cooled, it brought a warmth out in you. This heat swam over your cheeks and the parts of you that he held close. His hands were now back to playing with your shirt. The material was creeping up over your stomach, up up up…

♤

‘Can you take your shirt off first, please?’ she asked nervously once the second kiss parted. Her small voice sent sparks flying down Eddie’s body, directly to his dick.

‘Yeah, ‘course.’ All he could do was smile. She shuffled down his legs to give him space and remove the shirt. There was no way she didn’t feel how tight he was getting in his trousers, but she didn’t show any reaction to it, eyes focused on his chest. Eddie looked down at himself. He had almost forgotten about those.

‘You have piercings?’

He kept on forgetting to update his pictures on the website. It was such a hassle. Taking the time to plan it all in, preferably with someone else, so he could have some action shots. There was the editing, and then he would have to send them into the office so someone could actually upload them… he just couldn’t be bothered. As much as he was meant to keep his clients aware of what they were paying for, it was selfish of him to love their surprised reactions. Just now, the way her eyes immediately locked in on them in surprise. How her hand lightly fought against reaching for him.

‘You can touch them. It doesn’t hurt.’ He took her hand and placed it right over his chest. She immediately regained control over her body, and her finger lightly traced over the silver bar. Eddie’s body tightened for a second in bliss. ‘See? It feels fucking good, actually.’ He hadn’t meant to whisper the words out or for them to be so shaky. It was supposed to be a light joke to keep the tension away, yet it pulled the atmosphere down to something intense and sultry. Hopefully, it wouldn’t scare her away.

But she smiled and leaned in again for a featherlight kiss. Fuck, she could kiss. It was like a gift from the gods themselves. A little piece of heaven. If this was how she kissed every guy, Eddie couldn’t comprehend how they didn’t line up for more. And then her hand kept moving, slowly tracing the ink on his body. Her fingernails grazed over the drawings. Perhaps it was a placebo, but he had always considered the tattoos to be more sensitive than the rest of him. The soft touches made him shake in need of her.

‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked, nearly out of breath, mind spiralling with everything he wanted to do to her. He couldn’t keep it in a straight line anymore. Meanwhile, he was supposed to be the professional here. Meanwhile, she expected him to teach her… he was absolutely fucked.

And then her following words only made his situation worse.

‘Just tell me what to do, Eddie.’ Somehow, he missed the exact moment when her lips travelled down to his jaw. It must have been some kind of joke– there was no way this incredible woman did not know what she was doing.

‘Fuck, baby.’ He groaned. He actually groaned. Eddie never did that during his sessions. It just wasn’t something he thought he could do with his clients. It turns out he had never been this turned on by any of them.

It made sense. How often did he think up hour scenarios before meeting the ladies? How often did he imagine he was with someone else? He had thought that maybe, because of the rules of his job and the frequency of his sessions, that maybe sex just wasn’t really anything for him. Not that he didn’t enjoy his job or regretted ever going into the business… money was good, and he was good at what he did. Yet, it was still a job. And jobs could often tire a person out. Maybe he had become desensitised to it all.

But this proved all of his theories wrong. He was entirely in the moment. Aware of everything that was happening between him and her. Nothing between them was new, or necessarily exciting, and yet it felt like nothing he had felt before. Nothing but kissing sent him down a road he could never return from.

And now she wanted him to tell her what to do. Yes, in the teaching context, he understood. But was she even aware that this would not be that far from the ordinary things he did in his sessions if they had just removed that context? Just add in some leather and handcuffs.

‘Take your clothes off, baby.’ He spoke softly, not wanting to roll back into his regular role. This wasn’t that, he reminded himself. He didn’t want it to be that.

When she started to pull her shirt up, he quickly took over. ‘No, wait, go slower. Take your time.’ Fuck, please take your time, he internally cried out. He didn’t want this night to end. It all felt like a dream, and he didn’t want to get dressed and wake up. He didn’t want to leave because once he did, coming back was not an option for him.

♤

You followed his instruction, slowly pulling your shirt over your head. Focusing on him. Looking at him prevented you from getting too much into your head. After all, it was hard to think or worry about anything with someone like him, half-naked, under you. You traced his tattoos. They were all black and white, the ink scratchy and uneven on most as if done at home.

Not precisely stick and poke, but not from a studio either. A pull at your heartstrings made you think of how much money you had paid. How much he needed that money… See, hard to think of your own insecurities when looking at him.

Eddie moved up to lean on his elbow. You were sitting still for too long; he must have sensed something was off. With a gentle touch, he stroke your bare skin. You were both shirtless, though you still had your bra on; his hand was sneakily moving up to the strap over your back, ready to unclasp it.

‘What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, sweetheart.’ It must be some kind of trick he was pulling, something he learned over his experience on the job because of the way your whole body fluttered at the sound of the little nickname… it must be a trick. But there was nothing you could complain about either.

Once again, your mouth worked faster than your brain, and before you could tell yourself to shut up, you answered with the first question that came to your mind. ‘Do you do anything else… besides this?’ a second later, before he even had the time to react, you butted in with your own response. ‘That is probably way out of bounds. Sorry–’

‘Only a little bit,’ he was taking it lightly with a chuckle. Clearly, with no intention of stopping what the two of you had been doing, he littered your jaw and neck with kisses between his answer. ‘I’m in a band. But garage gigs don’t exactly pay the bills.’ You felt him tremble with a laugh against your neck. Eddie had by then sat up and kept you in place on his lap with a tight hold. As he kept kissing you, you let your body speak for itself, closing your eyes and trusting your instincts. Somehow you knew what felt right and what didn’t. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding against Eddie. You tried not to think about what you were doing, knowing you would just start to freak out and freeze. Instead, you thought of Eddie on stage with his band, imagining him in all the different positions, trying to figure out which instrument fit him best.

As if he could read your mind, he said, ‘I play guitar.’ His hand had now officially made its mark on your bra, grabbing the backstrap, and wringing it until it unclasped.

‘That’s hot.’

‘Yeah?’ The bra snapped open. Eddie took it upon himself to slide the straps off your arms. You threw the item off to the side of the room, and Eddie didn’t waste a second to bring his attention to your breast.

♤

Had no one ever touched her properly?

All that Eddie did was kiss her tits, and she was almost coming undone. He felt a pang of terrible guilt on behalf of his entire sex. How the fuck did no one make her feel good… not only that. How did men make her feel as if she was the problem? That she had to step her game up and learn. If he ever got his hands on one of those assholes– woah. Calm down.

♤

‘Yeah,’ you gasped out the small word. ‘So- so hot.’ It was hard to keep a sentence straight when he had his full attention on your nipples.

One preoccupying his lips, while the other was cupped by his large hand. He was rough in his touches, pulling and squeezing, but not in any way that felt too much. On the contrary, you needed more. More of him.

He switched from one breast to the other in his movements. Then when he pulled away, he kissed you again. Then, he looked you in the eyes, a false seriousness covering his features.

‘So, let that be lesson one: foreplay. Extremely important before any kind of sex.’

‘But… I didn’t do anything?’ You blinked. It was true, wasn’t it? He had been doing most of the work; meanwhile, you hadn’t done anything for him. But Eddie frowned.

‘Oh, baby, you did plenty.’ His hand reached down to his own trousers. ‘You feel this?’ When you hesitated, he took your hand to guide it over his crotch, where you could clearly feel the outline of his dick. ‘Yeah, that’s all you, sweetheart.’ He was so cocky, so confident.

He kept on talking. ‘And let me ask you one more question.’ For this, he leaned in to almost whisper the words against your hot skin. ‘Are you wet?’

‘I don’t know.’

Eddie clicked his tongue in disapproval. ‘I think you do know, but let me check then, hmm?’ You weren’t sure how he did it, but he brought you underneath his body in one fell swing. You were now lying on the bed, and he slid down to sit on his knees at the end of the bed. ‘Professional opinion and all, right?’

‘Right.’ You hid your face in your hands to laugh. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

Eddie reached for your hands, making you look down at him.

‘I wanna see your pretty face.’ But, God, speaking of pretty faces, his smile might have been one of the most beautiful sights in the world. He could have been a model, probably… and yet…

You didn’t want to look at him, however, when he started unzipping your trousers. The button opened up, and you heard the zipper move down, releasing the tension of the material around your waist. Eddie tapped your hip, telling you to move them up. Once you did so, with one big tug, he pulled the pants down to the middle of your thighs with one big tug. It took him three more to get them off entirely. The next second, the trousers were in the corner of the room, along with your shirts.

‘Oh, baby,’ his syllables were long, dramatic, playful. ‘You are fucking soaking through these.’ You felt your back stiffen at the feeling of his fingers on you. Two, his pointer and middle fingers, slowly tracing down over the thin cotton. Then he’d roll them back up, letting his knuckles press the slit.

‘Fuck, can’t wait to taste you– can I taste you, baby?’ He asked, eyes pleading you for it.

‘You don’t have to,’ you responded. The air in the room seemed to be turning colder and sent shivers over your arms.

‘I know I don’t have to.’ Eddie scoffed, teasing. ‘Let that be lesson two then: if a guy doesn’t want his mouth near your pussy, then you shouldn’t come anywhere near his dick.’ He growled out the last words, and his hand had such a tight grip on your panties, that, with one quick move, he tore the material in two.

♤

‘Eddie!’ she shouted.

‘Shit, sorry.’ He got too carried away in everything. ‘I’ll pay you back.’ That’s when he glanced down; it was like his memory was instantly wiped. ‘Oh, fuck yes. Fuck you got the cutest pussy I’ve ever seen.’ He left a kiss a few inches above it and slowly made his way down. His fingers returned to the slow up-and-down motion he had done before, and each time, he let himself go deeper. Her body tensed up, and breathing hitched in her throat until it came out in a soft moan.

‘That’s right,’ Eddie said before one last kiss on the most crucial spot. And this kiss lasted. After a few seconds, he practically made out with her clit, as his fingers entered her.

That is when her hand reached for his hair. The touch was enough to make him moan against her.

‘Oh fuck,’ she moaned loud, eyes tightly shut in pleasure. Keeping his fingers deep within her, Eddie mused:

‘That’s right, baby. Does it feel good?’

‘So good.’ She dug her nails through his hair, nudging him on to continue whatever he was doing.

♤

Even though you had not meant to pull at his hair, it was all much more of an impulsive action, Eddie groaned out against. He pulled you in closer, sending the vibrations from his body right through yours.

You had expected, thinking up this plan of hiring someone to teach you sex, that it would be much more formal. That the guy would give you step-by-step instructions on how to do things, tell you everything directly, and you would follow. Maybe that is how it would be with anyone else, but with Eddie, he made you feel it. Without saying a word, you knew how to listen to him. Through his reactions, you knew what to do. His moans encouraged you to pull his hair, to close your thighs around him. Meanwhile, your response spurred him to go, let his fingers move harder, his tongue slick deeper through you.

‘Fuck, Eddie, fuck.’ You felt that feeling inside you, the build-up. It wasn’t familiar, for you had only experienced it very few times, mostly on your own. This tension deep within you. It grew, quickly reaching its tipping point.

Eddie’s free hand fastened itself onto your leg; he seemed to have lost himself in you. Then his eyes moved up, locking right with yourself. A part of you wanted to take a picture of what you saw in front of you and cherish the memory forever. His honey-brown eyes glazed in need of you. This spark of all-knowing deviltry.

Your whole body tightened as you felt it coming, tighter and tighter, like a rubber band ready to snap.

But instead, Eddie let go of the band as he pulled away from you to accompany your last moan of his name.

A whimper left your mouth, and pleads were ready to follow it, begging him to not stop. Not now. Just a few more seconds.

‘Lesson number three,’ he wiped his mouth– which was glistening in the room's warm light– with his thumb but never wiping the smug smile off his face. ‘Tease, tease and tease. The longer you keep them waiting, the sweeter their reward will be.’

At this point, you could not imagine it being so sweet, as all you felt was a horribly empty feeling, deflating your insides by the second.

‘Everyone likes that?’ You asked.

‘Hmm, good question.’ Eddie got up to remove his belt. He made a spectacle out of it, sliding the whole strap from between the loops, then throwing it down to the ground. ‘It does probably depend on a person, what their limits are. How much they can last and take.’ Like a showman, he made you watch. Made you wait. ‘I’m sure some people would rather just get on to the final act.’

‘Not me?’ you asked as he pulled his jeans down along with his boxers.

Just like the picture.

‘Hmm,’ with a pondering expression, he fell down onto the mattress beside you. ‘Not you.’

‘What makes you say that?’ It took all your willpower to keep looking into his eyes. He, however, wasn’t as courteous. His eyes roamed over your naked body as his hand found its way back between your legs. A quick snap. He slapped your clit lightly, but it was enough to immediately sent a spark through you, nearly bringing you back to the spot of tension.

‘Just a hunch.’ He slapped you again.

♤

She was so fucking sensitive. Like a little porcelain doll.

For good measure, and the fact he couldn’t get enough of how her body moved when encountering intense pleasure, he gave that pussy a third and final snap. Maybe he would have kept going, he certainly had not felt like stopping any time soon, but it was when her hand reached for his. Fingers around his wrist. Her eyes closed lightly, mouth parted just a tiny bit, enough for her to whisper his name.

‘Eddie.’

‘What’s up, sweetheart,’ he leaned in his lips almost on her cheek again. She didn’t respond. ‘Lesson four: always use words. I don’t know what you really want unless you tell me.’ He left sloppy kisses over her face as he dictated. ‘So? What. Do. You. Want?’ He punctuated each word with a touch

‘Fuck me.’

‘Of course.’ He had expected her to play around with the words, make him pull it out of him, but no. So, he got up and reached for the wallet in his jeans. He should have checked sooner. This had been too much of a risk, but luckily, the silver foil stuck out immediately.

She had sat up again to watch him rip the packaging open.

‘You’re making me feel really unprofessional right now,’ he chuckled to himself whilst pulling the condom out. ‘I have a whole box in my bag with the rest of my stuff.’ He had planned to get it out of his car after meeting her at the bar, but then everything had gone a bit to shit, hadn’t it?

‘I have a box… in my bag,’ she said, for some reason almost embarrassed.

‘Someone’s eager, huh?’ Perhaps he didn’t help, but really, he was talking about himself. Eddie could immediately imagine himself being with her for the rest of the night, the entire fucking week if he could, but something told him that after this— that would most likely be it. It was better not to stretch a good thing out. She paid for him to teach her the basics, not exhaust her to her limits, perhaps scare her off of sex forever.

‘No, I just–’ did she notice he was joking? Either way, she hid her face in her hands, laughing at herself. Eddie took the moment that she wasn’t eating him alive with her eyes to get a few pumps in. it wasn’t even needed; he was rock hard; it was just a routine at this point. He let his head roll back a little back as his hand moved up and down, then got on with putting the condom on.

♤

‘How should we uhm— how do you want—’ you looked for a good way to phrase it as Eddie got back into bed.

‘Anything particular in mind you wanted to get a hang of?’ he asked. You shook your head no. Stupid. You should have done your research. Come more prepared.

But could anything prepare you for Eddie? It didn’t seem likely. You could have come in with a four-volume guide, and he would have probably thrown it out the window and shown you a whole new world.

‘Then we’ll just see where the night takes us, why don’t we?’ He positioned himself on top of you. Arms on each side of your shoulders, stomach hovering over yours. As you both breathed in, you could feel his muscles. He put his weight on one of his forearms as the other hand reached back down between you, moving his fingers in a circular, steady motion.

Too occupied with how good his touch on you felt, there was no real thought going through your mind when you pulled his face closer to you, kissing him deeply. Your noses pushed against one another. Your fingers rooted down between his hair.

Eddie spread your legs wider apart, creating the perfect position for himself.

‘You ok?’ he asked, lips practically still on yours.

‘Mhm.’ You hummed, but Eddie clicked his tongue, pulling away a few inches to look at you a bit more focused.

‘Mm, remember rule four?’

You didn’t want to remember. You didn’t want to think. All you wanted, needed, was him inside you. But you answered: ‘use your words? Let them know what you want.’

‘Good girl,’ he kissed you softly. ‘It also goes for consent. Probably should have made that the first lesson, but what can you do? Make clear what and when you want something. If the guy doesn’t listen– I don’t know, kick him in the nuts.’

‘Got it.’ You nodded.

‘So, let’s try it out.’ He didn’t move, just waited for you to speak.

You took a deep breath. ‘I want you to fuck me, Eddie.’

‘There we go. Feels good, doesn’t it?’ His hand returned to rubbing your clit as he moved around above you, getting in the proper position. ‘Quick lesson five: it’s fucking hot when girls say shit like that. So don’t be afraid to get dirty.’ Slowly and carefully, he let himself sink into you. His length filled you up, spread your walls. It was a perfectly tight fit, making it impossible to hold anything in.

‘Dirty and loud.’ Eddie stayed still, letting you get used to the feeling of him. ‘Don’t hold it in, baby, ok?’

‘O-ok.’ Your breath was shaky. Once used to him, you placed your hand on his chest. His hot breath burned your skin.

Eddie kept a slow pace, letting both of you ease into the rhythm of being together, but eventually, you felt your body loosen up. Finally, it wasn’t enough anymore. Was he holding himself in? Could he tell you needed more but was waiting for you to tell him? Teach you your lesson.

‘More,’ the word was nearly just an exhale, but it was enough for Eddie. He kissed you passionately with a smile, and he plunged deeper inside you. From then on, his thrusts were harder, faster. He grabbed your leg and pulled it over himself. The new change brought in a whole new angle, letting you feel him through your entire body.

The pleasure was intense, and beautiful. Your mind was scattered, so you didn’t even feel your teeth graze over your lips, locking in your voice. But Eddie noticed.

♤

The second he caught it, something in Eddie’s mind switched on. As much as he tried to contain that part of himself, keep it away from her, he couldn’t. It was fucking primal.

He thrust harder than he did before. His hand found its way to her cheek, squeezing it– not too tight, he pulled himself back quickly, but strong enough to show her he meant it– and his words came out in a growl.

‘What did I tell you, baby? Don’t hold it in.’ A few more deep thrusts left both their bodies shaking with each move. ‘I want to hear every pretty sound that comes out of your mouth.’ His thumb pressed against her bottom lip, and, without another word exchanged, she parted those beautiful lips and granted him access.

She fucking moaned around it and sucked her own juices off it. Could she taste the sweetness? He hoped she could. He was jealous of every person that ever got to taste it, but he quickly let that thought sink away as he had more pressing questions.

‘Now, where did you learn that?’ He smiled when he pulled his thumb away, his hips only slightly rearranging the pace as he spoke calmly.

‘Sorry, was that wrong?’ She blinked. Genuine fucking naivete. Eddie could barely hold it in anymore.

‘Only in the sense that it got me this close to blowing my load before you got even close.’ He quickly regained his speed.

From that point on, she didn’t hold back. Her moans were beautiful. The sound of his name comes directly from the centre of her pleasure was like hitting the jackpot. If only he could live off those cute noises, he’d be the wealthiest man on earth. The luckiest. The happiest.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

But shit were her tits a sight for sore eyes. Looking at them, he couldn’t go a second without touching them. For a moment, he got scared he was too rough, but then the claws came out– almost literally. Her nails dug into his back. It would leave marks, and Eddie couldn’t wait to see them when he looked in the mirror the following day.

‘Eddieee,’ it came out so shaky, so desperate. He could tell she was getting close. It took much less than expected. He had a thousand things in his head that he still wanted to do with her, show her, but even he realised then it was wishful thinking. His own words from minutes ago reverberated in his mind.

You’re making me feel really unprofessional right now.

He was ready to burst, and it only took a few minutes in missionary. Usually, he could go for ages.

Then again, he hadn’t been this turned on in a long time.

‘You close, baby?’ He asked and almost hoped to hear yes; Eddie didn’t know how much longer he could last, and if he came before her– he could never live that down.

But she was lost in him, too far down to appropriately respond. That wasn’t good. Eddie slowed down a bit. ‘Hey, hey, you alright?’

♤

‘Yes,’ you took a deep breath, ‘please don’t stop. Not now.’ He was making you feel incredible. In a matter of a few minutes, you felt like you had reached the seventh heaven. Absolute bliss.

