#hm interview questions

[salemoleander]

Btw, without offering any spoilers - when or if you decide to play it (whether in Early Access or once it releases or whenever), Hades II is a lot more interesting if you don't go in assuming the protagonist's side is right.

(Absolutely not saying the antagonist is right either! It's just that there's a lot more moral grey area than the first game, and it's easy to accidentally gloss over because the tone of the game is still relatively light.)

[deus-ex-mona]

the ✨fickleness✨ of the heart

[mrspockify]

Oh I ended up withdrawing myself from that job I interviewed for yesterday and part of the reason was that he told me, a trans person, that there were some tensions between the trans community and his program, and then instead of stopping there went on to specifically say I’d have no power to do anything about it in my position 😶

[tonycries]

Your (Super)Man - N.K.

Synopsis. He’s not a bird. He’s not a plane. He’s…just Nanami Kento from the journalism department. But you have a feeling that Nanami’s hiding a super big secret - and not just the one down there.

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, Clark Kent! Nanami, SUPERMAN AU, aphrodísiacs, coworkers-to-Iovers, he is a GENTLEMAN, slight víoIence, Itadori cameo, saving people, píning, manhandIing, he is BIG, cervíx kíssing, making it fit, pússydrúnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), BRÉEDING, creampíes, cúmplay, spítting, Nanami’s POWERS, matíng presses, face-sítting, buIges, BREAKING THE BED, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.7k

A/N. CLARK KENT(O) NANAMI SAVE MEEEE

“There’s just something about him, Shoko.”

“Right…”

You’re flicking a quick roll of your eyes as your coworker continues stealing drowsy sips of her early morning coffee. Well, her fifth of the morning. Grumbling out, “I swear- There’s just something about him that feels so…” Eyes drifting - as they much seemed to do these days - to the man in question. “-different.”

And, listen, Shoko would whole-heartedly prefer the tittering office gossip with you over working on her weeks-late article any day of the week. 

But times like this, she really had no idea whether the two of you were staring - undoubtedly creepily - at the same Nanami Kento. 

That stoic, mild-mannered hire who’d just been freshly accepted into your journalism sector. Tall, seemingly powerful - yet, he acted anything but. A gentle giant with the suspicious patience of a saint even against the worst of editors - honestly, she’s musing, just who was this guy?

“Hm…” Fingers digging into her achy temples as if trying to will away the memory of her upcoming deadlines. And this. “Maybe you just need to get laid. A proper, genuine good f-”

“Shoko.”

And she’s cracking her first laugh of the day, ducking underneath her computer screen with a sigh as Yaga passes by dangerously close. “Well, you were thinking about it. Harlot.”

You’re sighing, too - though for a much different reason, she imagines. 

Gaze narrowing as you finally rip them away from the blond-haired man dwarfing the corporate cubicle opposite the two of you. Bumbling and fixing the glasses on his face for the nth time this hour. “W-well it doesn’t help that he’s hot.”

Shoko’s mere milliseconds away from opening her sharp mouth once more - and you’re mere milliseconds away from wincing at what was surely to fall from them. Before- 

A call of your name.

Ah, saved by the bell - or, your managing editor, more like. Though, you weren’t sure if you’d consider it “saving” when Yaga’s holding out a crisp stack of documents your way. Brows furrowed underneath his sunglasses, he gruffs out, “They finally cleared the pitch for your article on that flower. You’re good to go.”

“O-oh, that’s great. Thank you.” Plastering on a simpering smile on your face, you’re hastily clasping those papers. “I’ll get started on the interviews right away.”

Articles on flower shops weren’t quite the adrenaline-thumping journalism you’d expected to work on when you first joined this company. Initially concocting fantasies about interviewing your city’s nefarious villains or perhaps even…Superman .

But ah, those were just dreams. And it seems that someone here had to report on things like mysterious flower shipments to local florists - which just-so-happened to be you.

You’re pulled out of your pitiful little reverie by another echo of your name. Turning back to Yaga, brows raised. “Yes?”

“And take Nanami with you.”

Oh.

Oh. 

“Ah, sorry you’re paired up with me, Nanami.” You’d be chuckling much, much later when you’d gathered your files and your wits to be stuffed inside an elevator with your coworker. “I’d imagine something like this probably wouldn’t have been your ideal first taste of real journalism.”

Eyes straying anywhere but where you could spy the way the suit buttons over his chest looked like they were about to pop! Nanami was unfairly attractive, even when he was slouched and nervously struggling to meet your eyes with his honeypool ones.

Always known around the rest of the company to be so timid - but you get the feeling that he was being extra jumpy around you.

He’s shaking his head - golden strands of hair curtaining his handsome face. “Please don’t worry. I’m only grateful that you’re taking me with you, I-I promise to try my best not to be a burden, ma’am.”

“Aw, no need to call me that. We’re the same age, after all.” Subtly, you’re mashing the button for the ground floor a few more times. Suddenly reminded of how dizzyingly tiny this space was. How much of it he was occupying. “And I can’t promise that I won’t be a burden, either.”

You’d meant it as a joke - you really did. But after seeing the way that Nanami’s forehead crinkles with a furrow, you almost wish you could take back those words. 

“Anyone would be lucky to have you as a partner.” He’s mumbling - such earnestness dripping from his rich baritone that you can feel your eyes widening a fraction. And Nanami sees it, too. 

“Oh?”

“I mean-” Fingers fumbling to push up his thick-rimmed glasses, he’s tightening his yellow speckled tie almost as if he wished to choke away that burning flush creeping up from the back of his drooped neck and blossoming at the tips of his ears. “Just- just that you’re one of the most c-competent journalists in our company and I’m only honored to be learning from the best and- o-oh, it seems we’re here.” 

It’s a wonder that Nanami noticed - it’s a wonder that you noticed once those metallic doors parted like a curtain to reveal the bustling lobby. Finally here.

He’s holding out the curved end of one big, strong arm, bent at the elbow to show off the straining stretch of his flexing biceps. And you can’t help but ogle. “M-may I?”

It takes you copious seconds of staring at the thoroughly outlined bulge of his sculpted arm for you to finally snap to your senses. And a few more to finally realize what he was asking. 

Something warm and mushy pools in your stomach. Fuck.

Tentatively wrapping your hands around the rock-hard mounds of flesh so that Nanami - ever-the-gentleman - could tenderly escort you out, as if this was a ballroom and not your workplace. 

And you can’t help but think that perhaps you didn’t mind tedious interviews if it went anything like this. 

.

.

.

“So, there’s no sender address?”

“Nope.”

“No date?” 

“Nada.”

“And no postage?” 

“Tch, I wish!”

You’re tapping your trusty pen against the parchment of the notepad, gears wracking in your thoroughly overworked brain. “Mr. Itadori, is there a possibility that this might be a prank?”

Wasuke Itadori shakes his head with a grunt, weathered fingers brushing over the aggressively violet petals of a flower you think looked too bizarre to even be pulled out of your very dreams. He’s tapping the stiff flower once. Twice. 

And you’re gasping when a tiny puff of shimmering pink billows out like a heady cloud. Perfumed. Hypnotizing. A musky vanilla that makes you draw in further, and reminds you of- Eyes peeking over at an aloof Nanami…him. 

“See? Smells jus’ like my wife’s cheap citrus perfume. N’ unless she’s haunting me from beyond the grave as she said she would, it seems too elaborate of a prank ta me. It’s obviously livin’, but I can’t find any information on this flower for the life of me.” The older man crosses his arms, scowling, “Ya have no idea how many times I’ve had ta stop my stupid grandson from trying to eat this thing.”

Humming, you’re jotting down a few notes - fingers tremoring ever-so-slightly at Nanami’s burning gaze right beside you. “Have there been any strange effects on the other flora since you’ve acquired this special flower?”

“Nah, nothing at all- that’s the thing, s’like it’s alien or something. Just showed up at my door one day n’ I dunno what it is.” He’s grouching - and you have to agree. That is strange. 

You’d never heard of any other florist’s receiving this type of strange…gift? 

But you can’t voice anything more before a voice sounds from outside the see-through door, and the man before you clicks his tongue. “Ah! Dammit, that reminds me- my flower vendor’s here already. Excuse me while I step outside, you can throw the lil’ gremlin in with the marigolds if he bothers ya too much.”

You’re holding back a chuckle - honestly, this was nothing like you expected, you think you would have enjoyed this interview regardless. 

Wasuke was a doting grandpa - as much as he may deny it. And his tiny, pink-haired menace of a grandson was positively bouncing off the walls at having official journalists enter the cozy flower shop. Dangling midair off of a closely-observing Nanami’s shoulders with two chubby arms wrapped around the other’s neck.

Though, you certainly weren’t complaining at the sight.

“Hey- pretty lady- mister Nananamin-” Yuji’s squeaking into his ear. “Are you two married?” 

You’re sure that if Wasuke was within earshot he’d have grabbed the child by the scruff of his neck. But, alas, Nanami was beared with none of that mercy. 

Teasing, “Hmm, would you like to answer this, Nanami?”

“No- I mean yes! N-no, this lovely lady and I are not married.” He’s huffing out a low bout of laughter, massive palms barely even having to try to pick up Yuji’s wiggling body. And you can’t stop the way your heart lurches when he’s softly cradling the younger boy in one arm - fuck, you really need to get yourself together.

“Why not?”

And perhaps for the first time since you’ve known him, Nanami Kento looked truly and utterly stunned. Hazel eyes pleading your way, mouth opening and closing a few desperate times. “Well…”

But Yuji only plows on with the oblivious confidence that only comes with being freshly five. “Then, since you’re erm- what was that word Megumi said? Uh- d-divowced, can I marry her?”

Ah.

Giggling behind your palm, you’re almost on the verge of saving your poor coworker. Almost. 

That is, before it happens. 

CRASH!

You can’t hear anything, you can’t feel anything, you can’t see anything - other than a bright, blood red. Fuck- 

“N-Nanami? Yuji?” Your voice is shrill - cracking, and you’re unsure if the way you grimace is because of how utterly pathetic you sound or because of the complete devastation in front of you. “Wh-what…”

Shit. 

Heaps upon heaps of concrete and wrecked pieces of building pile upon what was once the Itadori family flower shop. Flowerpots knocked over, the ceiling crumbling, bright morning sunlight filtering from above to illuminate a thick blanket of swirling dust. 

As if a whirlwind had wrecked it through and caught up you right in the middle of it - purposefully. 

Shit shit shit-

Gasping, heaving to try and scramble your thoughts into one big coherent one - but then instantly regretting it when your entire body wracks with painful coughs. You’re so confused - head churning with exactly what’s happening right now - that you barely even register the large hand soothing over your back.

Your ears ring with a sharp keen, eyes bleary and tinging with black - it hurts. And you’re pressing a hand to your forehead with a hiss. Unbalanced voice on the edges of shattering into a zillion pieces, “What happened- wh-where-”

“Shhh shh shh, you’re going to be alright, darling.���

What? 

Your head snaps up - it’s then that you notice it.

Finally. 

Body tucked safely behind the overarching counter of the flower shop, far from where the sudden impact of something would have hit you. You’re crouched against all the wood and debris that dug uncomfortably into your legs. Your hands tremble - but not just with fear, no, with the tearful cries of a curled-up Yuji snuggling thankfully safely into your body.

All in the arms of…Nanami?

But, wait, no- it was as if it wasn’t him at all. 

Because gone were those heavy glasses framing his pretty face, and you’re blinking your lethargic lids urgently to drink in the stern, serious features they’d left behind. Brows furrowed, plump lips pulled tightly when he’s clenching his jaw, muscles flexing as he’s holding you two tighter - as if subconsciously. 

There was something different about him, something…magnetic, like a flip had just switched on. And you’re definitely blaming the way your head was swimming - but you can’t help but think he looked so hot.

Fuck - now’s not the time.

Soft locks of blond were windswept to slick back, that snug coat of his tattered onto the floor to display an emblazoned logo that you wouldn’t be able to mistake even if you tried. 

“You’re…” you breathe, and it’s a wonder that the syllables come out coherent at all. Jaw falling slack at the glimpses of that familiar skin-tight red and blue suit you’ve seen smeared across every magazine, every news column, and every show these days. “...Superman.”

And it takes a second. Two. 

Until Nanami’s long lashes flutter with a little pant of laughter, a singular thick finger straightening into a shush-ing gesture when he’s smiling down warmly at a sniffling Yuji, “This’ll be our little secret, right?”

“Y-yes!” The little boy hiccups, plump palms scrambling to cover his mouth. And you think you could spy a tiny smile rising through his short fingers. Though it wavers, “Mister Nananamin- I mean- Mister Superman, my grandpa is still outside…”

He’s nodding, “I’ll keep you all safe-” Before turning to you with eyes so scorching that you can feel yourself inch in closer against the stiff fabric of his supersuit. “-all of you.” 

“Ahhh~ touching touching. Didn’t think I’d run into dear ol’ Superman here.” A high, eerie voice rings over the thundering blood pumping to your head, and you’re burying even deeper into Nanami’s sculpted side. “But ah, not to worry, Man of Steel, m’jus’ here to pick up a little lost package of my friend’s so…”

Nanami’s stiffening underneath your touch, and with a slow nod he’s getting up from your little hiding place. 

And if looks could kill - which you knew Superman could do - then the greyish, patched man in front of you wouldn’t have been waltzing in through the utterly destroyed door already. As if he owned the place. Owned all of you. 

“Mahito, we’ve spoken before.” Nanami’s voice was hardened with a growl in a way you’ve never heard. Fuming. “Leave now and no one gets hurt.”

There’s a metallic click! resonating across what was left of the four walls of this shop, as if he was loading some type of gun. But not as you’ve ever known one. 

And Nanami’s eyes narrow with a thick coating of tension when Mahito’s fingers curl around that flower - the exact one you’d come here to interview about in the first place. Plucking it neatly from the vase before crushing the waxy petals between his fingers. 