But perhaps you didn’t feel how much you actually felt. As good as it was, this overwhelming sensation pulled you away from everything around you. When Eddie brought you back, with the softness of his voice and the touch of his hands, only then you realised how far down you had been.

‘Are you sure? We can take a break.’ Eddie’s eyes searched your face for any signs of trouble, but before he could spiral, you halted him. A few deep breaths were all it took for you to be present.

‘I’m ok. Thank you.’ You kissed him. Whatever anyone would say if they heard about your plan, this was how you knew you had made the right choice. Or perhaps how you knew that the universe wasn’t always against you. Tonight, it brought you Eddie. Whether it was a freak accident or not, you would never regret the choices that led to it.

Eddie continued what he was doing, giving you all his attention. To all of you. You didn’t feel like an inch of your body went down forgotten. Meanwhile, he was all you could think about. It was like the world around you dissolved. A fire could have burned down the entire room, and you don’t think you would have even noticed. Not with Eddie’s cock deep inside you. He didn’t falter. Each thrust was full of him, hitting the perfect spot. Mind-numbing, toe-curling and…

Soon, you felt that feeling again. That tightness inside you. This time even tighter than previously. It was to be expected that Eddie knew what he was talking about. The longer the wait, the better the reward. And to think only a little time had passed since the two of you entered the hotel room. Not much time at all compared to how much you wished you could be with him. Was it insane? Probably, but you didn’t care.

You just wanted him, and you would take as much as he could give you.

♤

Eddie could feel how close she was.

It had definitely scared him when he saw how far down she had been, already blaming himself for taking it too far. He had been ready to pull the plug and return her all the money. It didn’t matter if her payment had actually gone to his account; he would make sure that his fuck ups were compensated.

But she was fine. Like a little firecracker that she was, she kissed him, wiping his whole mind clear of anything but her. Her and that sweet, sweet taste.

It didn’t take much longer for breathing to break up in quick succession. Moans got louder, likely uncontrolled, and her grip on his tighter. Her nails dug into his shoulder just as he loved it.

‘C’mon baby, come on.’ He encouraged her to lose all of her control. Lose herself to the pleasure. She needed to know how it was to be treated right. He needed her to know. And he didn’t know how much more he could keep it going. His last few thrusts still reached the deepest parts of her, and got everything out of her he wanted, but he felt himself lose his momentum. With each second, it was getting harder to concentrate.

‘Oh my god-’ she whimpered as she released underneath him with a high-pitched scream at that. As much as he wanted to hear all of it, he kissed her to mute it. There was no need for the neighbours to get concerned.

Though from all the other noises they made, from how the bed shook and banged against the wall, they would make the correct assumption.

Not much later, as she was still coming undone, Eddie let himself reel in the pleasure. Then, stilled within her, his lips on her neck now, he came. When he pulled away, he wished he could have left a mark on her, but he knew that would be a step too far.

‘Thank you’ were the first words to come out of her mouth when he discarded the full condom in the trash. He wasn’t sure what to do now. He didn’t like feeling naked post-sex, but he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. Maybe she expected more. If so, he could give it to her, but he just wasn’t sure–

‘It’s my pleasure,’ he sat on the edge of the bed, just in reach to place his hand on her leg. They were both covered in sweat, naturally, but the cold was taking over. ‘You should get under the covers.’ The last thing he wanted was for her to get sick.

‘Right.’ She pulled at the corner of the blanket– always a much more arduous task than necessary in hotel rooms when they’re tucked in deeper than the pits of hell. As soon as she pulled the white sheet over her body, Eddie regretted his choice of words. It was probably the last time he would have seen her naked, and he didn’t even take a moment to appreciate what he had in front of him.

He found his underwear, which was almost kicked under the bed. When he resurfaced, her face was full of worry. The furrow of her brows was enough to tell him that.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as he covered himself up.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I didn’t do anything. I asked you to help me figure this out, and we just–’

‘No, hey, hey.’ Eddie practically jumped into bed next to her. Cupped her face in his hands and made sure she looked at him as he spoke. ‘First of all, if this is how you feel, I should be the one to be sorry since I clearly didn’t do my job. So I’m sorry. But you have no reason to think you didn’t do well. This was amazing.’ He could only hope she knew just how much he meant his words. That she could trust a complete stranger with words as much as she did with their bodies.

‘No, Eddie, it’s not that you didn’t teach me anything, but I– there’s still so much I don’t know. Fuck, I still have no idea how to suck a guy off.’

Eddie cursed under his breath. Just from those words, he could feel himself twitching against his boxers. This girl was going to be the death of me. She kept on talking.

‘Would it be ok if we do this again? Not as an accident this time, I will book you.’

He wanted to say yes so badly. But he had to keep his mind clear as he answered. ‘I don’t think that will be a good idea.’ fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He wanted to punch himself in the gut.

♤

‘I try to keep a strict one-time, no repeating clients policy. It makes the job much easier,’ Eddie explained.

‘No, I understand.’ Having to do this with the number of people he does… you couldn’t imagine how that was. How other people would be with him, and what could have happened for him to make such a rule in the first place.

‘I would say you should try Steve for real, but I don’t believe you need any “sex lessons”.

‘Right,’ you scoffed away the comment, but Eddie was persistent.

‘I mean it. I can tell that you have a whole talent in there for this shit. You just need to find the right guy to bring it out in you because whoever you’ve been in the past, clearly, they weren’t doing it right. Then you will learn everything else you want to learn by yourself. Basically like you did now.’ He gave you a kind smile, and you tried to replicate it.

‘I did need you.’ You couldn’t look at him as you said it.

‘Ehhh– not so sure about that. For a while, I thought you just wanted me for my body.’ He fell over to his back, hand on his chest as if he had just been shot. ‘That shit can hurt, you know.’ He was so dramatic and made you laugh so easily. You had never expected anything like that to happen that night.

♤

A body to adore was one thing, but he might miss her smile even more.

‘Are you feeling alright?’

‘Why do you keep asking me that?’ She blinked. Eddie pushed down the anger he felt at all those morons that had not treated her right before.

‘Let that be your final lesson then,’ he pushed down another instinct, this time to make a cheesy reference that she might not get. There was no need to make the mood weird or awkward now. Eddie cleared his throat. ‘Lesson… what number are we on, six?– Lesson six: aftercare. Just check up on yourself to see if you’re able to carry on afterwards. While always quite vital, the more intense the session, the more important the aftercare. It keeps you stable.’

She nodded in understanding. ‘So, how would that look?’

‘Well, let’s see…. Are you sore? Do you need anything?’ Once again, he was mad at himself for going into this without his usual stuff. While his bag was mostly filled with toys that might be a bit too much for her, he also had plenty of shit to make her feel better if needed.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Ok, do you need something to drink? Eat?’ Before she even replied, Eddie lunged for the can of soda she had discarded on the desk opposite the bed. The bubbles would have mostly flattened by now, but it was still a liquid to drink.

‘Not really,’ she said as he handed her the can and took a small sip. ‘Ok, maybe a little bit.’ They both smiled as she emptied the can of its last chug.

‘More?’ Eddie asked as he tried to read it off of her.

‘No, I’m good.’ Just like before, she started tapping on the can. Now empty, it sounded even more hollow.

‘And was everything alright? I was scared I might have gone too far at one point.’

♤

The way you could see the genuine concern and worry in Eddie’s eyes made you want to wrap your arms around him, kiss him, and never let him go. To think that a few hours ago, neither of you was even aware of the other’s existence. That you weren’t supposed to be aware, that it was all a giant coincidence. And that after tonight… that would be all that it ever was.

Here was this fantastic man taking care of you better than any other guy had.

Sure, you paid him to do it, but something in you, call it a freaky instinct, told you that that was just who Eddie was. He wanted to take care of you.

Maybe that’s why he went into the business. Who could really tell?

‘It was perfect,’ you told him because it was.

‘Ok, good.’ He nodded, smiling shyly. It was the first time that night that you saw a crack in the confident front of the guy.

‘Really, thank you.’ You reached for his hand, and his eyes followed it. He looked as your fingers lazily intertwined while you watched him.

‘You, uhm, you should probably go to the bathroom. Make sure you wash all of me out. Make it a standard practice, really.’

‘Will do,’ your voice wasn’t hoarse, yet you whispered. It suddenly became hushed in the room. It could have been quiet all this time, but it was then that you grew aware of it.

You didn’t want to leave the bed, or Eddie, just yet, but you knew you should listen to his professional advice. Everything he had told you so far felt like the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe you also knew of them already, maybe did it too, but it only made sense when it came from Eddie. ‘Don’t leave yet, ok? I want to say goodbye.’ The idea of him being gone when you came back felt gut-wrenching for many reasons, but all unknown.

All Eddie did was nod.

When you returned, he had just put his shirt back on. His belt was in his jeans loops but not yet fastened. Was it weird to watch him get dressed? It felt more like a thing real couples did, which you were far from. It felt stranger doing so whilst you were still completely naked, so you grabbed the fluffy white bathrobe on the bathroom shelf and pulled it on, tying it tightly around your waist.

‘That’s me then.’ Eddie scratched the back of his neck, looking around, most likely checking if he didn’t forget something. A part of you hoped he did. He would realise it only hours later and rush back to find it. That this wasn’t the last time the two of you would meet.

A girl could wish.

‘Right.’ You put on a brave face as you made your way to the door. ‘Thank you again. For everything.’

All Eddie did in response was nod with a tight-lipped smile.

The door was open now. He was already on the threshold. Compared to the soft glow of your room, the corridor's light felt jarring to your eyes. Just like that, it was over.

You could not believe this was the end. It ended as quickly as it started. A whole whirlwind of… everything, really.

Before you could stop yourself, one last question burst through your lips.

‘Is Eddie your real name?’ You immediately regretted your entire life, couldn’t believe you had done that. ‘I’m so sorry, just ignore me. I don’t know why I said that–’

But Eddie beamed. He took your hand in his. ‘As real as anything tonight was.’ and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. He started walking before your wrist even hit your hip.

You couldn’t watch him walk away, so you closed the door and your eyes before he went too far. A minute later, you cursed to yourself.

The whole aftercare thing- You never got to ask if he was ok.

Fuck.

the end.

thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist. - also made a lil playlist based on this fic, told through taylor swift songs

and please support your (not so) local creators by liking AND reblogging.

I would love to know what you thought of the story, so please consider leaving a comment, or maybe an ask or even an anonymous review ;P

you are also more than welcome to join the taglist. right here.

Eddie (smut, 18+) taglist part 1:

@spiderrrling @theglitterymess @dorianelizabeth @theletterhart @niyahwhoreworld @fopdoodle1624 @pastel-abyss-x @ghoulsgraveyard @lovesickollie @xbreezymeadowsx @ssanjuniperoo @nxrdamp @meaganjm @mischiefmanagers @capybergara @brother-lauren @h0sh1verse @ghostlyreads @croweaterr @ladyapplejackdnd @bilesxbilinskixlahey @kbakery @lizzylynch1 @liltimmyst @hellfire-state-of-mind @escape-in-time-x @sweetpeapod @the-a-word-2214 @eddiemunsonbby @mydearzero @overthewhiteclouds @wroteclassicaly @groupies-do-it-better @celestialsxturn @hoe4eddiemunson @inanausomewhere @scoops-harrington @fluffyharrington @billyhargrovesprincess @annikin-im-panicin @kaitieskidmore1 @yesv01 @princess-aries

#eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #fanfiction #imagine #fanfic #fic #smut #escort!eddie munson #escort!eddie

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joelsmochi · 11 months

Text

Good Surprise

Read part one here. SUMMARY: Joel finally gets to have you. WARNINGS: smut minors dni, a little slow at some points but it leads up to a very very very pervy!joel, needy!sub!joel, dom!reader (??? she's a little mean hehe), awkwardness, brief cig smoking (don't judge girly is stressed). 18+ WARNINGS: panty kink, cum eating, masturbation (m), oral (m receiving), good boy bomb (just once), dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (m + f), public...stuff WC: 7.6k

A/N: Here is part two of Us Against The World. There is at least one more part coming soon, so stay tuned! Thank you for reading, I love you all sm. Enjoy :)

If one more fucking customer complains about the wait time—

“Excuse me, ma’am, how much longer do we have to wait to be seated?” A rude man you’ve already dealt with asked even though you were in the middle of taking someone’s order.

Your eyes were wide out of sheer annoyance when you turned to look at him and asked, “How long was the wait when you got here?”

“Fifteen minutes,” he replied.

“Okay, and how long ago was that?”

“Five minutes ago.”

“Fifteen minus five is..." You pretended to think about it to be satirical. "Oh! Ten! Your wait time is ten minutes.”

You heard one of your managers shout your name, and you turned to look at him.

“Hey, maybe you should go take ten, alright?” He suggested. “You need a cigarette?”

He held his pack of Newport’s in his hand. You rolled your eyes, snatched the pack from him, and walked away without saying another word. “Only ten!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You stepped out of the rear door and stood next to the side of the building, watching the ongoing traffic as you lit and puffed on the disgusting cigarette.

“Your daddy know you smoking?” You heard from across the parking lot. Your eyes adjusted and saw Joel standing there with Tommy, who seemingly got off of work not too long ago.

“Hey, pretty girl!” Tommy shouted before walking over to you. You held the cigarette away from him and gave him half a hug while he placed a kiss on your head. “Why you smokin’, huh?”

“Oh my God, it’s one fucking cigarette,” you exclaimed.

“Rough day?” Joel asked.

You rolled your eyes, looking away from the two men. “Yeah, shit. Sorry. I’ll seat you guys when I get back in there. You can go ahead of this dickhead in there interrupting me every five minutes.”

“We were just gonna get it to go—“

Joel interrupted Tommy, “He givin’ you a hard time?”

“I’m probably just over-exaggerating. I’m just hungry. And tired. You guys go in and get your food. I don’t want to keep ya.”

Joel hated seeing you like this: your eyes puffy and purple from stress, smoking a goddamned cigarette. Your focus both everywhere and nowhere.

He thought maybe it was his fault for not seeing you these past few weeks. It wasn’t because he was afraid. Work was just busy, and he wanted to spend as much time with Sarah before she spent the rest of the summer at her friends’ houses.

“No, we’ll stay,” Tommy offered, feeling almost as bad as Joel. “Haven’t seen ya in forever anyways. We’ll catch up when the rush is over.”

You offered Tommy a weak smile while Joel was grinning from ear to ear in his head. He was happy to at least see you. Joel took the cigarette from your hand and tossed it in a puddle. You turned your annoyed self around and walked inside through the back door.

“Hey, uh, Tommy, why don’t you go ‘head and order for us. I gotta take a leak,” Joel said.

Tommy agreed, walking off, and the second that he was out of view Joel pushed you back into the men’s restroom, manipulating your body until your back was against the door. You couldn't even catch your breath with how fast everything was happening.

He loosely wrapped his hand around your throat, then licked a firm strip along the curve of your neck to your earlobe before giving it a mean bite. You gasped as your nipples hardened.

“I’m sorry I haven't seen you, baby,” he whispered in your ear, moving his hand to your skirt. Flashbacks of the kitchen playing in your head.

“That’s okay, I know you’ve been busy,” you whispered as he lifted the fabric up. Your lips crashed against his ferociously. You moaned when the bitter taste of coffee fell from his tongue onto yours after you slipped it into his mouth.

“I think about you all the time, you know?” You nodded at his question and kissed him again, this time much more sloppy.

“I have to get back to work, J—“ You stopped speaking when he lifted your leg and began to grind his hard cock against your needy cunt. You inhaled too hard, having to suppress your moans. “Joel, I have to go back,” you breathed out.

“Just one more minute, baby, please,” he whimpered, grinding into you roughly, “just one more—“

This was more relief than he had gotten any time he fucked his fist at the thought of you. Being close to you, making you feel how hard his cock got for you — finally rewarding himself with you even if it was only like this.

He didn’t envision dry humping you in the bathroom where you work, but he waited weeks to have you against him and felt like he deserved a little gratuity for his patience.

His arms looped around your back, head laying on your chest. You snaked a hand through his hair and held him close, wanting to feel him writhe and tremble beneath you.

When he said one minute, he meant it. Your pelvis was already growing sore from how hard and fast he was grinding you, but it was worth it.

He moaned a little too loud and moved his mouth over your neck to quiet himself as his thrusts became less frequent and longer. His breathing was heavy and hard, back rising and falling from trying to hold himself up as his orgasm toppled his entire being.

You felt him push your panties down your leg and tried to stop him. You thought he was trying to have sex. “Joel, come on, we don’t have time—“

“This ain’t f’you,” he chuckled tiredly. He successfully got them off of you and fixed your skirt before he held your panties up by your face. “This is f’me.” He folded your soaked underwear and shoved them in his pocket, then smacked a kiss on your lips before walking into a stall.

You realized neither of you checked them before your quick hookup. You prayed that nobody else was in the bathroom. Your trembling legs miraculously carried you out to the dining room. You continued to work like nothing even happened.

“Back on time for once?” You boss teased.

“Only because your cigarettes are shit.”

“Thanks for the ride, Tommy,” you said from the backseat of the truck.

“Yeah, kid, anytime. Thanks for covering our dinner,” he replied.

You grimaced when you remembered you deleted their order from the system. “Yeahhh, do me a favor and don’t mention that to Mikey.”

The men chuckled, and Tommy promised he wouldn’t say anything.

“Night, Tom,” you said before climbing out of the truck with Joel following.

“Night!”

Tommy practically sped off, leaving you and Joel to stand at the end of your driveway. You looked up at Joel with a smile, untying your apron and bunching it up in your hand.

“You really are a perv,” you joked. Joel just pursed his lips, checking you out. “What ya gonna do with my panties anyways, huh?”

“I’m gonna use them,” he spoke.

You cocked up an eyebrow and laughed when the image of him using the garment to stroke himself popped into your head. “You have fun with that,” you said after walking past him.

“Oh, I will.”

He waited until you got inside safely before he entered his own home; he grabbed a bottle of water and checked in on Sarah, seeing that she was already asleep with her notebook open and a pen in her hand. He closed her notebook and took the pen, setting them on her nightstand. She shuffled a bit after Joel put the blanket over her but settled after getting comfortable.

Joel closed her door and then went into the bathroom, turning the shower on; he undressed and reached for the pocket in his jeans that held your panties. They were blue with a pink rose sewn into the center of the hem. He stared at them, wondering what the fuck possessed him to do something like that.

He couldn’t resist bringing them to his face, as dirty as it felt. He saw that they were laden with your discharge. He took in the scent of you while palming his limpness. He could smell many things: your tangy juices, your vanilla perfume. He even smelled a little bit of your sweat, and it fucking incapacitated him.

His eyes rolled to the back of his head while he tried to suppress the moan that left his hoarse throat. His dick quickly hardened after he gave your panties a few more sniffs, and it made him crave the taste of you in his mouth again.

He brought the panties down to his cock and lazily wrapped them around it; he leaned over the sink, trying to hold himself up as he imagined your pretty lips wrapped around his length.

He thought about different ways you’d suck him — would you smile? Would you use your hands or just your mouth? Would you gag and choke around him so much that it brought tears to your eyes?

Every scenario he imagined only made him stroke himself harder and faster. He was gripping the corner of the sink so hard his hand was beginning to cramp up.

His cock twitched, straining against the fabric of your panties, and he felt that familiar stretch in the pit of his stomach to indicate he was close. He can’t think of a time when he finished so fast just from fucking his fist and doing it without a magazine or a movie to help? He was drunk off of you and never wanted to recover.

What is this girl doing to me?

His mind switched over to chaste thoughts of you, and that stretch inside him only tugged deeper. You were such a sweet person: always wanting to help people out and trying to get people to smile. Your smile would light up the entire room, and your confidence was intimidating in the best way possible.

Even during the moment, you had been asking for help with your ‘boyfriend’ while trailing your foot up Joel's leg, you still managed to sound so sweet. Your eyes would tend to ask him if something was okay. The thing was that when he was with you, everything was.

This was no longer just you two sneaking around like a pair of high schoolers. This had become a kink for him. The feeling of shame he often felt only turned him on even more.