“You sure ya wanna talk to me like that when you’ve got civilians here, Superman?” Voice airy, delighted. As if he wasn’t currently loading an opening in that specialized gun with the gooey insides of that flower. Before pointing it - right at the bullseye where you were scoured away. “Especially with sweetcheeks here? Don’t think I don’t know how soft ya are for-”

Nanami stretches into an attack-ready position. “So you’re after the innocents again.”

“Ah- no, actually.” Mahito snickers. Snickers. “I’m after you.”

BANG!

It all happens so fast that you’re not even sure if everything’s part of your imagination - whether this is all still a dream. 

Because in the bat of an eye, Mahito has the slightly-glowing barrel of the gun pointed your way. Bursting the counter into nothing but a few shockwaves and shards of plastic. 

And in the bat of much less, Nanami’s shielding you with his entire body, sculptured front glissading against your back, beefy arms curled snugly around your waist. Head tucked over yours to make sure every inch of you is protected, Yuji placed gently at his side. 

Your bleary vision clouds with a familiar fog of pink - dazzling and addictive with that same musky perfume. Was- wasn’t this what Wasuke had shown you earlier?

“Shit! Wh-what the fuck is this?!” You’re hearing off in the distance - or perhaps it was right beside you, you didn’t even know at this point. “That damn Hanami- this isn’t the poison-”

He’s letting off a shiver, before gritting out. One arm holding out to you just as it had in the elevator, the memory hits you with pang. “Y-you two need to get to safety. Now. May I?”

If it weren’t for the hours of droning meetings faced with Nanami, the weeks of trying to get him to speak with you - months of memorizing every syllable that dripped from his pretty lips, then you wouldn’t even have noticed. But you did. 

“W-wait-.” Your throat scratches and struggles to get the words out, matching the shakes in his own tone. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

But the only answer you get is a soft, mysterious smile. And the repeated hum - as if you weren’t wrangling yourself around to peek at where he was undoubtedly hit. “No need to worry about me, my love- ah. My first and foremost priority is you two-”

“But you’re hurt.” you’re crying out, gasping when Mahito’s eyes lock with yours. And he leers, knobbly fingers fussing to reset that weapon once more. 

“I know.” Stray tresses of golden flaxen stick to Nanami’s sweat-glimmered forehead like an impromptu crown, and you don’t know how he has it in himself to smile down at you. Cradling Yuji in one arm, and you in the other as if the two of you were easily weightless - you can only gape at the adorable dimple digging into the left corner of his mouth. “Now, hold on tight.”

You do - and you can only blink before your savior is flying. 

Now, you’d always marvelled at the sheer heights that Superman reached on those live newscasts. Wondering just how euphoric it must be to soar through the air, free from every care in the world - well, as much as you could be when the fate of the world rests on your shoulders, at least.

But this? This was heaven.

Wind whipping your face like an icy mask, Yuji’s high peels of laughter tinkling in your ears. You can’t do anything but watch and watch as the demolished flower shop grows smaller. A speck. 

“Oh- oh my god.” You’re whispering thorough scrunched eyes, nails clawing deeply into the mountainous curve of his well-defined deltoid.

And if it hurt, then Nanami didn’t give a single sign. Instead, he’s laughing - quiet, and as delicate at the cottony clouds passing you by. “S’alright, s’alright. Super- Ken’s here. N’ m’not gonna drop you.” You’re cutting through the air so fast - staggeringly - but right now, when Nanami’s boring his eyes into yours, it felt like time itself had stumbled to a stop. He’s pulling you even closer to his powerful body, “I’d never let ya go, darling.”

Yet, when the view of your cozy Metropolis apartment comes into view - you almost whine at the fact that he has to. 

“Don’t you worry about a thing now.” Nanami’s ruffling Yuji’s windblown mop of pink hair - even more tousled with the wind. “I’ll be going, and I’ll keep both you and your grandpa safe.”

And looking at him right now - velvety crimson cape flowing at the wind seeping in through your open window, one arm bulging with muscles as he leans readily against the frame - you wonder how you could’ve ever thought that anyone other than him could be Superman.

“Come back safe.” You’re choking out, hands clasped. “W-we’re still not done with our article…”

“Mhm, you better hold me to that, ma’am.” 

And with that, Superman - Nanami - was zipping through the air at a mach speed that made you realize he was intentionally slowing it down for both you and Yuji on your way here. 

Fingers quivering, it takes you what feels like practically forever to turn your television on - precisely onto a live newstream of how Superman had entered the site of a villain attack. Ready to save. To be a hero. 

Eyes locked mindlessly on the tiny blimp of red and blue onscreen, you cuddle a fidgety Yuji on the bouncy cushions of your sofa. For your jittery nerves just as much as his. “Your husband is so cool, lady- he’s Superman! Oh- whoops, shhhh! Tha’s a secret though…”

“Yeah…” you’re breathing out. “Yeah, he is cool, isn’t he?”

.

.

.

Forty-five saved, three buildings wrecked, and one injured. 

One injured - him.

Though, Nanami wouldn’t quite count himself with any civilians injured or…worse. He never quite does. 

But, oh, it was so hard not to when the first thing he’s peeling back that hazy layer of fatigue in his eyes is you - you, you, you. In all your glorious self, big, pearlescent tears spilling down your pretty cheeks and splattering in tiny puddles onto his bare chest. 

His bare, bandaged chest. 

And for a second, powers set aside, Nanami thinks he might just have died and reached heaven. How fitting that the angels looked like you. 

Voice hoarse as he’s muttering his first few words, “Are- are you alright?”

“-stupid. Asking about m-me when you’re the one hurt. Didn’t even-” Your sobs garble out into words, and you’re half-heartedly hitting your fist against the unbandaged part of Nanami’s skin. “Don’t you ever do that again- you had me- so worried.”

Ah, he’d won the fight - and he finally felt like it.

Silently, he makes quick work abandoning those delicate bandages of yours - a strange part of him almost hurt to unravel your work like this. To unravel nothing but silken, unblemished skin after hours of healing abilities.

Though, Nanami gives all the credit to your care, anyway.

Warm fingers cup your head to nuzzle your clammy face against the crook of his neck. Practically draped over your bed and onto his body now, and you could feel his burning skin, smell those musky pheromones of his. “Got it got it, I won’t be scaring you like that again.”

“Th-the neighbors were so worried when you just showed up all injured n’ half-fainting at my window, y’know? I had to bribe them to be quiet with a few of the flowers that Yuji’s grandpa left.” You’re muttering, more to fill the strangely thickening silence than anything. 

“Ah, tell- tell Mr. Itadori that I will have his shop reconstructed by the end of this week.” He’s whispering, voice so strained that you had to crane your head to hear him - close. “Was Yuji doing alright?”

“Mhm, never been better, apparently. He just left with his grandpa, and they invited us over for dinner before…” Brows furrowing, words withering away on your tongue at the agonized knit in his brow. There was something…different. “Are- are you really okay, Kento?”

Nanami doesn’t comment about that use of his first name - nor does he embarrassingly babble out how it might just be his new favorite song now. 

He can’t.

Because Nanami was panting - groaning. Pearly whites clenched so hard that you think you could hear them creak. 