He bit his lip a little too hard when his cock began to throb, immersing him in strain and ecstasy. It was almost painful. His hips jerked as he fucked his fist, pumping the last of his cum into your panties.

Joel’s head hung low while he caught his breath so he could muster up the strength to step into the steamy shower after he tossed your panties on the floor next to his jeans.

Thoughts of you floated around in his head as he stood beneath the water; he looked out of the small awning in the shower, and his eyes immediately locked with yours.

The devious smirk on your face told him you knew just what he just did, and he was too embarrassed to smile back before you left his view.

It was Independence Day, and while you didn’t exactly care to celebrate it, it was a good enough excuse for you and your dad to have some family and friends over.

You were in the middle of forming burger patties when you saw Tommy, Sarah, and another girl her age enter the kitchen from the back door.

“Hi!” You chirped, letting Tommy hug you and kiss your temple. “How are you guys?” Sarah hugged your side as well, with you returning the gesture.

“Good,” they said in unison.

“Where’s your dad at? I need to see what kinda beer he wants,” Tommy said while stealing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“What about what kind of beer I want?” You lightheartedly complained.

“What kinda beer you want?” Tommy said after a reluctant roll of his eyes.

“I don’t care, but ooh! Can you get me some wine coolers?”

Tommy pretended to be annoyed and walked upstairs after sassily saying, “Fiiine.”

“Who’s your friend?” You asked Sarah.

“This is Crystal. She’s my camp buddy,” Sarah introduced. You said hi and introduced yourself before Sarah asked, “Hey, do you still have that Cameron Diaz movie?”

You side-eyed her and tried not to smile. “The one that’s rated R?” Sarah gave you a hopeful smile, one that you couldn’t refuse. “It’s in my room, you can watch it in there. And hey! Keep the volume down, please.”

“Thank you!” She shouted before she and her friend ran upstairs, giggling adorably.

“What’re they giggling about?” Joel’s voice boomed as he walked into the room.

“Nothin’, just girl stuff.”

You were wearing a maroon-colored tube top and a black maxi skirt with wedge sandals. His eyes glossed over every curve and line of your body with how beautifully the clothes hugged your body.

You finished preparing the patties and turned around to wash your hands. Meanwhile, Joel’s hands snaked over your hips to cradle the base of your belly. Sheepishly giggling, you swayed your body in his arms and said, “Joel, someone could come down and see us.”

“That’s what makes it so fun,” he whispered, his voice vibrating against your ear, sending chills throughout your spine. “You look so beautiful today.”

You hummed with a goofy smile on your face. “Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself.” You turned around in his grasp and held his face as if he were fragile. He was clad in a brown shirt that complimented his pretty brown orbs and his typical Levi jeans that hung perfectly around his hips. “I’ve missed my favorite pair of panties.”

“Those blue ones with the rose on ‘em?”

“Uh-huh, you know the ones you came in last week?”

He pretended to think about it for a few seconds. “Ohh, yeah. Yeah, right. I actually brought them here with me today.” He pulled said panties out of his pocket and held them out of reach when you tried to snatch them. “Gi’me a kiss,” he bargained, and you happily obliged.

Your lips landed on his with a tenderness warm enough to melt him inside. His lips swirled around with yours in an entanglement so delicious it made your cunt leak all of Joel’s favorite flavors.

He slipped his tongue out and slid it across your lips, asking for permission to taste you; you parted your mouth slightly enough for him to lick across your teeth. You giggled and slid your tongue out to mesh with his while both of you tried to keep quiet.

You felt how thick and dominating his tongue was, telepathically begging him to lick your pussy. His kisses were so docile for how your body was responding to them.

Tommy and your father could be heard coming down the stairs when you were about to deepen the kiss. Joel tucked your underwear back into his pocket as you gasped for air and he immediately retreated to the other side of the island while faking a conversation.

“So, d’you get to meet any fashion designers when you were in school?” He asked just when they walked in.

“No,” you pouted as you thought about it, “but we did get to go to Ready to Wear. We saw lots of big brands being modeled.”

Just then, your dad chimed in. “My baby girl’s gonna be the best fashion designer the world will ever know.”

You blushed when he pinched your cheekbones and thanked him. “Your burgers are done. I finished the potato salad and the lemonade. All I have to do is finish the pudding and go to the store for the peach cobbler and ice cream, and I would love to take your truck to go and do that.” You held your hand out with a persuasive smile, waiting for him to drop the keys in your hand.

You saw your dad purse his lips and glance back and forth between the two brothers. He hated being put on the spot so naturally you made it a habit to do that.

“Last time you took my truck anywhere, you came home with a court hearing and a forty-dollar ticket,” he grunted. You didn’t budge other than to further emphasize your smile; his sigh was full of resentment, but he ultimately pulled his keys out and placed them in your hand. “No speeding.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“No smoking.”

“Course not.”

“No drinking until you get home.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“No picking up friends.”

“Of course.”

“No picking up drugs.”

“Dad.”

“And Joel’s going with you.”

“Oh, great. A babysitter."

“Anything goes wrong, you call me.”

“Got it, Rambo. Can I have thirty bucks?”

He reached into his wallet and asked, “What do you need thirty bucks for?”

You happily took the money from him and said, “I just wanted to see if you’d give it to me.” He rolled his eyes and waved you off as he walked away. Tommy followed him.

“Okay, babysitter Miller, let’s go. And Tommy, don’t forget my Seagrams!”

The drive to the store was probably the most normal interaction you had with Joel since your arrival a month ago. Your experience attending fashion school sparked his curiosity, and you were eager to discuss it with him. As you were growing up, he rarely got to see you excited about anything, so he enjoyed seeing you passionate about something.

But as soon as you parked the car and looked at Joel, the normalcy melted away from the heat of the sun. He trimmed his patchy facial hair and got a haircut that (to him) was long overdue.

“You clean up nice,” you spoke barely above a whisper. He nodded as thank you, not moving any muscles on his leathering face. You got a whiff of his aftershave — or maybe it was cologne — not quite sure what the scent was, but it smelled rich and musky. “Smell good too.”

That got his smile to crack.

“I know I said it already, but you look very pretty today,” he replied. He began to stroke your chin while using his thumb to trace the outline of your jaw.

“Thank you.” You kissed the curve of his hand, making the hairs on his arm stand up. You felt a rush of embarrassment though you weren't too sure why. You closed your eyes and kissed his hand again. “Fuck, Joel. What are you doin’ t’me?”

He frowned. “What, baby?”

You shrugged, unsure of what to say or what you even felt.

“Do we need to stop—“

“No. No.” You looked to him again, hoping to find an answer or, at the very least, an explanation. “I think I’m just overwhelmed.”

He pulled his hand away, anticipating your next move. It never came. You just sat there boring your eyes into his, then the mood shifted; his smile was contagious, filling your lungs with lost air and pushing the anxiety away.

You leaned over the center console to kiss him; his hand cupped the base of your neck beneath your hair, swirling his thumb around the nap of your neck.

The kisses you shared were savory and slow, an occasional mewl leaving your throat. You placed a hand on his chest, feeling his muscles and heart beating rapidly. Your panties were coated in a chilling layer of slick from his tongue slipping against yours, and he pulled away before it got too out of hand.

“Come on, ‘fore your old man sends the army after me.”

“He was in the Navy,” you corrected.

Joel managed to be on his best behavior in the store with you. For a moment, it actually felt like he was in a relationship with you. It didn’t help when an older lady stopped you two to say you were a lovely couple. While Joel was taken aback by the compliment, you just said thank you and continued shopping like it was nothing.

You figured you two looked like a couple with the close proximity and lingering gazes, so it didn’t surprise you as it did him.

He enjoyed seeing you pick up makeup that interested you and look in the little mirrors to see if you liked it against your skin tone. He let you guide him through the store. He didn’t mind. Not when he got more time alone with you.

“You’ve changed a lot. You know that?” He said abruptly when you were looking at the ice cream. You asked how he arrived at that conclusion as you gave him a look of disbelief. “You seem to be a lot more yourself. More sure of who you are.”

You gave him a sad smile as you came to that realization. “You really think so?”

“I do."

You looked back at the ice cream and grabbed a french vanilla carton, telling him, “You changed quite a bit yourself too… You were a very disorganized person from what I can remember. You just seem to have a clearer head now than you were before.”

“I guess I just didn’t know how to deal with being a single father.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a good job raising Sarah. She… She seems sure of herself too. Like me I guess.”

“Don’t know where she got it from.”

“Well, it wasn’t your grumpy ass. That’s for sure.”

The rest of the day went without a hitch. More people from around the neighborhood showed up, and for most of the day, you were mingling with Sarah and Crystal, who raved about some lewd scene from the movie you’d let them watch.

While everyone was watching the fireworks, you started picking up in the kitchen, knowing your dad was too drunk off his ass to do it. You loaded the dishwasher and began putting leftovers away when the girls came inside.

“My dad is letting me stay at Crystal’s tonight for the weekend,” Sarah said, her tone giving away the sense that she wanted another favor.

“Yeees?” You taunted.

“Well. I was wondering if we could borrow a couple movies and maybe some makeup?”

You looked at Sarah, seeing that glint of eagerness that you remember having at her age. Curious about the world and boys and girls and relationships. You couldn’t say no.

“Which movies?”

“Thirteen and What a Girl Wants?”

“No and yes,” you answered.

Sarah was clearly not happy you said no to Thirteen. “What?! Why? But I’m fourteen.”

“You can watch Thirteen when you turn thirty,” you mothered.

“Ugh, okay fine. How about Hot Chicks? Crystal’s never seen it.”

You debated it in your head but figured it was better than what you let them watch earlier. “Okay, deal. And only take makeup from the top of the vanity!” You shouted after they were already making their way upstairs. Your dad appeared not long after. He hugged you after wobbling a little bit, and a wet kiss was placed on your forehead. “Ew, Dad!”

“Some of us are going to a bar downtown for a couple hours.”

“You’re not driving are you?”

“No, no. It’s just a mile up the road. I’ll get a taxi on the way back. I promise you.”

“Okay. Well, call me if you need a ride or get arrested.”

A few others came inside, and you saw how your Dad looked at one of the women; physically, she was the antithesis of your mom. He gave her a smile once she noticed him staring.

“Go talk to her, dumbass,” you whispered, giving him a nudge with your elbow.

“Oh, we’ll be doin' more than ta—“

“Don’t!” You interrupted. “Do not finish that sentence.”

He chuckled and hugged you goodnight. “Joel said he’ll help clean up.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have to do that,” you responded.

“I think he has a crush on you.”

You froze at his words slowly turning your head to him. “Uh…”

You could see it in his eyes that he didn’t really know why he said that. He was definitely drunk. “Anyways. Love you, kid. I gotta get me some tail.”

You grimaced and pushed him away. “Real classy, Dad. Really fucking classy.” You shook your head as he followed his friends laughing.

Joel had dropped the girls off at Crystal’s house before he made his way back to you. The second he left, you ran upstairs to clean yourself quickly, hoping that tonight would be the night you finally get to have him.

Joel’s footsteps were heard from the entryway trailing into the living room where you were watching TV. Your head turned, a smile already curling around your lips.

“Hi, Joel,” you said before clicking the television off. He could just hear it in your tone how horny you were. He stared at you like a deer in headlights, making you laugh, so you walked over to him, bare feet padding against the wood. You took his hand in yours and guided him upstairs. “Sit on the bed,” you told him.

He was a nervous fucking wreck and you acting so calm about the situation only made him more nervous.

You shut the door even though no one was home and turned off your big light, the only glow coming from some string lights and an old ambient light in the corner. As corny as it felt “setting the tone” you wanted to make this moment special because every other time was rushed and sloppy (not that you minded).

You stood in front of him, feeling exposed despite being fully dressed. You rubbed your clammy hands over your thighs.

“Is this okay?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Joel said a little loudly. He cleared his throat and tried to calm down. “Yeah.”

“We don’t—we don’t have to.”

“No, no, I want to. If—if you want to. Shit, uh…” He chuckled, bashful at his poor attempt at easing the tension.

“Okay,” you tittered.

You reached for the rim of your shirt, lifting it slowly to expose your stomach. He watched your fingers slither over your skin, and you asked again, “Is this okay?”

How did I get so lucky?

He nodded.

You moved your shirt up more, exposing the underside of your breasts and part of your areola. “This okay?”

This is the first time, he realized, that I’ll see her tits.

He nodded again. You peeled the shirt from your body and let it drop to the floor.

Fuck. They’re perfect.

Your nipples were already stiff with anticipation, goosebumps scattered over your flesh. “How about…” Your thumbs broke the waistband of your skirt. “This?” You pushed the fabric down just enough to reveal that you weren’t wearing any panties.

She’s doing all this for me. To make me feel special.

The lump in his throat ran dry, and you didn’t bother waiting for another response. You let your skirt cascade down your legs to hit the floor. You teetered over to stand between his legs and pressed his face into your belly.

He pressed a kiss into your flesh and ran his hands over your thighs before firming a squeeze on your ass. His nails left indents while he sunk his teeth into your skin, wanting his body to mesh in yours.

Your knees slowly drifted to the floor; he let you fiddle with the opening of his jeans so that he could focus on tasting your sweet lips, getting lost in the feeling of being here with you.

You sucked his bottom lip roughly and palmed his growing erection over his boxers. He hovered over the bed for a moment to push his pants down enough to let his cock spring free.

Your eyes widened at his girth while his cockhead tapped his lower stomach. Your mouth watered as you watched it twitch a couple times.

He leaned back on his elbows and took in the sight of your intimidation from the size of his dick, smiling arrogantly when you licked your lip with the purpose to ready your mouth. You hummed after gaining a bit of confidence to praise how big he was.

“All for you,” he said.

You slowly blinked, then wrapped your hand around his velvety shaft. His cock was littered with veins. You licked your lips and drooled your salivation over his warm tip, letting it glide down a bit. You kept your eyes locked with his as you wrapped your swollen lips around him.

His cock felt hot and it pulsed with need once it came in contact with your perfect mouth. He fought the urge to moan, letting out his cries in a symphony of whimpers instead.

Your eyes rolled back at the sound of his wordless little pleads. You circled your tongue around his head relentlessly before surprising him by forcing his cock to hit the back of your throat.

His entire body flinched and he shouted out a few curse words. You gagged and pulled back; you allowed your spit to drip down his skin. You slurped around his tip and moaned when he flinched again. Then, you took more of him in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down. You fell in love with how he tasted in your mouth as his salty precum oozed over your tongue. The gagging and slurping noises echoed in the room and he couldn’t keep his moans to himself anymore.

“Oh, f-fuck,” he whimpered, thrusting into your mouth gently. “Fuck. That—that feels so fucking good, baby. Yes baby, yes baby, yes.”

You moaned around the shaft, eliciting more obscenities from him. Your mouth was so full even though you hadn’t taken all of him. Your cheeks hollowed around him, creating a tighter vessel for him to fuck while you stroked whatever you couldn’t fit.

His face contorted with the anguish of not wanting to finish yet, but he couldn’t stop now, could he?

Maybe if I just get a little closer—just a little.

So lost in the pleasure, he felt the start of his climax rise causing him to gently pull you off of him.

A single streak of his cum shot onto your cheek. You flinched but laughed endearingly, helping his ego feel better about it.

“Fuck. Sorry.” His chest heaved with his mouth dry from his heavy breathing as you assured him it was okay.

He took a moment to gather himself before sitting up and wiping his cum from your face. You grabbed his wrist before he got the chance to wipe it clean; you impulsively sucked the milky release before swallowing it shamelessly.

Joel’s eyes were glossy and low. He could watch you lick up his cum for hours if you wanted to. You looked so sweet on the outside but inside you were dark, full of a lust that was forever unfulfilled by previous boyfriends.

Sometimes you wondered if you even knew what you want sexually, yet Joel was able to just read you and provide.

“You’re such a good girl for me," he asked with a devious smile, "aren't you?"

“Anything for you, Joel.”

Chuckling, he picked you up effortlessly and sat you on his stomach while he laid on his back.

“Use me,” he begged.

You blushed. “What do you mean?”

“You said your last boyfriend didn’t do the things you needed him to,” he explained, “so use me. Fuck me however you want. And I’ll fuck you however you need me to. Be as rough as you want. As mean as you want. Ride me, ride my face—I don—I don’t care. I just need you. Need you s’fucking bad.”

You saw in his eyes desperation, and it made your head spin. A man so brute and strong like Joel begging to be your fuck toy was a sight for your sore eyes.

You adjusted your body and carefully lined his cock up with your sopping entrance; he felt rewarded when your puffy walls clung to him. The stretching of your pussy burned deliciously inside of you.

You sat there for a moment. Not to get adjusted to his fat cock, but to just feel him. Feel him twitch and jerk, aching to pump you full of his seed.

You circled your hips slowly feeling his head bump against your g-spot. Your fingers pressed into his chest and you started to ride the slight curve of his shaft.

“Oh, my God. Joel,” you cried out, feeling how his cock stuffed you perfectly each time you rode down.

“That feel good, baby?”

As your eyelashes fluttered shut, you were pathetically nodding and reaching up to play with one of your breasts. “Yes,” you moaned.

With thick hands wrapped loosely around your waist and eyes fixated on you, Joel was under your spell. He loved being used by you. Submitting.

You appreciated the control he gave you over his body. He was of free use just for you, and you grew tired of being afraid of that. You fucked him however you wanted, just like he had asked, finding the inconsistencies of your movements titillating.

His long fingers drew random patterns around your back, adding intimacy to the connection. He looked so breathtaking beneath your tantalized body. His eyebrows furrowed into a pout that made your heart melt for him, and his pursed lips cooed out little praises.

"Yes," he whimpered, softly thrusting into you as you went down to create the perfect rhythm. "Yes, yes, yes," he continued. "Darlin', you're doing so good for me, yes."

"You feel so good," you moaned. "Your cock is so fucking big."

"You take it so well, baby girl. Ahh—fu… You're doin' so good f'me."

You leaned down to kiss his wet lips, moans pouring from you. "S'it feel good?"

"Yes, baby. Fuck yes, you feel so fucking good. Don't s-stop."

You gasped and twisted your nipple between your fingertips, feeling an ungodly amount of your precum seep between your bodies. A bundle of pleasure twinged in the pit of your stomach, making your hips stutter and mess up the rhythm.

“I’m gonna cum, Joel—oh, fuuck. I’m gonna cum,” you said in a hushed voice.

You felt his hands smooth over your ass, and he began thrusting into you a bit more forcefully, encouraging you to finish.

A calamity overtook you; your climax was full of distress and violence. You had never screamed so loud before. Your orgasm worked against you, releasing itself into the darkest corners of your body.

You felt it everywhere. Your toes curled. Your elbows locked. Your fingers went numb. Your neck warmed. Every inch of your body felt haunted by the orgasm you felt yourself fighting. Joel fucking lived for it.

You were a fucking mess above him and he couldn’t stop himself from overstimulating you. He held you still in his strong arms and pounded into you ruthlessly, with no care in the world for how loud you were.

You loved how it overpowered you, intensifying as Joel determined to make it last longer. It felt like an eternity. Your chest shook from your blubbers, your body full of amnesia of reality.

He intently watched you, waiting for it to become too much. Your eyes welled up with tears and your face hurt from how contorted it had become. It wasn’t until you took a big breath in that he slowed down causing you to collapse atop his chest.

Joel held you close, grazing his fingers over your back and arms to soothe you as you came down from your high. All he wanted to do was to feel good with you and make sure you were satisfied.

You lifted your flushed face from the crook of his neck to give him a passionate kiss; he hummed against your warm lips, bringing a hand up to hold your face so he could deepen the connection.

He slowly rolled your body over until he was on top of you. Your hands slid along his broad shoulders whilst he erratically pushed his pants down, kicking them to the floor afterward. You pulled at the hem of his shirt and helped him remove it.

He slipped back inside of you as he stayed on his knees, getting the perfect view of your alluring frame. Your makeup had begun to fade away, and mascara scattered around your eyes. Your hair was messily laid around your head and your eyes were heavy with fatigue.

“Your so beautiful,” he said before reaching to pinch your cheeks in his big hand to slightly embarrass you, “you’re such a fucking mess already.”

You grabbed his hand, snatching it from your cheeks and pushing it away; you sat up enough to grab a hold of his neck, bringing his face closer to yours as a dangerous looked filled your eyes. You dug your legs into his thighs to push his length deeper inside of you, it caught him by surprise.

“Thought you said I was in control, huh,” you whispered. Joel instantly pouted, the pathetic look on his face fueled your desire to domesticate him.

“Y-you—yes, yes,” he weakly responded. “Yes. You a—you are in control.”

You gave him a soft kiss despite your tough demeanor to help calm him. “Good boy,” you praised, tightening your grip. He thanked you and started to move his halted hips again, this time with purpose and force.

Your hardened expression cracked, faltering into a look of bliss and thankfulness. His skin clapped against yours as you felt his balls swinging against your ass with every thrust.

The moans spilling between your lips was music to Joel’s ears; he felt the swollen head of his cock breech even deeper inside of you after you hung your legs around his hips. Your walls fluttered around his pulsating cock making your cunt feel tighter.

Combining that with your tight grip around his neck? Fuck. He wanted to cum so badly—

“Shit!” He shouted as he pulled out, not wanting this to end so soon.

You laughed at him more teasingly this time and let his neck go, using your legs to push him back inside with no effort.

He tried thrusting more slowly this time, but his body was just begging for release. He pulled out again and attempted to take a breather. You weren’t having it.

You pushed him into saint position and held his face firmly to make him look you in the eyes as you started to bounce on him.

“Baby,” he said, feeling the rise of his climax slowly build again, “I don’t wanna stop yet.”

“Your cock belongs to me,” you told him; he promptly agreed. “That means I do whatever I fucking want to. You’re gonna cum for me and let me keep fucking you.”

His eyes rolled back and his let out a moan of both desperation and relief. “Yes,” he whimpered, eagerly nodding his dazed head, “yes. My cock belongs to you. Only you—fuck—no one’s ever made me feel as good as you.”

You moaned in response, knowing you no longer needed to scold him.

He was so fucking thick. Not even all of your slick could help get used to his size. Your skin clung to his from the faint sweat coating both of your bodies. Your tits bounced against his toned chest stimulating your nipples, adding to the earth-shattering pleasure.

His breathing was shallow while he tried to hold off as long as possible. He then figured if he rubbed your clit you might be able to finish again with him.

You jolted when his thumb rubbed erratic loops around your clit, soon enough feeling your climax build again. And though it was not as powerful it hit you so much more quickly.

“Can you cum for me?” You asked nicely. “Fuck, I’m gonna cu—“ Your own gasps cut you off as you heard Joel say he was going to finish with you.

His forehead fell onto yours as the pressure finally exploded inside of you. Your body insisted on continuing to fuck him, your cunt pushing and pulling at his shaft as if you were trying to squeeze his cum out yourself. He painted your walls with his hot white load, filling you up even more as if you weren't full enough.

He held you tight and leaned his head onto your shoulders so that your shivering legs wouldn’t completely give out.

All of a sudden Joel grew an urge to eat you out before his cum spilled out.

He tossed you onto your back and got down on his stomach, barely letting you breathe before his tongue covered your throbbing hole.

You cried out his name shamelessly, feeling his tongue curl up inside of you. He watched you arch your back and grab at the sheets with your head thrown back and mouth opened.

At first, he only tasted your tangy cum as it lay thick and heavy on his tongue. But after a short while, he tasted was he could only presume to be himself. The taste was mostly brine, but a little sweet, and permeated along his tastebuds. He couldn’t get enough of how good the two of you tasted together.

He devoured every last drop he could manage before pulling away from you, feeling how hard his he still was. He wanted to make up for finishing so soon.

You wanted to come down—you were so fucking wore out. But you felt Joel twist you around onto your stomach and lift your hips up before shoving his cock back inside of you.

You groaned at the stretch feeling stronger than before, clawing at the bedsheets as he wasted no time to fuck you again. His hips clapped against your ass when his hands pushed into your waist, deepening your arch.

He would slowly pull back to where his beaming cockhead was only inside of you, then he'd thrust strong enough to make your body bounce a little on the springy mattress. He fucked you slow but hard, wanting you to feel every inch of him.

“Fuck! Yes, Joel!” You shouted.

“Like that, baby? Hmm?” He spanked you when you didn’t answer.

“Fuck, yes, you’re so good to me!”

Your moans turned into whines from the brute force of his body. Tears danced along your eyes as your pussy ached with overstimulation and rapture.

“My cock belongs to you? Hmm?” He said indignantly. He was already yours. He belonged to you. He just wanted to hear you say it again.

You moaned lustfully when he started going fast enough to make his balls hit your clit. He reached to grab your neck and beckoned you to get on your hands as well, keeping the grip loose enough for you to breathe.

“Yes, Joel, your fucking cock belongs to me," your voice was lame as you tried to regulate your breathing. Your sore pussy yearned again, asking for relief just once more. “Give it to me, please, give it to me.”

He looked at his dick thrust in and out of you, groaning at the smooth ring of your cum wrapped around the base of his shaft.

“You wanna cum again?” He asked. You begged and pleaded and cried for him to keep going.

He didn’t even try to comprehend when another orgasm was building for him. He ignored the anguish the second climax was bringing him, even if it was becoming too painful to bear. He didn’t care enough. He just wanted to keep listening to those pretty sounds you were making.

He never had an experience come close to this one. To being with you. Never imagined doing something as dirty as tasting his own cum, let alone after releasing it inside of his partner. And then to cum twice in the span of a few minutes? He knew then and there that no one would be able to satisfy him like you.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” You moaned in a high pitch that Joel thought was cute; your back arched and tensed, your whole body shaking with a third orgasm that felt instinctual. Your eyes filled with stars and you were lightheaded.

He let himself feel every aspect of his orgasm once the pain left his body. It was warm and made him a little hazy; he was so overwhelmed with euphoria that he could hardly react to it. He was persistent in finishing you both off with sloppy thrusts as he whispered sweet praises to you about how good you felt.

Your body collapsed making Joel’s dick slip out of you; he rested next to you once you laid on your side and put his arm around your head. You lay there in a bittersweet silence for a few minutes, savoring the sound of each other’s breathing and sleepy hums.

“I’m so tired now,” you lazily said.

Joel chuckled and pulled the blanket up to cover you. “Go to sleep, baby.”

“I don’t wanna,” you said tiredly; he chuckled again and kissed your head, wishing that this wasn’t casual. “Was it good for you?” You asked after looking up at him, the craving for sleep evident in your pretty eyes.

He couldn’t put into words how at peace he felt right now. He was tired too. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“I wasn’t too mean, was I?” You worried.

“No, baby,” he cooed, stroking your head. “You were perfect.” The way he said it ensured you it was the truth.

“I was perfect?” You giggled.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed. “We should go out some night. Have a little fun."

"Joel Miller, r'you asking me on a date?"

"It ain't gotta be," he answered.

You giggled again and curled into his body some more. "Sure, Joel. Take me out to a bar so I can dance on sleazy men in cowboy hats to make you jealous."

He laughed, "You love makin' stories up, don't you?"

"It won't be a story for long."

Read part 3 here.

🏷️ @paleidiot @sarap-77 @mmeerraa @ssweetart42

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou smut

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judysxnd · 1 year

Note

OK girl we need some sexy time with pedro × reader . Write it how you like for us💋❤

OKAY the other day I just said to someone that I wasn’t comfortable writing smut and all, but im going to try to go as further as possible. Also, I am listening to “double fantasy” by The Weeknd (oh my god I love him so much) as I write this.

Update: OH MY- OH MY GOD!!!! I can’t believe it!! I dit it!!! And I like it!! Also I didn’t really know if you were actually asking for smut, so I did it anyway. I’m so proud of me for being able to write sexual content. I am still not that comfortable doing it though, but for now it is manageable.

Minors, please do not engage, +18 only!

Warnings: sexual content

——————————————————————————————

It’s both your day off today. And it’s been like that for almost two weeks. Taking two weeks off was very much needed, knowing all the work you’ve both been doing. You were exhausted, it was the least you could say. The first week, you left. You both really needed to disconnect a little. The second week, you just decided to chill home.

Today was Wednesday, and, not going to lie, you were bored. You got up around 10am, Pedro not so long after.

“What are wee going to do today?” You asked, as you were making coffee for the both of you. Pedro was next to you, leaning on the counter.

“I have no idea” he yawned

“Here” you said, giving him his coffee

“Thank you mama” he smiled. He kissed your cheek, which made you blush. You both headed outside, enjoy the warmth of the sun.

You had lunch around 1pm, then you decided to tan a little while Pedro was reading a book next to you.

“Damn” You heard Pedro say. You were laying on your stomach so you couldn’t really see what he was doing.

“What?” You felt a hand move the strap of your bathing suit a little

“You- how did you tan so fast?” You laughed

“Monoï”

“Mon- what?”

“It’s an oil, that makes you tan faster”

“Wait- you’re literally putting oil on to cook yourself?” you both laughed

“If you say it like that- well yeah”

“Why didn’t you take your top off?”

“What?” You said turning to face him

“You know, not to have strap marks”

“I don’t mind them”

“Oh okay”

“And I’m not really a fan of public nudity”

“Public?” He laughed “who’s there to look at you?”

“Well you, but if I start tanning without the top off here, it’s not to put it back on somewhere else, there’s no point in doing it either way”

“Wh- me? I literally see you naked-” you smirked

“If you just want me to take it off just say it” you sat in front of him. His eyes wondered on your body, obviously on your breasts, then back to your eyes.

“Okay, take it off then” not moving your eyes from his, your hands slowly started to undo the knots of the straps of your bathing suit. First the one on your back, than the one on your neck, which made you top fall off.

“Happy?” His eyes scanned every inch of you. His stood up, and got closer to you. He lifted your chin up.

“Very happy” he smirked. Putting your hands on his waist, you stood up.

“Now it’s my turn to be happy” he smiled. “Take off your shirt” licking his lips, he took his shirt off. “The shorts too”

“Hm hm, it’s not your turn anymore”

“Wh- well that’s not fair, you’re wearing more clothes than m-” he cut you off

“Take the bottom off”

“Only if you take the shorts off first”

“That’s not how it works” you looked at him with a surprised expression

“Oh this is how it is going to work though” you stared intensely at each other. He finally gave in, seeing you were not moving, and took his shorts off. He was left in his underpants, that were showing his bulge. Looking at him up and down, you put your hands on his chest, slowly going down, but Pedro stopped you.

“Cariño, es tu turno” (darling, it’s your turn) oh he went Spanish mode. He knew the effect it had on you. But you also know what it means for him. He is long gone. It made you smirk. Both of your hands on your waist, you slowly took off your the rest of your bathing suit off.

“Bueno, sabes lo que tienes que hacer” (okay, you know what you have to do) you added. He did not expect that one for sure. When he spoke Spanish to you, you could cum right here and then. But it was the same for him. Speaking his native language? Oh my- it was a turn on.

“Qué estás haciendo princesa” (what are you doing princess) he said in a low voice. You smiled.

“Sabes lo que estoy haciendo” (you know what I am doing) you said, your right hand travelling on his chest and stomach, and even playing with the hem of his underwear. And that was it. He couldn’t take it anymore. He put his hands on your waist and grabbed you. It made you squeal. He put you on his shoulders and headed inside the house.

“Oh you want to play? Okay let’s see” he said, slapping you ass at the occasion. Once in the bedroom, he put you on the bed. You were out of breath. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you at the edge of the bed. He kneeled in front of you, his hands going higher and higher. “We’ll see how long you can hold” he smirked.

He started kissing your thighs, slowly going up to your core. You straighten up a little so you could look at him. Your right hand went into his hair. He looked at you for a second, then he started to work on you.

“Already wet and I barely touched you.” He said, his hands now traveling on your body, from you breasts, to your waist, and licking your pussy at the same time. Oh he knew what he was doing. You threw your head back, closing your eyes, mouth open. His tongue was perfect.

“P-Pedro please” he stopped for a second, which made you whine a little.

“What was that sweetheart?” You looked at him. He was teasing you.

“Can we skip this and go to the part where you actually fuck me?” You tried teasing too. It could work and send him to the edge too, therefore he would actually fuck you, or, he would take his revenge and make him tease you even more and longer.

“Eres impaciente mi amor” (you are impatient my love) he smirked. He slightly got up to kiss you passionately, while his right hand went to your pussy, continuing what he had started. It made you moan in the kiss. “Yeah that’s it” he said, looking at you taking his fingers. “You’re getting close isn’t it” you kept moaning. “I need you to answer baby doll”

“Y-yes” Your arms started to shake. They couldn’t support you anymore, it was getting too much. Pedro put his left hand on you back, holding you more.

“Not just yet” he said as he started to plant kisses in your neck, making it extremely difficult to contain your orgasm.

“I-I can’t” he suddenly removed his fingers. It made you gasp due to sudden stop and lack of touch. You looked at him, confused and panting. He got up and started to lick his fingers.

“You taste so good” you smirked. He then left to the bathroom. You laid down on the bed waiting for him. You could still feel your orgasm being near, so you started to touch yourself. Biting your lips, you closed your eyes. It felt so good. Pedro saw what you were doing. As much as he liked it, right now, he didn’t want you to cum just yet. You suddenly felt a hand holding yours. “Darling, you know it drives me crazy when you do that”

“What, I can’t play too?” You sat up, and saw that he was holding a condom in his right hand. He smiled at what you said. He opened the condom, while you took his briefs off. After he put the condom on, you laid back on the bed as Pedro placed himself above you.

You placed both your hands on his cheeks, looking at him. You could see the lust in his eyes. Your thumb was caressing his lips. You felt the mood change. As it was playful before, you felt the sexual tension rise even more, but being more sensual then before. You kissed him languorously.

“You’re ready?” He asked you, staring into your eyes. You nodded. “I need words princesa”

“Yes I am ready”

“Stop me if it hurts, at any point” you smiled. He was just too sweet. Despite what you were doing, he would always be very careful with you. You love that about him. You love everything about him. You kissed him again. He slowly entered you, burning sensation spreading all over your body. After a few seconds of adjusting, for the both of you, Pedro started to go back and forth, slowly at first. His head in your neck, he started to moan as well.

“Oh yes- it just- you feel so good” you managed to say between moans. One hand on his back, another in his hair, every part you touched were sending him to the edge. At some point his movements started to get faster meaning he was close. His right hand was working on your clit at the same time, giving you a full experience, and getting you closer each second.

“Wait for me mama” he said, kissing your neck a little, feeling the vibration of his moans against your skin.

“P-Pedro, I-I’m”

“me too” you both climaxed, close to one an other. You were both breathing heavily. You lifted his head, smiling. You kissed him as long as you could. After that, he laid next to you.

“I wouldn’t mind a shower now” you said. It was a hot day, adding the heat from the session, refreshing was a good idea. He looked at you.

“Round 2?” You smiled

“Okay” you got up and went into the bathroom, followed very closely by Pedro. The shower might not be as refreshing as it could be.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #oneshot #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal preferences #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #smut #gif

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rosylix · 27 days

Text

chaotic, my heart is off time

a certain dare leads jisung to discover he may not be as straight as he thinks he is or: felix is really pretty and jisung is confused

pairing: jilix (jisung × felix)

wc: 12.2k

content: college au, fluff, smut, a little angst, they are both awkward cuties tbh, alcohol, passing mention of drugged drink. slight inexperience, extremely platonic handjobs between bros, switch!felix kinda?, sub!jisung semi-awakening, jisung has a lot of feelings that scare him, depictions of anxiety/minor panic attack, sexuality crisis, includes texting screenshots (mainly at the end)

[also read on ao3]

—

It's all Hyunjin's fault, really.

Jisung has nothing else to blame except his innate stupidity and the one too many drinks he had downed that are making him act even more stupid, if that's even possible.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. This whole thing is just so stupid.

That's the only thought in his head as he wanders the house of whichever classmate is hosting this party (probably one of Chan's friends, he knows everyone), searching for someone who would be down to let him give them a handjob without it being awkward or weird.

He should've known truth or dare was a terrible idea.

“Hm… I dare you to give someone a handjob,” Hyunjin had said with a smirk. “It can be anyone at the party.”

Jisung blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“But how will you even know, like…”

“I'll know,” he said simply, and gave him an unsettling look like he knew something Jisung didn't.

And that was it. Jisung was pushed out of the room, practically sent to the wolves to complete the dare before midnight. He felt like a fucked up rendition of Cinderella or something.

A handjob? Really, Hyunjin? Jisung doesn't even swing that way and yet he can't find it in himself to back down from the dare. He knows it's a problem, his inability to admit defeat when faced with a challenge. Not to say that the alcohol buzzing through his system isn't playing a part as well. It definitely is.

Jisung lightly slaps himself and mentally tells himself to get a grip, dude. It's just a handjob between bros. A totally chill and normal endeavor! He doesn't know why he's making such a big deal out of it (he's definitely done weirder things before) but something about the idea is making a weird nervous feeling creep through his system.

It's fine. It's literally not a big deal. I'm sure the guys wouldn't even mind getting jerked off, he tells himself as he continues looking around (definitely not stalling) from the corner he's found himself nestled in. Ultimately, he decides that in order to have the least awkward situation possible he should try to find someone he's friends with rather than a random stranger. He goes through his list of friends he's comfortable with.

Chan? No. God, no. Jisung cringes immediately after thinking it. Chan's like a friend, brother, and parental figure all in one to Jisung. Even if he might agree to help, Jisung does not even want to entertain the thought any longer. He shudders.

Changbin? Uh… maybe? He was there at the truth or dare game so he already knows the situation. But he was also giving Hyunjin googly eyes the entire time so maybe not. Blegh.

Minho? Jisung thinks this is probably his best bet. Worst case, his hyung will laugh at his situation and turn him down kindly. But he trusts Minho to not let it become awkward between them either way.

Still, he should probably think through his other options. Obviously not Hyunjin… Jeongin? Even though he knows he's not, Jisung still sees him as a pure, innocent kid, he can't help it. Something about it just inherently feels wrong, he's like his little brother. Absolutely not.

So then, Seungmin? Honestly Jisung isn't totally averse to the idea… but Seungmin is his roommate and he would never be able to escape if things become awkward. So, no.

He doesn't know how long he's been standing there, probably looking pretty creepy he suddenly realizes, when a hand snaps in front of his face.

He blinks. When he looks up he sees a mildly annoyed Seungmin staring at him. Speak of the fucking devil.

"That was my drink, you know."

Oh. Jisung looks down at the drink he's holding—huh, when did he grab that?—and looks back up at Seungmin with an apologetic expression.

"I was wondering where this came from, sorry Min."

Seungmin waves it off. "That's so like you to just pick up any drink. You're lucky it was mine and not, like, some random person's." He pauses. "Or drugged."

Jisung laughs nervously. "Yeah uh, you're right, I'll be more careful." He straightens up. "Thank you for sacrificing your drink for the greater good," he says solemnly with a bow.

Seungmin rolls his eyes. "Yeah sure, anytime." He pauses. "Are.. you alright though? You've been standing here spaced out for a while but you usually love to go around annoying everyone. I would know, unfortunately." Another small roll of his eyes, then tilting his head to the side, he offers a light smile. "If you want we can go home and just watch Netflix or something?"

Of course Seungmin can tell something's up. Jisung isn't always the most comfortable in larger social gatherings with people outside his immediate friend circle. He much prefers to stay in his room and binge watch YouTube videos until he passes out, something his roommate is well aware of. Jisung appreciates the concern even if that isn't the current cause of his worries.

Still, he doesn't really want to bother Seungmin with his current predicament. "Aww, is my little Minnie worried about me~? I knew you cared about meee!" Jisung drawls, draping himself slightly over the taller boy in a messy embrace.

"Shut up, oh my god you're so annoying." Seungmin pushes him away but Jisung doesn't miss the slight pull at the corners of his mouth. "Anyway, I was serious. I was gonna go bother Old Man Chan but if you wanna leave that's cool too. You seemed really out of it earlier. Just staring at this thing like it would give you life's secrets." He grabs the can from Jisung's hand and grimaces after taking a sip, muttering something about alcohol ruining the perfectly good taste of lemonade before handing it back to Jisung.