There was a strange simmering flush creeping up his body, staining it such a delicious strawberry pink that made your mouth water- or maybe that was just the emanating clouds of vanilla musk saturating your lungs. Clinging onto Nanami’s body like a dripping second skin-

“I…” he’s gulping, half-lidded eyes shifting away from yours like he couldn’t even bear to look at you right now. Didn’t know what he would do. “-my apologies. But what that fucker- ah- excuse my language. What Mahito hit me with seems to not have been a poison, as I had thought. Rather, now that it’s finally spread through my body, I feel it’s something else entirely… ” 

“What is it- does it hurt?”

“It seems to be…” Gesturing wildly with his hands, careful not to jostle you. “-an aphrodisiac…of sorts.”

You’re letting your lips part, “Oh. Wait- ‘of sorts?’”

And ah, there was the timid Kento you knew. He could never lie to you. “It- itseemstoonlyaffectthoseinlove- B-but my healing abilities are working and-” Nanami’s sitting up faster than you could blink. Words running a mile-a-minute, “-and I shall leave in case you feel uncomfortable with me here-”

“Why would you leave?” It’s slipping between your lips before you can register. Still mulling over those previous words - they explained. A lot. 

Nanami stills, hands clasped around those creamy blankets he was flinging off, sure to disappear into the starry night. “P-pardon?”

Well, fuck. 

You’re steeling your gaze - you’ve waited this long. And if there was anything about Nanami’s afflicted aphrodisiac, it was that it was contagious.

Making you breathe in a heavy gulp of candied air, “Aphrodisiac, huh? I’ve read about those, and don’t you think that since you saved me-” Slowly - ever-so-slowly dragging your hands to rest on his smooth shoulders, faces inches away. “-it’s only fair that I help? Besides…I can smell it too.”

Oh, he gasps. A confession if any.

Fingers tangling through those damp locks. “But if- if you get tangled up with me- who knows what other villains will come after you. I might’ve taken down Mahito today, but Kenjaku is still out there. And I have to keep ya safe.”

“Well who’s going to keep you safe?” You scoff, refusing - rejecting - to relent.

“I don’t need to be safe if it means that I can keep that beautiful smile on your face everyday.” And maybe it was the aphrodisiac, maybe it was how close you were to him in this dimly heady lightning, but Nanami didn’t seem like he meant to say that out loud. Not at all. 

Basking in your spellbound silence. “My love…feel this?” He’s clasping one hand around your own, letting you rover a greedy grope of his plush pecs - his heartbeat. Thundering. Frighteningly so. “Th-this isn’t any old aphrodisiac, especially considering me.”

“And?”

“And that means, darling-” But he was, too, just as much. “That m’gonna want ya…need ya. So badly and fuck! M’gonna make ya forget what it feels like without me…” One rounded index trailing up, up, up to about halfway up your tummy. “-here.”

You’re shuddering, taking in deep gulps of that electric air. “...A-and?”

He’s jerking you forwards with a mere fraction of that superhuman strength to splay your body over his towering one. Face lolling into the cushiony valley of his pecs, legs straddling that slutty waist of his in a way that made you shy. Right on top of his drenched boxers. That needy spot between your legs heating up just as much as his condensing breath did on your skin. “I can’t promise that when I fuck you, I won’t break you.”

Fuck. Was this really the same, adorably feeble Nanami Kento from work? You weren’t sure, but you knew one way to find out…

“I’ll…hold you to that.”

But before he was Superman, he was Nanami Kento from the journalism department. And who was Nanami Kento against you?

“Such a stubborn girl.” You’re being surprised with a sudden implanting of his thick set of fingers leaving a sudden swat on your ass, voice teetering on what almost sounded like a growl. “But you’re mine, aren’tcha?”

Your fingers dapple along the sweat-dampened little curls of blond at the sexy edge of his undercut. And it seemed like the more the aphrodisiac boiled into his veins, the more and more he burned feverishly. 

Senses superhuman but already heightening with the coarse need glossing his brain - he could practically taste your arousal. 

Panting. Charming maw falling parted to mist you own with such rousing puffs of his scent, “Kiss me. Please- kiss me.”

And- fuck, Nanami kisses like he couldn’t get enough of you.

Was absolutely drunk with just a simple slide of his pursed mouth against your own, from a tender little peck until he only got greedier and greedier-

“Mmmm-” Rasping grunts curdle at the back of his throat, slurring into a low whine when he’s wrenching a splayed-out hand onto your scalp and dragging you away. Manhandling. Sultry sucks being left on the tenderest spots of your throat, sure to make the office talk tomorrow. “Can feel how fuckin’ wet ya are f’me already, darlin’. S’this the aphrodisiac or you?”

God, it was so embarrassing. 

That silky little puddle of your reflective slick was flooding from between your flimsy panties to press gluey little smooches against his manspread front. 

You’re mumbling, words stumbling over one another when your hips peek in to seat just above that swollen crown of his cock. Already rock-hard. “Y-you don’t have to say it out loud.”

You barely even realize how you’re slipping and sliding in needy little gyrations of your hips before Nanami’s putting a shuddering halt to it. One rude hand curling around that perfect curvature of your waist, he’s snickering at how you’re letting off a thoroughly disappointed whine. “My apologies, but s’hard f’me to act like a hah- gentleman when ya have such gorgeous lips…” He’s chuckling out - humorless, parking one big thumb against the corner of your mouth. “These ones, too.” 

He couldn’t even finish his sentence - couldn’t even finish his thought.

Not before bruising your lips with some of the filthiest little sucks on your lower lip - like he’d simply gone way too long without kissing you. Once. Twice. Again and again and-

“O-oh!”  Your hands scramble to find purchase up on his broad shoulders when he’s darting down one fat thumb to paint with all your silvery pussy slick. Drawing slow meshes of circles on your soppy slit up and down up and down up and- “N-Nanami-”

“Kento.” He’s cutting you off with a fracturing furrow of his brows, “We’re way past last names, don’tcha think, my love?”

Oh, that sweetly rugged tone stirred up something inside you that made you want Nanami now now now.

“Oh? S’that so?” Ravenous edges of his fingers pulling aside your sticky panties to the side to sidle in with one thick drag of his digits, they’re being lacquered with such a heavy layer of your sweet, sweet juices that Nanami can’t help but drag his fingerpads upwards to sniff. To suck one by one. Sweet. “You’re heh- babblin’ cute nonsense, but fuuuuck this cute cunt is talkin’ ta me even filthier.”

In such sappy awe at the way your puffy pussy flaps were sugarcoating him all the way down till Nanami was dripping at the wrist. Metallic wristwatch from work all shiny and ruined-

“Need you t-to touch me inside, Ken–” you’re huffing, circling lazy grinds across his roughened hands. “Please?”

“Anythin’ for my girl.”

And Nanami’s giving your ass another good thwack! of his palm, feeling the vibrato of delicious jiggles before hauling your entire body higher and higher. Letting his back hit the silken sheets of your bed within a fluid motion, before you even know it you’re hovering your clothed cunt over his swelteringly fevered mouth. 

Just one sudden move and you’d be riding his face - exactly what Nanami wanted right now. Yearned. 