While the offer to just bail on the party and his dare is tempting, Jisung doesn't want to give up like that. His pride and dignity are on the line here. "Oh uh, I mean, it's nothing really. Just another one of Hyunjin's weird dares, I can handle it. But thanks Seungie."

He tries to give a reassuring smile but it must have come off a bit nervous anyway because Seungmin gives him a cut-the-crap look. "Okaay, but still, you never get this worked up over his dares. What did he say to do this time? I'm sure it can't be worse than that time you licked—"

Jisung's eyes widen and he immediately slaps a hand over the taller boy's mouth. "Oh my god Seungmin, we don't talk about that. That was quite possibly the worst thing I've ever done." He groans at the memory.

Seungmin laughs and pushes his hand away. "Yeah that was pretty bad. So? It can't be as bad as that right?"

Jisung bites his lip, damn it, he was hoping Seungmin would drop it. He doesn't even know why he's getting so in his head about the dare, he's sure Minho or one of the others will be fine with it once he explains the situation. What's a brojob between bros, right? Right?

Shit, Seungmin is still waiting for an answer. Should he just tell him? He's comfortable enough with him that it wouldn't be that weird. But.. he just can't bring himself to. "Hmm… I don't know. I mean it's a little weird but at least I won't have to do this one in front of other people. No public embarrassment this time if that's what you were hoping for," he says around a grin that thankfully comes naturally.

Seungmin frowns and opens his mouth to say something when he's waved over by a smiling Jeongin. He smiles back, then turns back to Jisung, who doesn't fail to notice the light dusting of pink on his cheeks. Oh? He's definitely gonna tease Seungmin for that later. "Alright, well if you're sure you're okay I'll leave you to it but you're telling me all about this later. And if it's really that bad then don't do it, okay? Hyunjin wouldn't force you to do anything if you really don't want to."

“I know… thanks,” Jising smiles genuinely. “Uh—completely unrelated—have you seen Minho hyung anywhere?”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow but shakes his head. “I heard from Chan that he left already. Something about his cats he said. Why?”

Jisung's heart sinks. There goes his only real hope. “No reason…” he shakes his head and puts on a smile again. “Um, I think your boyfriend's waiting.” He points to Jeongin with a small smirk.

Seungmin's ears turn scarlet as he sees who Jisung is pointing to. His head snaps back wildly. “My what— we're not—”

Jisung puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay, my bad, my bad… I didn't say anything.”

Seungmin narrows his eyes. “No, you didn't. Bye!” And he runs off in Jeongin's direction, leaving Jisung alone with his—well really Seungmin's—drink.

Jisung leans back into his corner, thoughts going rampant. Minho, his only saving grace, already left. What does he do now!? Obviously he knows Hyunjin would never force him into doing the dare if he's really uncomfortable, but that doesn't mean Jisung wouldn't be embarrassed for not being able to! And it's not that he doesn't want to, he's just… worried. Worried that it'll be too weird and awkward and Jisung really doesn't want to mess up any of his friendships. Not to mention his… limited experience. Sure, he has some experience with girls but with a guy? Obviously not. What if he's like, really, really bad??

Whatever! If Jisung is anything, he's not a coward. In a sudden rush of adrenaline, he tips his head back, downs the rest of Seungmin's drink, and seeing as all his friends are out of the question, he decides to walk over to the first male specimen he lays his eyes on. What could go wrong?

Oh. Of course everything could go wrong. He realizes his grave mistake when he notices the unmistakable head of blond hair in his vision. Felix. Pretty boy and literal innocent ball of sunshine.

Felix had recently transferred from Australia, and while he was super friendly whenever they talked, they weren't incredibly close. Not that Jisung doesn't want to be, it just takes him a while to warm up to new people. And they only share one class together. Still, they do talk a lot in that class, and he probably hasn't gotten comfortable with someone that fast since Minho hyung, Jisung realizes with some surprise.

But that wasn't the issue. From what he could tell (from a few truth or dare rounds from previous parties), Felix became really shy whenever the topic was even slightly sexual. He definitely wouldn't want to go along with Jisung's dare, and would probably be uncomfortable even talking about it. The last thing Jisung wants is to make anyone uncomfortable, least of all Felix.

He moves to turn around but it seems the blond has already noticed him approaching by the way he breaks out into a smile and waves. Jisung silently curses his dumb impulsiveness as he continues making his way to the other boy. It's fine. He can just act normal, talk with Felix for a bit and then go find someone else.

But when he arrives and sees Felix up close, Jisung's mind goes blank. With truly striking timing, the single brain cell he'd been clinging to all night decides to abandon him and he just stares for a few seconds.

Finally, his brain decides to award him a single staggering thought: Oh, he looks really pretty.

Felix looks back at him, bright smile still reaching his eyes, which are shimmery and lightly lined with eyeliner. And oh, Jisung is just standing here like an idiot, which he is, but god, he's really been acting more idiotic than usual.

"Uh, hey Felix!" he says and cracks a hesitant smile.

"Yo, my twin! What's up?"

Jisung laughs and immediately relaxes a little. They had found out that their birthdays are only one day apart during a lame icebreaker in class. "Just… wanted to say hi. How're you liking the party? It's only, what, your second or third one here? Chan's parties are always the best."

"It's cool! And yeah, Chris—I mean, Chan hyung's like totally awesome. At first I was intimidated by him but when I found out he's a fellow Aussie I almost cried on the spot. I definitely wouldn't have adjusted as well if not for him." Felix looks away and smiles to himself, to Jisung's relief. He was admittedly having a hard time maintaining eye contact with Felix's bright eyes constantly glittering up at him.

“I know what you mean. He's saved my life more than once.” Jisung chuckles. Then he figures he should escape before he inevitably makes a fool of himself. “Uhh, anyway I just wanted to check in and say hi but I guess I'll get going…”

“So soon? I was thinking of checking in with you actually.”

Jisung blinks. “You… sorry?”

“You've just been standing over there for the past twenty minutes or so", Felix points to the corner Jisung was lurking in earlier. "Even I know that's kinda uncharacteristic of you. I was getting worried. And then you just came speeding towards me like a man on a mission."

“You were watching me that whole time!?” Jisung all but shrieks.

“Ah, um…” Felix rubs his neck. “Not the whole time but… yeah.” He shrugs, “Sorry, is that weird? I was just worried about you.”

Jisung feels his heart swell from the kindness of this boy he's not even incredibly close with. He should make an effort to talk to him more often outside of class. “No it's… it's nothing. We were playing truth or dare and Hyunjin gave me a pretty strange dare so I've just been, y'know, thinking about how to get out of it I guess." He laughs and shrugs.

Felix hums. "Is it as bad as when Hyunjin made you lick the—"

Jisung's mouth drops open and he instinctively covers Felix's mouth with his hand. "Oh my god, Felix! How do you even know about that!?"

Felix shrugs. "Your friends seem to love telling embarrassing stories about you." Jisung feels him laugh under his hand, and his face warms when he realizes where that hand still is. He quickly pulls it back and instead uses it to bury his head in, partly to hide the red on his face and partly because he, quite simply, would like the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

The universe wouldn't be so kind as to grant him that though. Jisung would have gladly spent the next thirty minutes reliving embarrassing moments in his life (unfortunately there is no shortage of these) and wanting to die but the sound of Felix giggling tempts him to peek between his fingers.

"Don't worry, they haven't told me much else," Felix says, the teasing smile remaining on his face. "But I do know about when you publicly asked Ryujin out only for her to tell you she's a lesbian—"

"Whoa, hey!" Jisung retorts, his hands now up in the air. "Yeah, that was embarrassing but it wasn't that bad! How was I supposed to know she's not into guys? Well, okay, maybe it's pretty obvious and I'm just a dumbass but still!" Jisung pouts. "Can we not talk about my failed attempts at romance anymore?"

Felix laughs. "Sure, you never told me what crazy dare you got from Hyunjin this time,” he tilts his head curiously.

Damn, Jisung almost forgot about why he's in this situation in the first place: that stupid dare that's making his mind run in circles. “Haha, well, it’s… it's nothing.” He says oh-so eloquently.

Felix pouts. “I'm so curious now. Can’t you tell me, please?”

Jisung's heart stutters a bit at the way the other's lip juts out. Cute. “I-It's just…” he sighs. How is he supposed to say no to that face? “Um.. he dared me to… to give someone here a… a handjob…?” It comes out like a question for some reason.

Felix's eyes widen. “Oh.” He pauses and Jisung feels like he already messed things up. He's just about to change the subject when Felix speaks again. “Were you… gonna ask me..? Is that why you came up to me?” he asks hesitantly.

Jisung waves his hands around frantically. “No! No, I mean—” He cringes. “Kind of..? I kind of wasn't thinking and just went to the first person I saw, but when I recognized you I changed my mind, I swear!”

For some reason, this only makes Felix look sad. “You didn't want to because it was me..?” he asks quietly.

“I-I mean—it's just, you're—...”

“I'm what, Jisung..?” Felix looks hurt.

Jisung doesn't know what to do. He thought he was being considerate of Felix by not wanting to do this with him but Felix seems upset?? God, what did he do!?

“N-No, it's not you, I mean, it's not that I don't like you! I just figured you'd be uncomfortable or something so…”

“Oh.” Thankfully, Felix seems slightly placated. “W-Well, I'm not, so…”

Jisung blinks. “Um, you're not.. What do you mean…” he laughs nervously.

“I'm not uncomfortable. I'll let you… if you want… I don't, um, mind.”

Jisungs mouth falls open and he gapes at Felix. Surely, he misheard. “A-Are you serious?”

“Mhm…” Felix nods, his face pink.

“Um.” Jisung blinks rapidly as his brain practically short circuits at what Felix is saying. He's okay with it?! Jisung swears he must be losing his mind. This is a dream, right? There's no way he would actually agree to this. His brain suddenly conjures up images of what it would be like to touch Felix in that way. Oh my god.

Unsure if Felix notices Jisung's brain melting out of his skull, he's snapped back to reality when he hears Felix hesitantly ask, “Do you not want to..?”

“No! I mean, yes? I mean, it's just a little weird, you know? But you'd be doing me a favor I guess, so… yeah. Um, if you're sure you're okay with it?” Jisung swallows.

Felix's lips turn up slightly and he nods, effectively quelling the anxiety that had been bubbling up in Jisung's stomach. And, wow, he must be more tipsy than he thought because suddenly he thinks Felix looks even more beautiful than before.

Jisung's heart stutters inexplicably again. He nods. “Okay, let's um, go somewhere?” He grabs Felix's hand.

—

The two of them find an empty bedroom and Jisung locks the door behind them as they walk in.

Jisung shuffles onto the bed somewhat awkwardly, Felix joining him slowly. They sit like that for a few seconds and Jisung notices Felix fidgeting with his hands slightly.

Jisung decides to break the silence. "Um." Felix lifts his head. "You know you don't have to do this right? Like, really, really don't have to," he laughs nervously.

Felix nods, "Yeah I... I know, thanks." He gives a soft smile. "I guess I'm just a little nervous? I don't know."

Jisung bites his lip. "Have you ever..?"

Felix looks back down at his hands. “Um… a few times back in Australia but, like, not that far."

“Oh okay. You always seem so shy about the topic so I thought..”

Felix blushes slightly. “I went to a catholic school, so I'm just.. not used to talking about it so openly I guess,” he shrugs.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I've never done this before,” Jisung admits. Felix looks up in what looks like shock. "I mean—! I mean, never with a guy. I'm uh, y'know, I'm straight."

Felix blinks for a second. He nods slowly.

"Anyway! It's not a big deal right? Are—are you sure you're still okay with this?"

“Um.. if you are.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not really the one with a choice here..” Jisung laughs.

Felix frowns. “Of course you have a choice. Why would your friend dare you to do this anyway if you're straight?? That's kinda weird.”

“Is it..? I feel like it's… I mean, it's not really a big deal. Just a brojob between bros. It doesn't have to be weird, right?”

“A bro—...” Felix coughs out a laugh. “R-Right. If you're sure.”

Jisung nods. “Yeah. Are you?”

Felix nods as well.

"Okay, should I just, um," Jisung shifts so he's closer to Felix and reaches for the other's thigh. He's kind of at an odd angle though, so, without thinking much about it, he swings a leg over Felix so he's sitting in the other's lap.

Felix just stares up at him with wide eyes. Shit, did he make things too weird? "Uh.. is this okay?"

Felix blinks and clears his throat. "Yeah. You can, um, start. I'll tell you if I want you to stop," he says quietly.

"Okay," Jisung whispers, afraid to break whatever strange atmosphere has settled around the two of them.

He tried to sound confident earlier but god, he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. Unable to bear looking into Felix's eyes any longer, Jisung looks down and slowly, hesitantly slides his hand up Felix's leg and presses against the front of his jeans.

Felix lets out a huff of air so Jisung does it again, working over Felix's jeans until he's breathing heavily and Jisung can feel a more prominent bulge under his fingers.

"Um should—can I take these off?"

Felix lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah."

Jisung undoes the button and pulls down the zipper almost painstakingly slowly. He can feel the younger's eyes on him but he refuses to meet them. Once it's fully unzipped, Felix shifts and lifts his hips up so Jisung can pull his pants and boxers down.

And oh my god. Jisung didn't think that he would literally ever think this about another guy's dick but it looks almost... pretty? He just stares for a few moments, unsure of how to proceed when his head feels fuzzy with radio static.

Felix shifts nervously under Jisung's gaze. "Jisung..." It's almost a whine and fuck, since when did Felix sound that pretty? He swears his name has never sounded prettier on someone else's lips.

But shit, right, Felix is right in front of him, Jisung is basically on top of him, and he's waiting for Jisung to touch him.

So he does.

As soon as he wraps his fingers around Felix and starts to move, the younger shudders and sighs quietly. Having literally no other experience, Jisung just tries to do what does on himself. He slides his hand up and down slowly, and when he swipes his thumb over the tip, Felix lets out a little moan that prompts Jisung to look at his face for the first time since they started. And oh.

Felix's eyes have fluttered shut and his eyebrows are slightly furrowed. He's flushed, mouth hanging slightly open as he draws in shallow breaths. Jisung doesn't know what to do besides stare and keep moving his hand as he tries to commit the image in front of him to memory.

Felix bites his lip and grips the sheets when Jisung goes over the head again and holy shit, he's leaking so much. Jisung doesn't really know what he's doing but he supposes he's doing it right by the way Felix is breathing heavily through his nose, lips pressed shut. Jisung wishes he wouldn't try to be quiet.

"Felix." He looks up, and fuck, Jisung didn't think this through because now Felix is looking at him, eyes dark and heavy, and Jisung hears static again.

"Yeah? Ahh—" He moans before pressing his lips and eyes shut again.

Fuck.

"Don't—don't cover your noises."

Felix looks at him with an unreadable expression that makes him think he overstepped for a second, but then he slowly nods and complies, letting out more and more of those pretty little sounds that are making Jisung lose his mind.

On one particular stroke Felix tips his head back and cries, "Fuck, Jisung, please.."

Jisung seriously thinks he might pass out. "You're so pretty."

Felix shivers and whimpers, eyes shut tightly and Jisung literally has no clue what possessed him to say that but after seeing Felix's reaction he sure isn't planning on stopping any time soon.

"So pretty." A little noise from the back of Felix's throat. He feels like he's under a spell, words just falling out of his mouth. "S-So beautiful like this, making the prettiest sounds. Baby..."

Felix gasps into Jisung's chest, cock twitching as he lets out an embarrassed keening noise. One of his hands comes up to grasp Jisung's arm for leverage.

Until now, the hand not on Felix's cock has been just sitting on the bed, so Jisung tentatively brings it to Felix's waist. And holy fuck his waist is so small but at the same time Jisung could feel well defined abs through his shirt and how is Felix even real?

He hesitantly slips his hand under the hem of Felix's shirt, who gasps at the sudden skin contact.

"Is this okay?"

Felix nods and Jisung feels his breath catch when a small hand covers his own, guiding it further along his torso in a silent plea to keep going.

He continues to explore the expanse of Felix's body in awe as the younger drops his hand to grip at Jisung's thigh instead. He's panting heavily and letting soft moans and whimpers slip past his lips with every drag of Jisung's hands along his cock or abdomen.

Jisung trails the hand on Felix's chest higher until he slowly, experimentally brushes over his nipple. Felix arches his back into Jisung's hand and his head tips back as he moans so fucking low in his throat it really shouldn't be possible.

Jisung watches Felix shake under him as he rubs his thumb in circles over the nub before moving to the other one. He starts letting out desperate little whines, the stark contrast from his low moans leaving Jisung's head reeling.

"Fuck, fuck, I can't—m'gonna—"

Jisung takes it as a sign to redouble his efforts, stroking faster until Felix is gasping, "please please, Jisung, please," and it's all Jisung can do to stare dumbly as he moans and cums in streaks of white that slide down Jisung's hand. He works him through it, pulling his hands away once the younger's breathing has calmed down a bit.

For several seconds, they just sit there, sharing heavy breaths. Unable to meet the other's eyes, Jisung stares at his hand, covered in Felix's release. He almost wants to lick it which—okay, what the fuck. He isn't going to think about where that thought came from right now.

He takes a deep breath and grabs a tissue from the nightstand.

Felix does the same. Jisung finishes wiping his hand and looks up to see that Felix is also cleaned up, and after pulling his pants back up he hides his face in his hands.

Jisung's heart sinks. He ruined everything didn't he? "Um.. are you okay? I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable—"

Felix's head lifts up, eyes wide. "No! No, I mean, wouldn't it have been more uncomfortable for you? I'm just embarrassed," he says, cheeks red and looking to the side.

"Huh?? Why are you embarrassed?" Jisung says incredulously. If anyone should be embarrassed, it's Jisung for getting so wrapped up in the dare. Saying all those things to Felix, telling him to not be quiet, calling him baby?? He feels like he's on fire from embarrassment, hot and flushed all over.

"What do you mean? You're not the one who was just begging like a little bitch. Fuck, I'm so sorry." He drops his head back into his hands.

Jisung taps his chin thoughtfully. "You have a praise kink," he says observantly.

Felix flushes and gasps. "I do not! " He lunges forward and Jisung's not entirely sure what happened but suddenly he's on his back and Felix is on top of him and it feels good and he moans when the other boy presses into him, what the fuck?

What the fuck.

Felix stares down at him with wide eyes and Jisung's positive he's bright red right now. What the fuck, he's hard? Just from touching Felix? This was absolutely not part of the plan. What the fuck. He closes his eyes and desperately wishes for the soft bed covers to consume him so he would never have to face Felix or anyone ever again.

Alas, he hesitantly opens his eyes and Felix is still hovering on top of him. Why, why, why hasn't he moved yet? Jisung can't even try to run away. There's truly no escape, he'll just have to face this hell that he created for himself.

Right when he opens his mouth to sputter out an apology or something, he isn't really sure, Felix moves against him again and it just feels so good and Jisung fucking moans again.

Felix inhales sharply. "Sorry, oh my god I shouldn't have— Are you—? Fuck— Do you want me to like… Like I wouldn't mind if— Since y'know... But should I stop?" he stutters.

Jisung doesn't know what stupid sex hormones he's drunk on, or maybe he's still feeling tipsy from the lemonade earlier because he's struck with the vague and inexplicable urge to kiss the boy on top of him.

Or maybe that's just the effect Felix has on him.

"Kiss me..?" He mumbles and subsequently watches Felix's eyes widen along with his own. He slaps his hand over his mouth in horror.

"No wait, fuck, I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so stupid—"

Now Felix's hand is the one to cover Jisung's stupid mouth and he squeezes his eyes shut both in embarrassment and a weird surge of arousal at the feeling of having his mouth covered which he is not going to think about right now.

"I.. can do that… if you really want me to?" Felix says while looking back and forth between Jisung's eyes, like he's searching for something.

Jisung's brain short circuits and he barely registers nodding or saying yes but he must have because it's all too fast how Felix is leaning down and their faces are inches apart and all Jisung can think about is how soft and pretty the other boy's lips look and is it normal to be thinking that—?

Felix kisses him sweetly, almost a little too sweetly considering the situation, and Jisung parts his lips instinctively. The kiss deepens quickly and Jisung gasps against the other's mouth when his thigh presses against the front of Jisung's pants.