“Oh- wait-” You’re startling, fingers fumbling with that tight pencil skirt you’d worn to work specifically for him to see. “Didn’t take this-”

“Not a problem.” He’s grunting, only looking up with droopy eyes at where you’re straddling his handsome face, decorated with tawny strands of hair when he’s grinning. Thick fingers clasping onto the hem at your waist, “Hold on tight n’ show me that pretty pussy.”

RIIIIIP–!

Your skirt is on the floor, torn through like butter - your blouse and bra soon to follow. Impatient. And it’s only once Nanami’s done savoring that sweet embarrassment wafting off of you, the way your drenched pussymound smells so sugary sweet - does he even consider freeing you of them.

He’s scrunching up the sodden wet fabric into a little treasure hidden underneath your pillow - something for him later…

And you’re even wetter than usual, that contagious spell of aphrodisiac making your eyes glaze with sheer need. 

“Aw, look at thaaaat.” Nanami’s breathing - enchanting. The curves of his lips lifting into a smirk at the way your dripping slit treacles a fresh coating of slick all down his tongue, letting it sliiiide a lazy trailway to hit the back of his scratchy tastebuds. “Atta girl, b-better be taking all of me if yer that eager, hm?”

And Nanami is so needy - he’s so desperate to have your clingy pussy make a mess all over his face as soon as possible. 

Breathing in like some pervert to take in your perfumed scent. Reaching up to smear a wet glissade of his lips down your own, and you think that it might just be the filthiest French snog that anyone has ever placed on you. The buttoned edge of his nose mushes against your peeked clit so harshly. 

He’s blazing, cock thumping for more- With a low, heated whistle, he’s nuzzling his sweat-glossed forehead up against your moistened inner thigh. Layers upon layers of your slick coveting his features and stinging delicate little ropes that connect his maw to your cunt.

“Mmm- fuckin’ sweet- fuckin’ hot–” Nanami keens out, pillowy palms spreading your legs so comfortably apart until you felt like he was cracking you open. “C’mon now, sit your f-full weight on me, my love.”

You’re sputtering, thighs all achy with fatigue. “B-but-”

“Darling…” Nanami’s smiling, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners. “Not to be conceited - forgive my tone - but I’m Superman. N’ if there was any way m’to die, then it would be right between these pretty legs of yours.”

And you didn’t know whether it was the fumes of vanilla aphrodisiac taking over his melty brain completely because Nanami was ruthless. 

Your dear, sweet coworker was kissing the very edges of your bloated cunt with one of his oversized fingers. Sifting through to draw numerous innocent hearts on your sensitive clit, before plunging down,down, down-

“Ah!” You’re yelping at the stinging stretch of his souring fingerpads, swirling in mushy little gyrations around and around your elastic entrance. Extra sensitive right now- damn that flower. “H-how is your finger already feeling so…”

“Good? Does my heh- good girl like this?” He’s cooing up at you, feeling your gloopy cunt with such copious inches of his long hands. 

And with such staggering fingers you could only imagine how big he’d be down there…

SWAT!

“Aww, don’t space out already. Wanna hear those p-pretty moans even longer-” The jutting pout of Nanami’s oh-so-cute lower lip smudges against your saturated clit. Tingling and hot when he tilts his head to bite. “‘Sides, how are ya gonna f-fit my cock if this is too big, hm?”

You’re holding back a wrecked whimper when he’s chancing another rummaging finger to part your pursed pussy lips. Ramming up and down to drag a sultry stripe across every nook and gummy ridge, to feel for- 

“F-fuck-” Head throwing back, your spine arches into a tight little bow that slops the entirety of your cunt down onto Nanami’s eagerly awaiting mouth. “There- there there there- don’ stop, Kentooo.”

He’s been waiting for this forever. And he was going to get his fill. 

And you could feel the way his mouth curled into a flirty smile, the back of his sharp chin slathered against the very back of where you needed him the most. 

“Mhm– Not gonna let ya go-” As if to prove his point, one free hand is all it takes for him to latch onto your waist and pin you to ride his face with reckless abandon. Exactly how he wanted it. “Wanna marry ya- be mine- please-” Because Nanami Kento didn’t want to move an inch - couldn’t bear parting with the exact sweet treat that’s haunted his most lecherous dreams since the day he fucking met you. “-never- ah- never after th-this.”

Such pretty, pretty melodies resonate out every time Nanami’s slobbering honeyed flurries of sucks and kisses onto your cunt - and not just from between your lips.

No, your teary pussymound was so loud with wiry sploshes of sap. And he simply can’t help himself from nodding his head with every waterlogged swash - as if he was having a full fucking conversation.

“S’right- m’wife’s always so right aren’tcha-” Nanami’s rawly drenched fingers pump outside - just for a split-second - to pap! pap! pap! his calloused pads on that syrupy little stud of your clit before curling his fingers into his mouth and sucking. Cleaning himself off. “Sh-should hear what yer gorgeous pussy’s been hah- sayin’- such a talkative girl, isn’t she?”

And those drunken chestnut eyes of his were just pleading - begging - for you to babble out, “Wh-what is she saying, Ken?”

“She’s sayin’- boasting, actually…” he’s drawling off, and with just how utterly fucked that Nanami looked right now, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d lost his train of thought. Giggling - giggling out, “-that she can take three.”

He was determined to prove it to you.

To swell your adhesive walls open with three of his pulpy fingers until you felt like you were going to burst. Those thickset globular ends of his digits reaching for that precious little bullseye of your cunt - he’s caressing you lovingly from the inside.

Over and over back and forth in maddening crawls until you were halfway through sobbing. And a primal itch inside him purrs at the sight of those prettily glistening tears in your eyes.

Ah, you looked so gorgeous riding his face like this - and, really, it wasn’t Nanami’s fault that his mouth felt a little left out…was it?

“B-both?” You’re dawdling your limp arms precariously onto the mahogany headboard - something that lasts for a generous two seconds before he’s unlatching your hands to dig harshly into his prespired tug. Firm arm around your first nudging you to pull- “You’re seriously gonna t-try n’ fit both?”

Both being the way that Nanami’s overfilling your snug channel with the dual penetration of his long, extra-sensitive tongue. 

Hissing with a slightly feral snarl marring those features when your tight hole won’t give way, Nanami’s bumping his nose against your sensitive nub with shy pecks once. Twice. Thrice to bully his feverish muscle inside.

“H-hngh—” he’s groaning at the tugging squeeze of your rubbery cunt. Stray fingers scissoring open your gluey walls, “Need ya to m-milk my tongue- know you can- ah! Gonna take it like my good girl, aren’tcha?” 

And it happens all at once.

You don’t know what you’re more surprised at - the way that he’s somehow managing to wedge in that sugarcoated drive of his tongue, or the way that you’re cumming.

Your own high taking you by surprise - taking all but Nanami by surprise. 

And you’ve never felt anything like this before, eyes flashing with white-hot stars. 

They’re burning into your brain and rendering you absolutely stupid with every bludgeon of his fingers into your gooey depths. So fast and hard that you can feel the recoil from your bulging g-spot sprinting in cratering vibrations down your spine.

“Nana- Ken-ohhh fuck!” Your mouth drivels away mindlessly, the euphoria so good that you can feel pools of dribble spilling from the corners of your lips with every grind. Thighs quaking, somehow wanting more- shit, seems the aphrodisiac won’t be done after just one…“M’cumming- ngh- m’cumming m’c-cumming.”

“Mhmmm- already know.” Words sinking down into what almost sounds like whines, and Nanami almost feels like he could cum in his pants. “Come now- pull on m’hair n’ r-ride me through that pretty high.” Filthy. Depraved. He’s curling the deliciously gravely tastebuds on his tongue to lap up every one of your knotted waves of slick, letting viscous wad after wad hit the back of his throat with a lewd splat!. “H-hehhh. Chatty pussy- y’know what else she’s sayin’?”

Shit- the idea makes your fingers nimbly pull at Nanami’s soft strands until he’s wafting out a low atta giiirl. Mumbling through croaking moans that just won’t stop dropping from your lips, “Wh-ngh! what?”

“She’s hngh- saying…” Yeah, it wasn’t the aphrodisiac - it definitely wasn’t the aphrodisiac that had him losing his fucking mind like this. It was you. “-that yer gonna g-give me another biiiig one very soon.”

Oh.

That wasn’t a promise - Nanami didn’t have to promise that. 

Because he was so intoxicated by that caramel scent sticking to you. Increasing twofold when with a sodden swat! down your bawling slit, you’re being stretched out with three of his digits until you were wide agape. Embarrassingly, so.

But not for Nanami - with a tantalized loll of his head into the silk-covered pillows, he’s gifting your sloppy entrance with a thick wad of saliva. 

As if the need was infectious - that orbed mass of spit flooding the inside of your cozy pussy just before his tongue is. 

“Ngh- s-so hot- ya like that new lipstain, my love?” He’s gulping down the excess slushes of your slick with every thrust past your glutinous walls, hard. Sloppy. Making such a mess on purpose, because for all how straightlaced Nanami was - all that shattered when it came to you. “-s-so sweet. Ah- h-hold my hand if s’too much, darling.”

“Feels so s-sensitive but…” Your jaw drops into a soft oh! when his rugged tongue drags over the globed bruises of his fingertips inside. Fingers scrambling for his free ones in midair, “-but I want more, Kentooo-”

With the leverage on your hand, he’s helping your burning thighs manage out a few more soppy strokes up and down. 

Your head is so dizzy by now, and you can barely see straight. Barely stumble to match every sopping smooch being punished upon your overwhelmed pussy. “Look so pretty like this- So tight- so cute. Probably c-couldn’t even ngh- fit my tip this way.”

“S-so mean.”

“I’d be nice if ya- hngh- spit in my mouth.”

Gasping, “Like this?”  But you didn’t even have to ask - you knew the answer in Nanami’s eyes, in the way he was smearing your pussy lips thoroughly ajar. In the way his dilated pupils run all the way to the back of his lips when you do. 

Your greedy gaze dazes back down to take in that heavenly sight of him - and you almost wish that you still had your camera for the article today with you. Because this was a sight you wanted to remember forever and ever. 

He’s so pretty with his golden locks splayed out like an angelic halo on the pillowcase below, clammy skin flushed rose red, swollen lips coral pink and gumming over your gluey ones like it was his favorite candy. Sucking. Even harder at the sloshes of translucent sap that laminated his face down to his chin, his neck, and all the way up to his cheekbones. 

Thighs stuttering and sticking with every grind on top of his face, it’s all you can do to manage out a pitchy, “Think I might just- K-Ken–”

He’s swirling up a lazy few fingertips to your needy clit and pinching. “-cum all over m’face again, my girl.”

You do. You do like you can’t stop.

And he’s supping up every draining burble of your flooding slick like it was an antidote to this little ah…indisposition. 

He says so, too - gurgling out wet little scientific explanations into your cunt that make your high peak with orgasms upon orgasms. Your second, third, and forth meshing into one to make you practically convulse. Nanami’s forced to dig his fingers into the plush of your thighs to stop you from escaping. 

And the question about whether this was part of his powers is halfway out of your mouth before Nanami’s leaving off a final swat! again your drooling pussy.

Chuckling - crazed - at the wispy sprays of juices that makes you gush out. 

“C’mon now, do those legs s-still work?” Nanami can’t hide the way that his deep voice wobbles into what almost sounds like a laugh. High. 

You’re being ragdolled with a squelching pop! off of his heated mouth and easily lifted to take his third favorite seat of yours - his lap. The second being his mouth, and the first- well, it was sure to be his thoroughly achy, angry cock right about now. 

“Ken-”

Nanami couldn’t bear to hear his name in your sweet, whimpering tone - he just couldn’t. Shutting you up with a slow slide of a kiss, “Yeahhh, darlin’...kiss me- more. Lick it allll up.”

“D-didn’t think you’d be so dirty…” you’re gasping, when his tongue pries your slagging maw open to once more spit. Sweet. Caramelized. 

“Oh, my pretty girl…” Two of his soppingly wet fingers smush your cheeks into a pathetic pout, “You haven’t seen dirty just yet. Now- spit back in m-my mouth, why don’tcha?”

You do - splattering a messy mark right at that adorable dimple of his with your messy aim. But he loves it - it was so sweet. Darting out a tongue to extract back all those sugary remnants before giving you one, final French kiss. 

Begging in that growling way of his, “Whaddya- whaddya want from me- I’ll give ya anything- anything-” Both arms looping your waist to plaster your sweaty front into his Herculean one, you have to hold back a keen at how your hardened nipples massage against his pecs. 

But, most of all, what you could feel - what you so badly wanted to feel - was that long, thick outline that jerked once you glide away sweaty strands of Nanami’s hair. Desperate. 

“Wan’ your cock, Kento.” You were way past feeling any sort of embarrassment now. Winding your arms around his sculpted shoulders, “N-need you ngh- inside me. Now.”

Of course, whatever you wanted - Nanami Kento would give.

He’s tugging down on the elastic waistband of those too-tight boxers, and your ears burn with the saturated schwf! of soaked fabric on skin. And that superhero suit…did not do him justice. 

Nanami’s slouching back on one arm when you’re oh-so-impatiently helping him kick off that useless piece of fabric. Head tilting with an uncharacteristically cocky smirk, “Like what you ah- see, hm?”

Shit, did you ever. 

Because it’s always the quiet ones - always. 

And with your seat position right at the thick, globular mushroom tip of Nanami’s cock, you knew that he’d be packing a staggering few inches. The mere outline of it puckering up against your pussyflaps enough to get you to gulp with nervousness.

But this? This had your jaw dropping. 

Fingers trailing down that lightly fleeced copper happy trail of his in utter disbelief. Because not only was Nanami Kento big - he was big. 

Swollen, glistening near-nine inches that jerked at the vulgar size difference of your digits struggling to wrap around his ridiculous girth. Nestled against bulky breeder balls rounded and weighing heavily underneath his strawberry pink length. He seemed even harder than usual - and it was all for you.

Fuck, that aphrodisiac. This was all for his gorgeous (future) wife.