"Is this okay still?" Felix asks gently. He looks so fucking ethereal above him like this it makes Jisung want to cry.

He nods. "Please don't stop."

Felix inhales shakily and nods before leaning back down, this time his lips attaching to Jisung's neck as his leg presses back against him.

Jisung can't help the noise that escapes him, he feels floaty already with just being touched through his clothes like this.

“You can.. pretend I'm a girl or something,” Felix whispers as his mouth travels down his neck. Right. Right, that's probably why Jisung is feeling this way. Felix is so pretty, almost like a girl and he must be getting confused, it's only natural, right? But for some reason Jisung really really doesn't want to imagine Felix as a girl.

“I-Is that what you did with me?” Jisung asks through a gasp as Felix bites his neck.

“Um, well, I'm bi so..” he looks up bashfully.

“Oh. Right, okay.” So Jisung's the only one who's weird here for enjoying this. Cool. He's not left much time to dwell on it because Felix's hand starts snaking down to press over Jisung's clothed dick, which at this point is embarrassingly hard and straining against his pants.

Felix toys with the button and raises his head, meeting Jisung's eyes to ask for permission. Jisung gives a little nod, nervousness and excitement bubbling together as Felix undoes the button and zipper and finally, finally, touches him for real.

Jisung hadn't realized he'd been waiting for so long.

His head falls back when Felix touches him and he's barely even doing anything yet but it feels unreal. He has the fleeting thought that maybe this is exiting platonic brojob territory and becoming something he's entirely unequipped to deal with. Maybe even since the kiss, or when he called Felix pretty, but he doesn't have the mental capacity to think too hard about it right now or even care. All his thoughts fly out the window when Felix's mouth finds his own again.

"Need you to stay quiet for me, I think I hear people outside," Felix murmurs against his lips, his voice impossibly low. Jisung hadn't even noticed he was making sounds.

"Don't want anyone else hearing you like this," Felix continues, muffling Jisung's moans with his mouth as he keeps moving his hand up and down his length slowly. Where the hell did he learn to talk like that?! The increasingly deep timbre of his voice was not doing Jisung's sanity any favors.

Felix must deem the hallway clear now because he removes his mouth from Jisung's, and Jisung is back to moaning abashedly.

“D-Does it feel good?” Felix asks, as if he's unsure of himself. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut. Is it not obvious from the way he's reacting?

“I just—wanna make sure I'm doing okay.”

“It feels—oh god—really good.”

Felix grins shyly. “Yeah?”

Jisung brings a hand up to cover his mouth and nods. He can feel himself getting close embarrassingly fast. He starts to whine and his hips stutter a bit into Felix's hand. “Please..”

Felix leans down and presses his lips to Jisung's throat again. He bites down, not enough to leave a mark but it feels dizzyingly good nonetheless. Jisung's never had someone overpower him like this before. He feels completely at Felix's mercy. It makes him shiver.

“Jisungie, you're so…” Felix murmurs into his skin, lips trailing along his collarbone.

Jisungie. His heart wobbles at the nickname and he can't help but whine. Felix is driving him insane. “Felix I think I'm—aahh, Felix, Lix..”

He pulls away from Jisung's neck with a smack. “Yeah, Sungie?”

“C-Can you—..” he looks at Felix's lips pleadingly.

Felix immediately presses his lips to his in a passionate kiss. Jisung moans into it and before he can properly warn Felix or anything, he's cumming with a high pitched keen. If he were more aware of himself he'd be embarrassed by the noise but as it is he can't even feel his legs properly. He shakes as Felix brings him down from his high. Then they just stay there, breathing heavily against each other's mouths.

Felix moves first, taking a deep breath before leaning up and away from Jisung. He peers down at him with bated breath. Jisung just lays there, hair fanning out around him. He feels sluggish, entirely spent and he stares back at Felix like a real angel descended from heaven. He seriously wouldn't be surprised if he actually were.

His trance is broken by Felix's voice, “Are you okay?”

Jisung blinks as he registers the words. He nods and slowly sits up. Felix offers him a small smile.

Once they've cleaned up, the euphoric feeling in Jisung's gut starts slowly transforming into a deep rooted anxiety that crawls its way up his spine. Fuck. What did they just do? What the fuck is happening to him? He feels himself shrinking away from the other boy instinctually, but he catches himself and clears his throat, attempting to straighten up.

“Um.. are we bros now?” He tries to joke, but his laugh sounds forced even to him.

Felix's lip quirks up for a second but he looks at him carefully. “Is that what you want? To be bros?”

Jisung opens his mouth to say something like of course bro or yeah what else? But his throat closes up. A sudden, inexplicable feeling of fear creeps into his gut.

“Jisung?”

He feels like he's suffocating, almost choking on air as he tries to get words out. “I— I don't know what... what I want. I'm so confused right now, I…”

“Hey, it's okay—”

“N-No! No, it's not. I'm sorry, I can't—” He shakes his head and leans away from Felix. He can't shake the sinking feeling that something is very, very wrong with him. How could he let this whole thing happen? Why is he feeling like this? He feels like a fraud of himself. He doesn't know what to do, he can't even process his feelings. He just knows he needs to get away from here, now.

He stands up quickly. Felix reaches for him but he's already crossing the room in long strides. As he twists the doorknob, he glances back to see Felix sitting with a hurt and confused expression before he shuts the door behind him.

Fuck. Jisung still can't breathe. He feels like it's only getting worse now that he's out in the open where people could see him. At least the hallway is currently empty, and he stumbles down it, not sure where he's going but just needing to get away.

He staggers into an empty room. At least, he thought it was empty, but as he crosses the doorway he's met with a pair of familiar eyes on a head of long blond hair.

“Hyunjin,” he says wobbly.

Hyunjin's eyes go wide when he sees the shaky state Jisung is in. “Jisung? What's wrong?”

That's when Jisung breaks down. Tears start streaming down his cheeks in rivulets. “I h-hate you! Why'd you make me do that??”

“Whoa, hey…” Hyunjin reaches for him and pulls Jisung to sit beside him. “I'm so sorry, Sung… Please calm down and tell me what's going on?”

“The dare, you idiot. I did your stupid dare!”

Understanding and a flash of regret click in Hyunjin's eyes. “...Ah.”

“Everything was fine. Now everything is.. I don't even know.” Jisung cries, pressing his hands into his eyes.

Hyunjin rubs his back soothingly. “Okay, shh, let's calm down first… So you did the dare? Can I ask who you did it with?”

Jisung sniffs as he tries to calm his breathing. “It was F-Felix.”

“Fe-lix?” Hyunjin repeats. “The kid from Australia?” Jisung nods. “Oh, Jisung…”

“I-It's your fault! You dared me, and then you were all like ‘I'll know if you don't do it’. What the hell!”

“God, I'm sorry Jisung. I wasn't thinking… I was just being dramatic, I'm not omniscient. How would I know if you did it or not?”

“I don't know, you just…”

Hyunjin sighs. “Okay, let's relax. First, did he hurt you? I'll kick his beautiful, angelic ass if he did anything to you.”

Jisung cracks a smile in spite of himself and shakes his head.

Hyunjin's face softens. “Then what happened..?”

“I… I don't know, he made me so… confused..”

One of Hyunjin's eyebrows lifts. “...He made you confused,” he deadpans.

“Like… like…” Jisung grips his hair. “God! I don't even know! Am I normal? I don't feel normal. I think something's wrong with me. I.. I don't understand what's happening.”

Hyunjin wipes the tears on his cheeks. “Why do you think something’s wrong with you?” he asks gently.

“Th-there's— I— I think I liked it too much,” Jisung whispers.

“You liked what? …touching Felix?”

Jisung cringes. “Y-Yes, which is so weird already, but then he— you don't understand, he also— touched m-me, and I liked it, so much, like— which is so weird— it scares the shit out of me— I a-asked him to kiss me, like, like a psychopath or something, he probably thought I was so creepy b-but he was so nice and so pretty and… I don't know what to do… Hyunjin I feel like I'm— like this isn't normal.”

Hyunjin just presses his lips together and nods, encouraging Jisung to continue.

“Like… like… he's a guy. Like yeah, he's objectively pretty but he's… he said to pretend he was a girl but I didn't, I don't think I even wanted to, but, like, I'm—I'm straight, right? I mean… I mean, yeah, it's not like I suddenly— I like girls! I know I like girls so why… like I shouldn't enjoy t-touching another guy right? That's…” Jisung shakes his head with wide, teary eyes. “I'm not like, gay.”

Hyunjin winces but he looks at him with something akin to pity. “Ouch dude, you know I'm gay, right? You're not… broken or anything, I promise this is normal Jisung.”

Jisung sighs into his hands. “Fuck. I know. God, I-I’m sorry, I didn't mean it like that… I just mean like.. there's no way I'm… like shouldn't I have known by now? I'm not, like a teenager anymore. I just.. I like… girls… it doesn't make sense, why is this happening now?”

“It's okay, you can still like girls, you can like both. Even if you don't, that's still okay. Okay? It's not… there's not a predefined time when you realize this stuff. Some people live their whole lives in denial. This is normal. You're normal.”

Jisung nods. “R-Right, of course I can still like girls. So, maybe I'm like… bisexual or something? But honestly I've never—” He presses his fingers against his eyelids. “I mean, I don't think— but maybe? N-No I've never... But it's not like I see Felix as a girl, I mean, I touched his dick a-and he— his voice is like… crazy, I don't even know— B-But I've definitely never liked boys before so how would I suddenly—?”

Hyunjin rubs his shoulders. “It's okay. You don't have to figure it all out right now. Take your time. I'm here for you, okay?”

“I'm scared, Hyunjin,” he whispers.

Hyunjin's face breaks and he sighs. “I know. I'm sorry. I think I gave you that dare so you'd have an awakening or something but that was stupid. I didn't think… I hate seeing you like this.”

“Wha—... huh?? So you knew I'm maybe not super straight even before this?!”

Hyunjin bites his lip. “I didn't really know. I just had a feeling. And honestly, I wasn't expecting you to actually do it.”

Jisung's jaw drops, momentarily forgetting his anxiety. “You weren't expecting me to— Hyunjin! How could you think so low of me!”

“Okay, sorry! I shouldn't have dared you to do that knowing you'd be crazy enough to actually do it.” Jisung hits his arm. “It was more just to get you thinking about it!”

“You're crazy.”

“I'm smart. My gaydar is never wrong,” he taps the side of his head. “And I clocked you the day we met but you said you were straight... I was probably too tipsy earlier and figured I'd test you a little. That's all. I'm really sorry. I feel terrible for causing you this much stress.”

Jisung sighs. “It's okay. I just can't believe— how did you know? None of this makes sense…”

Hyunjin shrugs. “Like I said… I'm smart.” Jisung hits him again. “Okay, okay! But maybe this is good? Learning things about yourself?”

Jisung swallows. “Right… learning things…” he sighs. “I just—I screwed it up with him didn't I? I ran away. I just left him there.”

“You didn't screw it up. You're literally having a full blown identity crisis! He'll understand if you explain it to him.”

“But, what if he doesn't want to listen, or he already hates me, or… you should've seen his face when I left, oh god, I'm a horrible person—”

“Shh. Jisung. Do you like him?”

Jisung's face burns. “T-That's— I don't—”

“I mean, do you care about him? As a friend?”

“Of course,” Jisung pouts.

“Then you should talk to him. I wouldn't be surprised if he's still here. Just explain what happened, that you're going through a lot but you don't hate him. Right?”

Jisung nods. “Right, I—You're right. I don't want him to think that I find him gross or something, oh my god.”

“He's probably just confused too. Don't worry. Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I… I think I'm okay now. Thanks though.” He stands up and touches his face. “D-Do I look like I've been crying?”

Hyunjin smiles sympathetically. “A little, but he'll understand. Go before he leaves!”

Jisung nods and runs for the door. He pauses there and turns around.

“Hyunjin?”

“Hm?”

“I'm sorry for yelling at you.”

He waves him off. “It's okay, I kind of deserved it I think. We're good, okay? Now, go!”

Jisung doesn't need to be told twice. He's out the door in seconds and practically sprinting his way back to the room he left Felix in.

“...God, it's so hard being right all of the time,” Hyunjin sighs.

—

Felix isn't there.

The room is empty. Felix isn't here.

Oh god. What if he already left and he's avoiding him and Jisung will never be able to talk to him and Felix will think he hates him and—

He takes a deep breath. He shouldn't jump to conclusions. He has Felix's number, he should just text him. He pulls out his phone.

He paces around the room as he waits for his phone to light up. After a few minutes of nothing he sends a couple more messages and sighs. Maybe Felix is still at the party somewhere? Should he look for him?

Yeah, he decides, he needs to talk to Felix and make sure he's okay. Make sure they're okay. He can't stand the thought that Felix might think he hates him. It couldn't be farther from the truth.

Jisung paces out of the room and begins scouring every room for the familiar head of blond hair. But he's nowhere to be seen. Jisung tries not to cry. He's just about to loop around to where he started when he's stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He jumps. Felix?

“Jisung? Are you okay?” No, of course it's not. Jisung turns to face the familiar voice.

“Seungmin,” he breathes shakily.

Seungmin gently places both hands on Jisung's shoulders. “What happened? You look frantic. What's going on?”

That's it. Jisung breaks down in tears. Again. He hates crying in front of another one of his friends but he can't help himself right now.

Seungmin looks alarmed. “Did someone do something? Are you hurt?” Jisung shakes his head. Seungmin sighs in relief. Then, his eyebrows draw together. “Wait, does this have to do with that dare?”

Jisung hesitates, before nodding.

Seungmin exhales. “Okay, we're leaving, okay? You can tell me about it on the way home if you want. Or not, but I don't think this place is very conducive to your wellbeing right now.”

Jisung nods and lets Seungmin guide him through the halls and crowds until they're outside. And he's right. As soon as he steps out of the claustrophobic walls he feels like he can breathe easier again. He sighs and wipes the last of the tears off his face.

Seungmin lets go of his hand. “You feeling better?” he asks.

“Yeah. Thanks, I.. guess I needed to get out of there.”

Oh, right. He should text Felix and let him know he's leaving, just in case he really is still at the party somewhere. He pulls out his phone. Seungmin looks at him, a question clearly painted on his face, but he stays quiet.

Jisung sighs after hitting send and stuffs his phone in his pocket again. Seungmin looks at him searchingly. “What happened…?”

Jisung bites his lip. His immediate instinct is deflect, deflect, deflect, but he really should tell Seungmin. He deserves to know. Jisung explains the whole situation on the way back to their dorm, from the dare to his conversation with Felix, to his panic in the aftermath and talk with Hyunjin. Seungmin listens quietly, intently. Jisung leaves out the details of what actually happened with Felix, but it's hopefully enough for Seungmin to get the picture.

When Jisung finally finishes, Seungmin blows out a long puff of air, his cheeks puffing up. “Wow. I don't even… Damn. That's crazy.”

Jisung leans his head back and groans with his hands over his face. “I know. What do I even do now?”

“Flee the country.” Seungmin says matter of factly. Jisung huffs out a laugh. “Sorry. I'm shit at giving advice. But I know Felix. He doesn't seem like the type of person who wouldn't at least hear you out, you know? Don't stress too much.”

“Then why is he ignoring me??” Jisung frowns.

“There's so many possibilities, dude. He might be feeling equally as overwhelmed right now or his phone could be dead or he might just not have checked yet. It hasn't even been that long. Give him time.” Seungmin, ever the voice of reason.

“Yeah… yeah, you're right. I'm just—I don't know. I don't even know.”

“I'm always right.” Seungmin, ever the voice of arrogance. “It'll be fine, Jisung.”

“Okay… Just know, if you're wrong I will come crying to you.”

Seungmin's lips curl up. “I'm always right. But okay, sure.” He pauses. “Honestly, I'm surprised you even did the dare, I even gave you an easy escape and everything.”

Jisung lets out a loud sigh. “I don't even know, man. Maybe a part of me, like, wanted to… I'm so confused about everything to be honest.”

Seungmin hums. “This is kind of life altering shit you're going through. You're handling it pretty well, all things considered.”

Jisung's looks at him, lips forming an ‘o’. “You think?”

He nods, “I think I'd have broken down or something by now if it were me.”

“I'm—well, I'm trying not to. I guess I went through most of the whole breakdown freakout thing with Hyunjin. I'm just trying not to think about it too hard right now I guess.”

“That's fair. Don't rush it. Uh, and I'm here if you ever wanna... talk or whatever,” Seungmin waves his hand around.

Jisung smiles. “Thanks, Min. Seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah…” he says but he mirrors his smile.

—

The next morning, Jisung wakes up feeling more refreshed than he expected. He doesn't feel great, but at least he doesn't feel like his whole life and everything he thought he knew about himself is turning upside down like yesterday. That's something.

As much as he was glued to his phone last night, waiting for a message from Felix, he doesn't want to check his phone right now, scared of what he might (or might not) see. Everything feels more real now, outside of the illusionary haze of last night, and he's just not ready to face anything yet.

Instead, he busies himself with mindless tasks, like brushing his teeth and pouring a bowl of his favorite hangover cereal. He's not even hungover, he didn't drink that much, but he just needs that extra emotional support right now. It helps, he thinks.

Eventually, he has to face reality. His phone looms at him from his bedside table, facedown but glaring at him. Jisung sighs and reluctantly picks it up.

He cringes a little when he sees the multiple notifications from his messenger app. There's a text from Seungmin saying he's out studying with a friend but to let him know if he needs anything. Studying the morning after a party? Nerd. But Jisung smiles at the kind gesture and types out a quick reply saying thanks but he'll be fine.

And.. there's a little number by Felix's contact name too. He doesn't even want to open it. He wants to crawl back into bed and hide for the rest of the day. He wishes this had all happened yesterday when he was still in the moment and running on adrenaline.

But this is a good thing! Felix isn't ignoring him. This is good. Jisung takes a deep breath and clicks into the message.

He breathes out slowly. Okay.. Felix doesn't seem angry? He wants to meet up at least. Or what if he's just waiting until they're in person to unleash everything and tell Jisung to never talk to him again? God, he can't tell.

He doesn't want to respond. Okay, no, he needs to respond. He's the one who texted first anyway. Fuck, this is scary though.

He takes another deep breath to steady himself before carefully typing out a reply.

Jisung's heart races when Felix's reply comes in within only a couple minutes. Thank god Felix doesn't seem creeped out at coming over. Jisung quickly agrees to the time and texts Felix his dorm and room number.

Then he waits. After sufficiently freaking out for an hour, stress cleaning and everything, Jisung hears a knock at the front door. Oh fuck. He's so not ready.

Regardless, he trudges over to the door. He takes a deep breath before unlocking and opening the door.

Felix is standing there, bundled up for the chilly weather in a jacket but also sporting a pair of loose ripped jeans, which Jisung thinks is pretty contradictory. How are you gonna put so many layers on and then just have holes in your pants? How does that make sense? One hole above the knee is large enough that Jisung can literally see the outline of Felix's thigh.

“Um… hi…” Jisung's eyes snap up. Wait, what was he even doing just now? He wasn't like… checking Felix out or something, right? No, that's absurd. Felix's torn up pants are absurd, and that's all he was thinking. About his pants. His jeans.

“Hi,” Jisung replies awkwardly. Why is this so awkward? They haven't even said anything yet. God. “Sorry, um, come in?” He gestures and holds the door open.

Felix murmurs a soft “thanks” as he cautiously steps inside and looks around a bit.

“Um, thanks for coming…” Jisung starts. “Seungmin— my roommate isn't here right now. But we can go to my room if you want?”

Felix's eyes suddenly light up. “Seungmin? Kim Seungmin? Tall, funny, braces?”

Jisung blinks. “Yeah, what? You know him? Wait, you think he's funny?” He wrinkles his nose.

“Yeah! Well, maybe at my own expense… We're partners in this cooking class I'm taking.”

Jisung starts walking and leads Felix in the direction of his room as his eyebrows furrow. “A cooking—? No way. Seungmin can't cook.”

Felix giggles. “Oh, I know. I swear it's actually contagious or something because suddenly I start forgetting basic things like how to use a mixer just by being near him. I think it's a curse.”

Jisung laughs, eternally grateful for the lighthearted shift in the atmosphere, the tense and awkward air dissipating. Talking with Felix is just like that, so easy. “Yeah, I keep him out of our kitchen for his own good. I had no idea he was taking a cooking class though, what the hell?”

Felix hums. “Maybe he's trying to improve?”

“Or he's just trying to cause chaos. And from what you said, it seems like it's working.” Jisung shakes his head as they step into his room.

“Maybe…” Felix mumbles, but his focus has shifted elsewhere. He takes in Jisung's room, seeming to observe every visible corner: anime posters on the wall and an acoustic guitar in the corner and the stuffed animals on his bed. Jisung blushes, suddenly grateful for his stress-induced tidying of every nook and cranny. He hadn't realized how intimate it can be letting someone new into his space like this. This is Felix's first time in his room.

Felix. In his room. Why does it feel weird?

It doesn't, does it? Jisung is the only one making it weird. It's not weird for friends to hang out in each other's rooms. That's literally extremely normal. But still… Jisung usually waits until he's way closer with people before letting them in his room. He can't place the anxious feeling swirling in his gut.

“I like your room,” Felix says softly. “It's like how I imagined.”

“W-What does that mean??”

“It's a compliment! It's very you.”

“Okay well… thanks,” Jisung mumbles. Has Felix really imagined his room before? How close are they that Felix knows enough about Jisung to think it's very him? He pushes the thoughts aside.

“So…” He sighs. Here comes the awkward again. But he can't avoid this forever. “Can we talk?”

Felix nods. “…‘Course,” he says, leaning against the bed slightly. Jisung motions for him to sit down on it and follows suit, since there isn't much else seating in his room. “If you want to!” he stutters out but Felix just smiles and sits down on the bed. On Jisung's bed. Okay, cool, this is fine.

They face each other. “So….” Jisung starts, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I just wanted to apologize. I mean, I feel like we were acting pretty normal just now, and I'm really grateful for that, but you still deserve like, I don't know, an explanation? Or something? So yeah.”

Felix nods silently.

Jisung takes that as his cue to continue. “Right, so, yesterday, it was a dare, right? That wasn't a lie. Me and Hyunjin actually like, talked about it afterwards and we're cool by the way. Just in case you thought—well, I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying. Um…” He takes a deep breath. “I mean, you were really nice about the whole thing and then I just left… kind of suddenly. That was really mean. I… I mean, you looked hurt too. Which, like, fair. That was a dick move. Um…”

Felix's voice is gentle, “Okay, hey, I get it, I'm not actually mad—”

Jisung finally looks up. “But you should be. Y-You're not mad? I would be mad. I mean, maybe not mad but confused? Frustrated? I— I kind of feel like it came across like I was… using you or something. I don't know. But that's not… Honestly I'm just really confused right now because—”

“Stop.”

Jisung blinks. “What?”

“Stop, I… I want to apologize too.”

“For what?!”

“For agreeing to it! I shouldn't have cus I…” He shakes his head. “And I kind of pushed you to tell me about the dare. You didn't seem comfortable. And I definitely should've stopped when you said you're straight... I-I was selfish.”

“Selfish?” Jisung repeats. “What?”

Felix sighs. “I agreed cus I was being selfish… Just, selfish reasons. I shouldn't have.”

“What does that even…? Dude, you're not selfish, if anyone is it's me for basically roping you into doing that for me and then leaving you high and dry like…”

Felix shakes his head. “That's not… you don't get it. I am selfish. Even being here right now… Selfish. Stupid.”

Jisung can't even begin to comprehend how that makes sense. “What…?”

“Jisung… Fuck, fine — I-I like you.”

“You like me?” Jisung mimics.

“…Yeah.”

Then it clicks. “Wait, oh. You like… like, like me?”

“...Well, that's good. I was worried it was super obvious for no reason.”

Jisungs mouth must be hanging open. “I... Are you serious?”

Felix laughs nervously. “Does it seem like I'm joking?”

“N-No but… I don't know. Oh my god. Shut up, I'm freaking out.”

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, I know you're straight—”

“That's the thing. I'm not— Just, just, wait a second, oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Jisung…” Felix bites his lip. “I'm sorry, we can just pretend I never said that and go back to normal, please, I promise.”

Jisung puts his hands over his face. “No, shut up… shut up, just wait a second, please. Please just wait.”

Jisung can't see him but Felix at least goes quiet and Jisung can think. He breathes for a few seconds. In and out. In and out.

“…I think I like you too. Like, like like you… so much. Like way more than just bros. But I don't know what that fucking means.”

Jisung's heart is beating out of his chest. He hears a catch of breath. Silence. Then a soft whispered, “What do you mean Jisung, are you sure?”

“Yes, I mean, no, but— I feel something, and this isn't normal, so—”

He feels gentle fingers pulling at his wrists. “Jisung, look at me.” He lets Felix pull his hands down off of his face, which he's sure must be burning red. “It's okay. I don't want you to like… pity me or something. I'm really okay even if you don't like me like that.”

Jisung shakes his head. “N-No, I'm not pitying you Felix, I swear. I really, really—” He swallows. “Even like, your hands just on my wrists right now, making me feel like— I- I don't know,” he breathes.

Felix immediately drops his wrists. “I'm sorry,” he says genuinely.

But that's not what Jisung wanted. “No! I liked it.” He reaches for Felix's hands and interlaces his fingers in his, immediately setting off butterflies in his stomach. “I like this..”

Felix swallows and squeezes his hand a little. “But anyone can like holding hands with anyone, that doesn't mean—”

“But it's not just that. We— Felix, we kissed. I… asked you to kiss me. Did you forget that? And we did… m-more obviously. I liked it.” The more Jisung tries to explain to Felix the more he feels like he's understanding and accepting his own feelings. “That's why I ran away. I was so… confused and.. and scared I guess, cus.. I've never felt… with a guy.”

“I didn't forget,” Felix whispers. “I believe you. I know it's scary. I-I went through it too. Just— Are you sure? I really… I don't wanna get my hopes up if…”

“Can I kiss you?” Jisung blurts out. “Then I'll be sure. I… You can definitely say no.”

Felix closes his eyes and looks to be in some kind of mental anguish for a few seconds. “Yes, okay…” he breathes.

Jisung squeezes the other's hand, still interlaced with his own. He leans in a little. “A-Are you sure?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, yes, please…” Felix says under his breath while leaning in a little as well. That's all Jisung needs before he's closing his eyes and swooping in to close the distance between them.

It's like magic. Right at the moment their lips press Jisung has his answer. His stomach flips and it feels so different from last night where he was letting Felix have control. He keeps it going for a little longer, not really moving his lips but just pressing into the kiss for a few more seconds, relishing in the way it feels.

When he finally pulls away, Felix's eyes are closed, forehead drawn in as if he's the one going through a crisis right now.

“Felix?”

“What? Please don't say you were wrong. I mean… I mean, of course that's fine but—”

“Felix. I liked it… Oh wait, so I actually like you? Oh my god—”

Felix's eyes fly open. “You really…? You're serious?”

Jisung nods, eyes equally as wide as his.

“Are you sure? Yesterday I can get over, but this feels too real. I don't think I can handle if— I mean, god, sorry, I know you're figuring things out but—”

“Yes. Well, I— I'm still confused about other things but… I'm pretty sure—I mean this feels pretty much exactly like when I have a crush on a girl. So..?”

“Okay. Okay, sorry. It's not that I don't believe you, I just—I really wasn't prepared for this. But I get it, really.” He takes a deep breath in and out. “So you… you really like me? Really, really?”

Jisung nods shyly. “Um.. really, really. I think more than I realized.”

Felix blushes. “Right, so… I mean, I don't want to be too forward but..? And maybe you're not ready and that's totally okay. But do you wanna..? I mean if we both like each other then… doesn't it make sense if we…”

Jisung squeezes his hand encouragingly. “What are you trying to say?”

“I'm saying—and again, you can say no if this is too fast—but I'm saying… Do you want to… try being my boyfriend…?” He peeks up at Jisung nervously.

Jisung's heart stutters in his chest. He doesn't really have to think about his answer. Even if his brain is telling him it's a little scary, his heart is giving him an answer clear as day. “Yes, y-yes, I want that… to be your… boyfriend.”

Felix flashes a shy, relieved smile. “Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah. Oh my god, a boyfriend. You're my boyfriend? I have a boyfriend?” Jisung presses his hands against the sides of his face, squishing his cheeks.

Felix giggles a little. “Mhm, that's okay right? It feels okay?”

“Yes, I like it, it's a little weird but I really like how that sounds. A boyfriend. My boyfriend.”

Felix blushes. “Ah, stop saying it like that, it's embarrassing…”

Jisung shakes his head. “Can I kiss you again?”

Felix smiles and responds in the form of crashing their lips together. Jisung gasps. It's more intense than the one they previously shared but still very sweet and gentle. Felix's lips are so soft.

Jisung tilts his head to deepen the kiss. “I like you so much,” he mumbles against Felix's mouth between kisses. “Maybe for a while… I always… wanted you to like me… tried to impress you…”

Felix makes a quiet sound and suddenly Jisung feels wetness on his cheeks. “Are you…? Felix?” Jisung pulls away, and sure enough, there are tears pooling under Felix's eyes. Jisung looks at him with concern. “What's wrong?”

Felix ducks his head but smiles, and it's enough to quell Jisung's worries that he did something wrong. “S-Sorry—God, this is embarrassing. I-I don't know why I'm crying. I'm really happy, I promise.”

“Okay. Don't worry about it.” Jisung gently grabs Felix's face and wipes the tears from his cheeks. As he presses the skin below his eyes, an array of tiny dots start appearing, speckling his face. Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “Huh—? Do you have freckles..?”

The skin under his fingers turns pink and Felix squirms his head out of his grasp. “Nooo…”

Jisung gently grabs his face again. “No, let me see, please.” He swipes his thumbs along the other's cheeks, smudging more makeup away.

Felix sighs and seems to relent. “I don't like them…” he mutters.

Jisung is appalled. “Are you serious? Why not?”

Felix shrugs. “I dunno, just looks.. messy? And no one else here has them,” he says with a frown.

Jisung shakes his head. “They're so pretty. You're so pretty. How could you hide these? God, it's like everything little thing about you is so pretty, how is that even possible??”

“Stoooop,” Felix giggles, blushing bright red now. “They're not.. I'm not…”

“You are. You literally turned me gay or something,” he jokes. “That has to count for something.”

Felix laughs, but then his expression turns more serious. “Did I really—? I mean, you think you're gay?”

“Uh—No, I just said that. I don't know. I'm still so fucking confused,” Jisung tries to laugh it off nervously.

Felix nods. “If you wanna talk about it… no pressure of course, but I kind of went through something similar so… just, I'm here for you.”

“Thank you,” Jisung whispers. “Well, I-I think I've been trying not to think about it too much. It's scary,” he admits.

“I know. You're really brave, you know Jisung? It took me like, months—years even?—before I understood and accepted myself.”

“Yeah, but I'm sure that was years ago, right? Why is this happening to me now? Like… I've always liked girls. I don't think that's… yeah, I definitely still like girls. That's all fine. But I've literally never liked boys until now?” Jisung sighs. “Well—maybe—maybe not. I've been thinking, and like, I guess there were guys that I… really admired and… I really wanted them to like me too. To think I'm cool or funny or something. And like, yeah, I felt nervous around them, but I just kind of thought they were intimidating. But maybe…? Is that..? Were those crushes?”

Felix grabs his hand and squeezes it gently. “Maybe. It kind of sounds like it.” He pauses. “Even if they weren't, and I'm the first guy you like, that's okay too. Honestly, that would be hella flattering,” he smiles. “I don't think sexuality is like... It isn't such a rigid thing. It can be more fluid for some people, you know? It's not just black and white. If your feelings are real then that's all that matters, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah. It's just weird. I'm like so past that stage. Why didn't teenage me figure this out?” He huffs out a laugh.

“There's no set timeline for this stuff. It happens differently for everyone, right? And if you don't want to think about it right now you don't have to. You can just like whoever feels natural for you. No need to think about what box you fit into or anything like that.”

“I think I just like you,” Jisung whispers.

Felix's lips quirk up. “Yeah? That's so cute.”

Jisung is sure his face goes red. “Sh-shut up…”

“Never,” Felix grins. “No, but it's okay. You don't have to label yourself, now or ever. You don't have to be gay, or straight, or bi, or... or anything in between. You can just… be, and that's enough.”

Jisung feels tears prick his eyes. He really has no clue why he's getting emotional over this, but somehow Felix is saying exactly what he didn't know he needed to hear. “Okay, but what about Felixsexual?” He jokes.

“Pfft— then I'm Jisungsexual, okay?”

Jisung's heart feels lighter than it's ever been. He giggles. “Okay.”

—

After calming down, and both their tears are wiped away, the two of them spend a couple hours just talking and cuddling, making up for what feels like so much lost time. Seriously, why didn't they become closer friends sooner? Jisung mentally kicks himself for not being more proactive in befriending him. They click so well. Jisung is so glad Felix seems to love skinship as much as he does, they both initiate it easily and it just instantly feels natural. So easy, just like everything between them.

Eventually, they move to the living room to watch something. After only just a few minutes of scrolling through Netflix, the front door opens. Jisung looks up.

“Oh, hey Seungmin. How was your study sesh?”

“Hey. Uh, fine. Is this a bad time…?” Seungmin asks, glancing at Felix and looking at Jisung curiously.

“No, it's a great time. Seungmin, say hi to my, uh, boyfriend..?” Jisung falters saying that to someone else for the first time and it comes out like a question.

Seungmin doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't care. “Oh, so you worked it out? I'm glad. Congrats.” He turns to Felix. “I'm Seungmin.”

Felix laughs. “Dude, I'm insulted. I thought we were mates? Does being stove partners mean nothing to people these days?”

Seungmin cracks a smile. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Jisung jumps up in his seat. “Oh yeah! Seungmin, you're taking a freaking cooking class? Who are you??”

Seungmin shrugs. “I had extra space in my schedule.”

Felix sighs. “I wish I had extra space. I would take another class with Jisung.”

“Aww, what?” Jisung looks at him fondly.

“Seriously. Why do we only have one class together? How am I gonna handle that now that we're together?”

Jisung giggles. “If you had extra time wouldn't it be better to just spend time together and not take an extra class, silly?”

“Oh yeah, I guess. Are you sure you'd be okay with that Sungie?” Felix grins and nuzzles his head into Jisung's shoulder, cuddling into him playfully.

Sungie? Oh, Jisung's done for. He giggles again and kicks his feet (like a fucking schoolgirl or something, embarassing). “Only if you promise to binge watch my favorite animes. And make cookies with me!”

Seungmin makes a gagging sound. “...Ugh, I take back everything I said. You two together are more energy than I can reasonably tolerate. Goodbye.” He throws his hand up in a wave and starts walking to his room. He pauses in his doorway and turns around. “Oh and please for the love of god, no funny business when I'm here. I'm happy for you but not that happy.”

Jisung turns red and he hears Felix choke on air. “Seungmin!”

“What? You already did stuff and you weren't even dating yet. I can't trust you guys.”

Jisung throws a cushion at him. “Didn't you say bye already? Bye!!”

Seungmin rolls his eyes and throws up a peace sign before turning around and closing his door.

Jisung glances at Felix, who's equally as red-faced. They stare at each other for a few seconds before both breaking out into giggles.

Yeah, Jisung thinks he'll be alright.

—

[4 weeks later]

—

a/n: take a shot every time you see the word 'like' (u will die). if u made it this far THANK U SOOO MUCH FOR READING WOW! this is my first fic so any feedback would be super appreciated! i'd love to hear your thoughts (^o^) idk how active i'll be here but i've been in a writing mood recently so keep an eye out maybe? again tysm for reading!! ♡

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ellemj · 5 months

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Time & Temptation - Roommates w/ Benefits Pt. 3

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Read parts 1 and 2 first if you haven't!

Summary: Bucky took a bullet for you and your ungrateful attitude is exactly what will help end his unwanted attraction to you, his new roommate. Or at least he thought it would help, until he found out how pretty you look on your knees.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, alcohol consumption, mutual masturbation, hint of a size kink, blood, gunshot wounds, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: According to @littlemiss-yeehaw, this is the filthiest thing I've ever written. Idk if I agree but it's a lil tiny bit filthy. Sorry for the long wait but I did NOT want to risk half-assing this chapter when I was so focused on getting through the 12 Days of Smut in December. Hope you all enjoy!

Pissed. That’s what you are in this moment, beyond pissed. You’re in the backseat of Sam’s car as he drives you and Bucky through the city, heading back to your apartment complex. He should be heading toward the nearest hospital but of course, the stubborn ass super soldier who you now call your roommate adamantly refused to go to the hospital after being shot.

“If I see so much as one drop of blood on my leather seats...” Sam threatens coldly, shooting Bucky a side-eye from the driver’s seat. You don’t even have to see his face to know that Bucky’s returning the calloused look. You let out an annoyed sigh as you start unbuckling the strap of one of your heels, your shimmery body glitter reflecting the mix of moonlight and streetlights streaming in from the windows. “And you,” Sam says, casting a glance in the rearview mirror and catching your gaze, “don’t get glitter all over my damn car.”

“I’d be getting glitter all over Elias Leveaux’s car right now if Bucky hadn’t inserted himself into my op.” You put extra emphasis on the word my, using the rearview mirror to look at Bucky’s stoic expression. He keeps his eyes trained on the road ahead, refusing to dignify you with even a brief darting of his eyes in your direction. After kicking off your heels and stuffing them in your duffel bag, you reach behind yourself to start undoing the back of your lacey corset top. Though it looks hot as fuck on you, it’s also uncomfortable as fuck and you’re not wearing it for a moment longer than you have to. Your breasts are one more snap away from spilling out of the top when Sam catches Bucky’s gaze drifting to the rearview mirror so briefly that he’s surprised he even noticed it. Sam’s quick to reach a hand up and tilt the mirror to point at the ceiling, shooting Bucky a disapproving look. He would’ve expected a man from Steve’s era to behave a little better than that. “What the hell were the three of you even doing there tonight? This was meant to be a solo op, I didn’t need any more backup than I already had.”

“Right, you’d be safely on your way to Leveaux’s house right now, wouldn’t you? Without a bullet wound in your head or your chest or wherever else?” Bucky seethes, growing more and more tired of your stubbornness. Do you not realize that it was a planned shooting? Someone knew Leveaux was going to be at the club tonight and they plotted it all ahead of time, aiming to either scare him into staying off of the streets of the city or maybe even aiming to kill him. It was going to happen regardless of how much backup you did or didn’t have tonight.

“You know, Bucky, you can’t say shit. You got yourself shot tonight. You should’ve stayed in the club.” As soon as the words leave your lips you feel a tinge of regret settling in the pit of your stomach. He got himself shot protecting you. He shielded you with his own body. He was observant of your surroundings, he saw the dark car slowly coming down the street with its windows halfway down, and his first move was to shove you against the wall and put his body between yours and the danger behind. He likely saved your life, yet you can’t find it within yourself to offer him even a measly thank you. He’s actually a little bit thankful for everything that happened after you left the stage earlier, because he was really starting to wonder how the hell he was going to find enough to dislike about you to keep his cock from getting hard every time you cross paths, which is way too often when you live together. But you acting like this? Acting like he did you a disservice by not only saving you from a hail of gunfire but also by saving you from going home with the most notorious arms dealer in the northern U.S? He thinks this ungrateful attitude of yours might cure him.

When the sound of your last corset fastener snapping open disturbs the short-lived silence in the car, Bucky clenches his teeth together. He wishes you would wait until you were home to change, but he also couldn’t stand knowing that you were sitting there in that fucking black lingerie set with nothing but another man’s coat covering your skin. Maybe he isn’t as cured as he thought.

“You should’ve called me Sam, you should’ve told me that you guys were going to be there tonight.” Your tone is a little softer as you slip on a black Calvin Klein bra and then pull your black sweater from earlier over it.

“Fury didn’t brief us until the last minute, I had no idea it was your op until it was too late to call you. You were already onsite.” Sam explains, trying to diffuse your anger a bit more. You sigh as you slide your black jeans over your legs and begin zipping and buttoning them closed.