Lazily drooling out a thick few wads of pearly pre that butters over your fingerpads, and just a simple touch - just one drag of his sweltering hot length makes Nanami whimper-

“O-oh- yeahhh- brace yerself, my girl.” He’s letting his head tumble back with a groan, heavy-handed arms guiding to the fleshy mound of your waist. “Gonna be ah- ruinin’ this pretty cunt-”

Nanami’s making you mewl with a welcoming little thwack! of his plumply bloated cockhead against your puffed-up pussy lips. Making your creaky bedframe sing out a few protests. Stirring out a staccato of one - two - three before finally - finally - slipping right between that pursed pout. 

CRASH!

An overwhelmed hand of his grips your headboard the moment he’s pushing and pushing - only to have the strong mahogany break underneath his superstrength. Damn, these powers.

“Awww, look how much yer drooling-” Nanami’s hiccuping with every tiny clench of your gummy walls around that cylindrical intrusion. A mean few fingertips so ferally smearing over the rings upon rings of saturated sap your cunt was slobbering all over his hefty base. Drawing a foggy line with them over your tummy, “G-gonna be riiiight here…h-heh.”

And maybe it was best that your dear Nanami was talking to, well, her. Because just the simple stretch that came with his fattened tip was enough to render you spellbound. 

“Nana-”

Smack! “Mhm? M’here, m’here, your dear hngh! Kento is here.”

“Kento- oh my goood-” Nonsensical syllables drooling from your lips and readily available for Nanami to kiss away. Your head slags drunkenly into the crook of his neck with each sinking inch, “S-s’so big, dunno if it’ll even ah- fit.”

“Shhh, s’gonna fit. Deep breaths…deep breaths.” 

You’re echoing, trying to time your stumbling gasps to match his. Backfiring when you only obtain lungfuls of his masculine scent, ‘D-deep breaths?“

“Mhmm- deep-” Oh, but even he wasn’t immune to the cloggy clamp of your pussy that had Nanami rutting. “Whoops.” One of his powerful forearms showcase in front of your narrowed vision, ogling all the pumped veins and rippling muscles. “C’mon- bite.”

You’re listening without a second thought, teeth sinking into the smooth skin - gurgling back tiny sobs at the sheer stretch. It felt like you were being split apart. 

He’s rolling his tips upwards, glissading you in a cozy massage against the ridges of his sweat-shielded abs. “M’gonna make it- duh. Look at me-” Dextrous fingers curling around your throat to make your woozy gaze focus on him, “Yeah- yeah. Look riiiight at me wh-when I ah- ”

And it takes only the tiniest probe of his thumpingly peaked veins bludgeoning against your tender walls, fuming divot bawling out a few geysers of creamy precum that fill you up scorchingly.

It takes only that for you to cum with an unstable shudder, moans piling on top of moans. You’re digging your fingerpads into Nanami’s damp scalp and pulling when you cum for the nth time on his cock.

You didn’t even know how you were cumming again - why, but you had a feeling that the thickening perfume of vanilla and candy in the room had something to do with it…

“C-cummin’ from jus’ the ah- tip? Seriously?” Nanami’s breathing, chest heaving with awe. Pushing and pushing away the heavy strands of his blond hair just to see you. And the urgent motions only make your pussy slide down even more, spearheading his lusciously right-leaning curve up into your gooey placeholders. “Really are jus- ah- made f’me- really ah! So perfect. So, so perfect.”

You’re watching his huffs turn heated, “Mmm- wanted you to f-fuck me like this ever since I was- ngh at the office.”

“Ohhh what a coincidence.” He grins - grins. “I’ve wan’ed to fuck ya like ah- this, since I first s-saw ya. Woulda fucked ya right then n’ there in your pretty lil’ cubicle if I ah- could.”

Crying out, “More- more more more-”

“Jus’ another inch-” Nose crinkling at the gripping resistance of your tight entrance, you were so slicked-up that you were practically flooding him with delirious puddles of resin. His fat thumb smears open your lips, “S-see? Juuuus a lil’ more-”

Oh…fuck.

He was finally- wait. No, this had to be a dream, right?

“Wait- shiiit- did you seriously-” He’s stuttering - stuttering exactly the way he used to back in the office. Back in his disguise. “Seriously…think ya deserve a little r-reward for that, right?”

Your reward just-so-happened to be another treacly wad of saliva being blasted onto your tongue. And by now you’re doing nothing but letting it easily be swallowed up with a cockdrunk smile. “God, m’feelin’ so hngh! full— c-can feel ya right- here-” 

Every jackhammer bullied up into your goopy orifice had Nanami wrecking you from the inside. His crowned, rotund tip prying open those stickily sweet walls of yours, barely even having to try to stir up a wet wipe against your poor cervix. 

“Feel me right-” One softened palm splays down across your tummy. Hard. Feeling for that tenderizing whack of his thickly tip into your most precious spots. “-here, huh? Yeahhh- f-feel that bump- touch it. Gonna c-carve out a fuckin’ ngh- cute lil’ bruise right here.” 

“P-please.”

And then, with a heady drawl of laughter, Nanami’s dredging out his tired tongue to lick over your rapid pulse like he wanted to bite. Palms still groping that orbed bulge, “Y-you wouldn’t believe what this- ngh- this is makin’ me think…”

Ever-so-curious, even when you’re being fucked stupid like this. “Wh-what?”

Earning you another few vicious ruts into your g-spot, a few thin lines of drool waterfall past his lips. Almost as if the very thought is enough to make him light-headed. 

“Jus’ thought a-about how yer always so ngh- pretty.” Muttering low and frantic with every bounce on his painfully hard cock, like he didn’t even want to admit this pussydrunk nonsense. But couldn’t stop. “So pretty when you were handlin’ Yuji today. Pretty when yer all ah- overstuffed with my cock b-but…you’d make an even prettier mama, though.”

Oh. 

A mama - Nanami Kento wanted to make you mama. 

And he was pressurizing you with pound after pound drilling into your melty depths until you were sure that you were molded around his shape. That mountainous curve of his crownhead striking every bullseyed sweet spot.

“Wan’ it-” Your legs wrangle around his slender waist, heels digging into the pretty dimples at the bottom of his spine. “Want you to f-fill me up so ngh- badly, Kento.”

“S-seriously?” Your words so distracting that it has his riotous cock drilling hard into that spot and skidding away in increasingly sappy thrashes against your battered and bruised cervix. Jaw clenching, “Really wan’ me fuckin’ this cute cunt hngh- p-pregnant, darling?”

Making you only nod and nod and nod-

“Yeahhh- anythin’ my girl ah- wants, huh?” He’s tittering at how adorably your hips were slurring out the tiniest of grinds. Up and down up and down - failing to meet his sloppy cadence, but angling your hips to use him. “N’ right now- all I wan’ is you all ah- round and fuuuuull.”

And it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac talking. 

You were beginning to overspill already, the flooded torrentials of his slushy precum seeping from the pouty ends of your slippery slit. You’re moping down his length with such humid tufts of juices, “Cum in me- please- need you to- now.”

“Mama didn’t teach ya ah- patience, my girl?” 