“I’ve been waiting to get him alone for months.” You’re sulking. You put so much time and effort into tracking Leveaux’s every move, every hobby, every place he frequents. You know the man inside and out, and you knew this night was your only chance to get what you needed from him. You lift your right hand and massage your temples with your middle finger and thumb, feeling the start of a stress headache coming on.

“You’ll get another chance. He was pretty damn interested in you and what you had to offer.” Sam points out, fixing the rearview mirror back into its proper position and using it to make eye contact with you. He knows you work hard and that you’re good at your job, and he hates to see you so frustrated over one op being blown for reasons that were out of your control. As much as you want to blame Bucky, it wasn’t even his fault. However, you plan to hold a bit of a grudge regardless.

“Answer this one for me, when you were briefed, did Fury tell you that my cover name was the same as my real first name?” You ask, perking up in your seat a bit as you fish around in your bag for your socks. It’s freezing outside and you can barely feel your feet after wearing your heels out in such a low temperature.

“You really think I would’ve blown your cover unintentionally?” Bucky questions, his blue eyes boring into yours in the mirror. Clearly he takes offense at your insinuation. He might’ve inserted himself into your moment with Leveaux on a whim, but he isn’t reckless like you, he knew what he was doing outside the club. He was saving your ass. You stare right back at him, malice lighting your gaze on fire.

“You’re telling me you meant to do it on purpose?”

“Calm down, we knew your cover name was the same as your real name. Your cover wasn’t blown.” Sam interjects, trying his best to stomp out the flames of the fight that’s brewing between you and Bucky. His eyes leave the road for a moment as he casts a glance between the two of you, unable to ignore the growing tension in the car. “What the hell is up with you two? I’ve barely ever seen you guys interact, much less be at each other’s throats like you are right now. Am I missing something?”

“No.” You and Bucky speak the word in unison. The last few minutes of the car ride are taken in silence, no one daring to say another word as you and Bucky stew in your own anger and Sam focuses on avoiding patches of black ice in the road. You’ve almost forgotten that Bucky’s been shot, until you get out of the car in the parking garage and see the sizable, dark red wet patch smeared across the fabric covering his torso. He’s keeping his flesh hand held tight over the area, in an attempt to abate the blood loss. It looks a lot worse than he’s been making it seem, but you’d expect no less from someone so damn stubborn.

It only takes a couple of minutes to make it to your floor of the complex, and as soon as the elevator doors begin sliding open to let you both out, you can feel that urge somewhere deep inside, tugging at your conscience. You’re going to end up breaking out your first aid kit and using it on him. You can’t even argue with yourself, it’s what’s going to happen. It’s inevitable. Fuck your medical background and inherent need to take care of everyone but yourself.

Bucky’s planning to shower the blood off of his skin and maybe throw a couple of bandages over the entrance and exit wounds that he knows he’s sporting. That’s the most that he thinks he’ll need. He’s barely ever needed any more than a little wound cleansing and maybe some gauze here and there, he heals so quickly that first aid always been an unnecessary comfort. As he trails behind you down the hallway, watching the way you fiddle with the set of keys in your right hand, he wonders what you’re thinking now. He imagines you’re probably picturing yourself leaving him standing on the curb as you ride off into the dark of night with Elias Leveaux. Would you really have made it all the way to Leveaux’s house and let him put his hands on you? Would you have let him have you? All for a little bit of intel that you could probably gain in a much safer way? God, Bucky can’t stand you or the way you operate in the field. The next time Fury calls him in on anything related to you, he’s waving a white flag of surrender and saying hell no. He isn’t going to be tasked with sitting on the sidelines to watch as you let some criminal touch your ass and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Fuck that.

You deftly slide your key into the lock, turning it to the right before pushing the door handle down. When the door swings open, the darkness of your apartment greets you, mingling with an eerie silence. That’s another thing that you and Bucky don’t have in common. You always leave a light on when you go out, whether it’s a table lamp or the light above the stovetop in the kitchen, you hate coming home to darkness. But Bucky never leaves a light on. It’s like he’s allergic to all things cozy and comforting. You’re acutely aware of his presence behind you as you step into the apartment and stop in your tracks when he shuts the door behind you both. It’s dark, too dark. Of course, when you freeze right in front of him, Bucky’s next step sends him crashing into your back, which sends you nearly sprawling to the floor. He reaches out with his vibranium hand and grabs you by the elbow, steadying you quickly before letting go. It only takes him a second to figure out why you’ve stopped short, and he turns around to feel along the wall by the door until he hears the way the scratchy sound of the rough painted wall gives way to the smooth plastic covering of the light switch panel under his metal fingers. When he flicks the living room light on, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

Bucky watches as you cross the living room and disappear down the hallway, making a left turn into your bedroom with your duffel bag in tow. Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he sees a trail of glitter and being sprinkled across the floor in your wake and cartoon-style steam billowing out of your ears. With you gone, he can finally think without a cloud of anger fogging up his thoughts. His first move is to turn on the lights in the kitchen and fish a cold beer out of the fridge. His second move is to lean back against the edge of the island and take a long sip of said beer as he gauges how much his gunshot wound hurts. Not that much. Listening to you give him shit over nothing was more painful than the bullet he took for you. God, you’re fucking infuriating. As much as he detests your presence here tonight, he still finds himself tuning an ear in your direction. He can hear you rummaging around in your room, presumably searching for something by the sounds of your sighs and various objects sliding across the carpet. For a second, his mind floats back to the first night you moved in. The soft moans and whimpers that fell from your mouth, quiet enough that he had to strain his ears to hear them but loud enough that he was able to fucking memorize them. His grip around the beer bottle tightens as he tries to focus on anything besides those sounds, anything besides the recurrent sighs traveling down the hall right now. What the hell are you even doing in there?

“Take off your shirt.” Your voice sounds out from down the hall, reaching Bucky’s ears and making him do a doubletake.

“Last time you saw me without one you asked why I never wear one.” Bucky points out, now he’s really wondering what you’re doing in your bedroom. He hears your socked feet pattering against the floor of the hallway just before you turn the corner and step into the kitchen. His eyes lock onto yours first, but then they quickly dart down to the compact, army green tactical bag in your hands. He recognizes it in an instant. “I think if I got myself shot, I can handle the wound care on my own, sweetheart.” Bucky throws your earlier words right back in your face. You narrow your eyes at him as you step up to the island and set the first aid bag just a few inches to his right. You’re silent as you unzip it and start pulling out a few supplies you’re sure you’ll need.

“Just take off your shirt and sit your ass on the island.” Your tone is really starting to convey how fed up you are with his shit. He thinks about arguing a little more, but he’s as ready to be done with you tonight as you are with him. He figures the fastest way to get this over with is to let you take a look at his wound and see how fast he’s already healing, and then you’ll leave him alone and you can go your separate ways for the night. So, Bucky turns and sets his now half-empty beer bottle on the island next to the first aid kit before grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He drops it on the floor by your feet, watching with poorly masked amusement as your eyes rake over his toned shoulders, his chest, the rippled muscles of his abs, and then… “God, you should’ve gone to the hospital, Bucky.”

Though the lighting in the kitchen is pretty good, Bucky being so tall casts a shadow over his lower body, making it hard to get an illuminated view of the bullet’s exit wound. Your hand lands on his vibranium shoulder without hesitation and you tug him forward and to the side, urging him to turn around. He complies, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your palm and fingertips brushing over the scars where vibranium meets tortured skin. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, he finds himself annoyed at how soothing your touch feels. He wants this whole thing over with. You lean over to examine the entrance wound on the side of his lower back as Bucky runs a hand through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. It doesn’t look anywhere near as bad as the exit wound on his frontside, which is exactly what you’d expected. You don’t give Bucky any warning as you swipe a pre-soaked pad of iodine over his wound to clean it. You want to check for bullet fragments, to give him a few stitches and maybe even a shot of a local anesthetic, but you’re sure he’d rather take another bullet than let you do any of that. So, you simply clean the wound and fashion a secure, waterproof bandage over it. When you stand up again and tap his shoulder, he turns back around to face you, looking even more annoyed than before. He doesn’t make a move to sit on the island, so you let out a frustrated sigh as you do the only thing you can think to do, the thing that Bucky wishes you hadn’t done. You sink to your knees in front of him.

You notice the way he draws in a deep breath and casts a displeased glance down at you, his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, but he doesn’t move a muscle otherwise. You look up at him just for a moment, taking in his cold expression and everything below it…the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, the way both of his hands are gripping the edge of the countertop, his beer long forgotten with you now on your knees. If you could hear his thoughts, you’d be hearing a chorus of not now, not now, not now as Bucky attempts to rationalize with his already-hardening cock. Bucky decides to give you thirty seconds to finish whatever the hell it is that you’re about to do down there before he pulls you up by your fucking hair. As if you can sense his short fuse, you get to work. Swiping the iodine pad over the significantly messier exit wound and then tearing open a packet of gauze with your teeth. You press a couple of the soft white squares against his still oozing wound and they quickly soak up the fresh blood, soaking through to your fingertips. Bucky’s wondering why you didn’t put on any gloves, aren’t people usually worried about catching some bloodborne illness when they do shit like this? The fact that his blood turning your fingertips red doesn’t even seem to bother you almost turns him on more. God, this is starting to feel a little bit too twisted. Bucky’s flesh hand moves on autopilot, his fingers coming to rest over yours as he applies more pressure to the wound and lets out a soft grunt at the pain. You let him hold your fingers there for a moment and you make the mistake of looking up at him again. Fuck. He can’t handle this. Bucky screws his eyes shut and tilts his head back a little, making sure when he opens his eyes again his only view will be of the ceiling above and not of you on your knees in front of him.

“Are you almost done?” He asks harshly, removing his hand from the top of yours and gripping the edge of the counter once more. You start fashioning another bandage out of gauze and medical tape as soon as his hand leaves yours.

“I would be if you’d sat on the island like I asked you to, you wanted to do this the hard way.” You retort. You can’t seem to get the tape in a good enough position, not with the waistband of his tactical pants in the way, so you take the initiative and curl two fingertips into them before tugging them down an inch. That one inch is enough to reveal the beginning of a v-line and your breath hitches in your throat. You’re suddenly all-too-aware of the compromising position you’re in. Even more than that, you’re aware of something you’d been completely oblivious to just a moment before: Bucky’s hard-on outlined through the fabric of his pants.

You’re frozen for a second too long and when you come to your senses once more, you look up to find Bucky staring down at you, his gaze a little less cold but every bit as intense. You decide that making eye contact with the man that you’re currently non-sexually on your knees for might not be the smartest move, so you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the task at hand. You’re able to get the bandage in the right place just fine after tugging his pants down an inch, and as soon as the tape sticks to his skin you rise to your feet. You’re the only thing standing between Bucky and the short walk to his bedroom door. You’re ready to collect your first aid kit and leave him standing in the kitchen to steep in his anger, but your mind can’t seem to get past the fact that he has a hard-on. He saw you staring at it too, and he simply stood there looking down at you, as if he was waiting to see how you’d respond to it. God, who the hell does he think he is? Crashing your solo op, taking a bullet for you like he’s some all-American hero, and then getting turned on by what? You giving him shit for it all?

Bucky’s waiting a bit impatiently for you to take your leave, for you to gather your medical supplies back into the little tactical bag and disappear into your bedroom for the rest of the night, leaving a trail of body glitter all over the kitchen and hallway. But instead of leaving, you’re standing in front of him, your eyes analyzing every twitch of the muscles along his jaw, every little move he makes with his eyes as he stares right back at you. Your boldness seems to intensify as you stand there taking in the sight of your roommate. You want the last word, and you want it to be something he’ll remember, so he doesn’t go screwing up your hard work ever again.

Leaning into Bucky’s space, you’re met with his intoxicatingly pleasant scent, he smells so uniquely like him. There isn’t any other way to describe it, it’s just Bucky. You brace your hands on the edge of the island on either side of him, your arms brushing against each of his as you rise up on your toes and position your lips so close to his ear that you could stick your tongue out and taste him if you wanted to. Fuck, you kind of want to. The thought only graces your mind for the briefest moment before you let your eyes flutter closed and focus on the anger you still feel bubbling up in your chest.

“Stay the fuck away from my solo ops.” You whisper softly but pointedly. Your bottom lip just barely grazes the shell of his ear as the last word leaves your mouth. That tiny, brief point of physical connection between the two of you is seemingly nothing, yet it sends a spark of electricity from your bottom lip all the way down to your toes.

Bucky’s form is rigid, trapped between you and the island, simultaneously hating and loving the position he’s been placed in. He wishes he only hated it. He wishes he could fist his hand in your hair and angle your head back until your neck is exposed to him like a blank canvas, ready for him to leave his mark. He wishes you would’ve locked yourself in your bedroom the moment you both got to the apartment, not even bothering to fish out your first aid kit and clean up his wounds. He wishes he’d never given you the idea to switch apartments with Vision, and yet, in this moment, his cock is harder than it’s ever been. That’s why when you let go of the island and turn away from Bucky, leaving your first aid kit on the countertop as you take the first step to leave the kitchen, Bucky reaches out and curls his hand tightly around your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks before using his grip to turn you back around to face him. In one swift motion, he tightens his hold even more and pulls you in until your chest is pressed against his and his warm breath is fanning across your face as he looks down at your widened eyes.

“I don’t take orders from people who don’t give a shit if they live or die.” Bucky spits, holding you against him for just a second after he’s spoken his piece, before dropping his hold on your arm and letting you stumble one step back. He expects you to maybe mutter something under your breath before stomping off to your room, annoyed that he didn’t let you have the last word, but you’re every bit as stubborn as he is. Every bit as stubborn and feeling like you have a leg up in the situation since you know what’s currently fighting to escape the confines of his tactical pants. A smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes flit from his icy expression down to his waistband that sits right above the outline of his hard-on, and then back up to his eyes once more.

“Right, it’s probably bad form to take professional orders from someone you wanna fuck anyway.” When you say the word fuck, you let your eyes drift down to the front of his pants one final time, ensuring that he knows what led you to your choice of words. Now Bucky returns your smirk. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he shakes his head at you.

“That’s all adrenaline, sweetheart, nothing else.” His denial is both enraging and laughable. You tsk, closing the distance between the two of you one more time before reaching out with your right hand and letting the tips of your fingers, still tinged red with his blood, tap lightly over the center of his chest. He’s looking down at you, completely unable to force himself to look anywhere else, as you drag those fingers down his bare torso, so lightly that he feels goosebumps forming across the expanse of his skin. Your hand travels lower and lower, over the hills and valleys of his abs, ghosting over his navel, and down the thin trail of hair that leads straight to the thing you can’t stop thinking about. You let your fingertips skim over the fabric of his waistband just barely, just enough to really piss him off, and that’s when Bucky snatches your wrist away, his grip so tight that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark.

“Watch it.” He warns, with his eyes dark and narrowed as he casts you a disapproving yet sinful glance. You feel your bloodflow splitting in two directions, half of it rushing up to color your cheeks and the other have rushing down to pool low in your stomach, sending heat swirling between your legs. You swallow thickly. What the hell? Your body is clearly loving the way he’s talking to you and it’s pissing you off. You’re learning that you’re attracted to men with the unhealthiest of attitudes, and Bucky’s currently rising to the top of the unhealthy-attitude-yet-hot-as-fuck mental list that you’re keeping. He’s actually the only person on it. He just invented the list for you, in this moment, when he told you to watch it.

“I think I heard a button snap there, soldier.” You tease, letting your eyes flit down to the waistband of his pants again. Bucky’s jaw ticks as he flicks your wrist away from him and tries to ignore the new nickname you’ve decided to test out. How do you make such a common, simple title sound so damn filthy? Bucky thinks you could’ve actually heard the button of his tactical pants snap open, considering the way his cock has been twitching every time you open your mouth. He decides the only way for him to get out of this is to let you have the last word, so he stands there in silence as you study his tense face. He so badly wants to say something back, to anger you every bit as much as you’ve angered him tonight, but he knows how stubborn you are and every word he breathes will only keep you here in front of him longer. His tactic works like a charm and he watches with bated breath as you step away from him and take a few steps toward the hallway. You stop short right before disappearing behind the wall, looking over your shoulder and making eye contact with Bucky one final time.

“Let me know if you need any help with all of that uh…” You wave your hand around in the air as you refer to Bucky’s hard-on, with a near-permanent smirk plastered on your face. “Adrenaline. It’s the least I can do.”

Bucky’s left alone in the kitchen at last. He thought he’d feel instant relief once you left, but he doesn’t. He feels like he has a damn loaded gun tucked in the front of his pants. Let me know if you need any help? It’s the least I can do? Bucky has no doubt that you were simply being a sarcastic pain in his ass, but still. Your words were laced with innuendo and the sexual tension in the room was so thick that he could barely breathe. He is so beyond fucked.

---

The softest, sweetest little hum escapes your lips as your right hand moves of its own volition. The back of your hand feels the fabric of your cotton panties, which are a little bit damp even after you showered and changed into a fresh pair. The pads of your fingers are sliding back and forth along your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around, dragging closer and closer to your entrance with each downward sweep. When you let the tip of your middle finger dip down and inward, just barely entering where you’ve been feeling an empty sort of ache for the past hour, the steady string of hums and soft pants that were leaving your lips before become whispered moans. This is exactly what you needed.

Bucky’s fist is wrapped tightly around the shaft of his cock as he gives it torturously slow strokes from the base to the tip, prolonging his pleasure as long as he possibly can. He closes his eyes and instantly recalls the mental image of you on your knees at his feet, gazing up at him like you being in that position for him wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

“Fuck.” Bucky groans lowly, speeding up the work of his right hand as his head presses back harder into his pillow. It’s burned into his eyelids, the image of you on your knees. It’s burned into his eyelids and he fears he’ll never be able to forget it. His brain takes the image and adds to it, evolving it to include your hands sliding up the fronts of his thighs and adding a flash of hunger behind your eyes. He gets far too close to finishing himself off too soon when he imagines you tugging on the waistband of his pants just like you did earlier, but enough to free his cock right there in front of you. God, he knows he’s well-endowed, but he can just picture how much bigger his dick would look if your hand was wrapped around it instead of his own. Another groan rumbles past his lips, louder this time, as he starts to lose a little bit of his self-control.

Bucky. His name is swirling around your mind for two reasons now. The first being that you’re touching yourself because of him. Because of the way he looked at you, talked to you, because of the way he pissed you off. You slowly pull two fingers out of your pussy and drag them upwards until you reach your clit, beginning to stimulate it a little too excitedly as the second reason presents itself again. He groans. Bucky Barnes groans for the second time. The first time that you heard it a few seconds ago you assumed he was rolling over in bed or maybe he accidentally laid in a way that aggravated his wounds from earlier tonight. But the second time you heard it you had no doubt about what he was doing. It has to be exactly what you’re doing, and you’re fucking thrilled. You know it isn’t the most honest or decent way to reach an orgasm, but hell, if he’s going to be so damn vocal with such thin walls, how can you resist? So, you rub circles against your clit, letting hushed pants and moans fall freely from your lips now, sure that Bucky’s too engaged in his own arousal to hear you.

You sound like a fucking goddess. Bucky doesn’t even take a moment to feel guilty, no, he only picks up the speed with which he’s desperately tugging on his cock to get to his release. A thin sheen of sweat has formed across his brow and his chest is burning with a mix of desire and near-hyperventilation as he touches himself and listens to the sinful sounds coming from across the hall. All cares have been thrown aside as yet another loud curse is torn out of him, and then an equally loud, provocative moan is returned from your room. That’s when Bucky’s eyes snap open and his thumb glides over the slit of his cock where precum has been steadily leaking out since your dangerous kitchen encounter earlier. If he’s being honest with himself, his dick has been leaking precum since you took the stage at the club earlier tonight. As the two of you exchange moans and broken swears through the walls, neither of you using an ounce of rational thinking, you race toward your separate releases simultaneously. When Bucky finally feels his balls tightening and his cock twitching against the palm of his tiring hand, his release comes at the sound of your final audible sentence of the night.

“Fuck, I’m cumming.”

You always get the last word.

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