And despite his words, he’s falling back to lounge so sexily against the dampened sheets. Close - he could feel it in the snaking heat at the bottom of his stomach that he was so very close. 

Losing his faint grip on his power, Nanami’s clenching and balling his fists to stop from soiling permanent marks all over your body. Mind shattering. Your bedsprings bursting. Teeth gritting to stop him losing control-

Voice breaking into a few whimpers when he finally utters, “S-s’alright- greedy girl.” Before palming one hand onto the bloated budge of his length, the other swirling over your tearily overstimulated clit and tweaking. “-I can be th-the heh- strict parent.”

Oh, at this point, your orgasm is more a few heavenly tingles than anything else. 

Stimulating your most fragile of pummeled crevices, you’re feeling warm, thick goblets of Nanami’s cum swash in a sticky wave. And there’s so much of it - extra with his condition right now, spurting out ribbony ropes of sickly sweet cum with every squeeze of his bulky balls.

Those knotted wads of ivory are filling you up until your gummy walls were inflating, thunking out a little wet spot at your cervix. Something that he can’t help but keen over a few fat digits and push to make a splashing mess. “Gonna get ya pregnant- I will g-get ya pregnant.”

Nanami’s big, beefy arms are pinning you to the front of his chest like he never wanted to let go. Never would. 

Heaving to chase his breath - and, yet, still failing with every battering ram of his snaking cock. Fucking up the thickly viscous streams of cum up deeper and deeper-

“O-oh.” Nanami’s muttering, glassy wooden eyes straying somewhere beyond you and towards the end of the bed. The strangely…sagging bed. “We broke the- hah- we broke the bed.”

Shit. But you barely have the time to register his words before- THUD!

Your back is being brazenly splayed-out across the mahogany floors of your bedroom, Nanami’s arms underneath you shielding your body from every ounce of the stinging smack. Strong. Holding onto you tight. 

Still pumped inside, still carving out the free ounces with masses upon masses of his swollen cock. 

With your head drooping barely-lucidly to the side, you’re gasping at the blackened palm print that had burned itself onto the floor right beside your head.

The air around the two of you was candied, pheromones of candy and vanilla melding into what was probably your favorite scent now. Ahhhh…he didn’t even care if this was the cure anymore.

And despite being the strongest being in perhaps the entire universe, Nanami was melting into you. His abs adhesively plastered against your front, hips rolling in what can’t even be called grinds. Just simple, sappy gyrations of his still-twitchy cock. 

He’s whispering out a slurring mantra of words into your thoroughly wrenched open mouth - barely even able to talk coherently after that mind-shattering orgasm. “Lock- lock them- lock them please-”

“I-I caaaan’t.” You’re whimpering out, limp legs uselessly dangling like dead weight where Nanami was resting them on the cushiony home of his deltoids. 

But not to worry. Of course not to worry, your Nanami was here for you. 

Biceps bulging when one arm bends to pin your ankles behind his neck, he’s folding you down, down, down into such a filthy mating press. 

Moving you around as if it was nothing, as if you couldn’t hear your joint weakly popping. His healing powers being kicked involuntarily into overdrive…fuck.

Nanami can feel his cock jerk - barely softened for a few nanoseconds before thumping with every ounce of blood in his fully spent brain.

“Awww, t-too weak?” Planting a sodden peck against the corner of your ankles. And something in that tone told you that the two of you were far, far from over. That the slowly drunken fucking of Nanami’s hips was just the beginning. He’s squashing back a few remnant dredges of seed from just earlier, slipping out just enough to smear a messy white lipstick. “Well then…”

You’re jolting at the quick pap! pap! pap! of his ballooned tip popping out a few sloppily smushing strikes - before sinking deeply back in.

He’s fucking you again- and again and again and-

“Y-you know I h-haaaah- hate disrespectin’ my girl like- this-” He’s staring deeply into your eyes, gesturing languidly at the expanse of the floor. Ever-the-gentleman…usually. “-but if s’f-fer makin’ our daughter…then. Gotta make sure that I can be her Superdad.”

A/N. Hope you lovelies have the best week n’ happy new year in advance <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[tipsywithintent]

ˋ°ꕥ Why Me? ꕥˋ°

°• Pairing: timeskip!Miya Atsumu × Reader

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You always knew Atsumu had a type.

You saw it back in high school - the way he’d get distracted by girls with long legs, dramatic lashes, and confident laughs that echoed through the hallway. He didn’t even hide it. If someone called him out, he’d grin and go, “What? I ain’t blind.”

You weren’t like them. Not then, not now.

Even now, years later, with you curled up on the corner of his couch in one of his oversized shirts, legs tucked under you, and hair still damp from your evening shower, the thought sometimes crept in.

You weren’t flashy. Or flirty. You didn’t walk into a room and make everyone turn their heads.

But somehow, you were the one Atsumu came home to. The one he texted when he landed in another city for a match. The one whose cold fingers he grumbled about but always held.

It didn’t make sense.

And tonight, for some reason, it hit harder than usual.

Maybe it was the girl he’d been interviewed with - a fellow athlete, bold and gorgeous, laughing too comfortably beside him. Maybe it was how well she matched the image of the girls you always thought he’d end up with.

Maybe it was just your own voice, whispering doubts you’d buried for too long.

Either way, when he came out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and a water bottle tucked under his arm, ready to join you for a late-night movie, you couldn’t stop the words from slipping out.

“Atsumu?”

He glanced down, eyebrow lifted. “Hm?”

You hesitated, staring at the pattern on the couch.

“Why… me?”

He paused, slowly setting the bowl down on the coffee table.

“What?”

You looked up at him, small, nervous. “I mean, I know what kind of girls you used to like. Or still like. Probably. I’m not… that.”

He blinked at you. Not insulted. Just confused. “That?”

You motioned vaguely. “You know. Tall. Curvy. Confident. Girls who wear heels and red lipstick and know how to flirt without trying. You’ve always liked girls like that.”

Atsumu was quiet for a second.

Then, without a word, he sat beside you - not in the usual casual way, but closer. His hand found yours. Warm. Steady.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “I noticed girls like that. That’s different.”

You frowned. “Is it?”

He turned toward you, his expression more serious than usual. “Look, I ain’t gonna lie. I did have a type. Still probably get distracted sometimes - I’m a guy with eyes.”

You flinched.

“But,” he continued, squeezing your hand, “there’s a difference between who catches your eye and who you choose.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at him, trying not to crumble.

Atsumu leaned forward, resting his forehead briefly against yours.

“I chose you,” he murmured. “I keep choosing you.”

You blinked quickly. “Why?”

He chuckled - not because it was funny, but because the question felt so absurd to him.

“Because you’re the only one who makes me feel like I can shut up for a second,” he said, soft and honest. “Because you look at me like I’m more than a loudmouth on a court. Because you keep me grounded. You don’t care about the attention or the fan crap. You care about me.”

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t done.

“And yeah, maybe you don’t walk in and turn heads,” he said, voice gentler now, “but you don’t need to. I turn mine for you.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to cry.

Atsumu caught that too. He leaned over and kissed your cheek. “I like the way you fit against me when we sleep. I like how you always eat the last french fry, even when you say you’re full. I like that you study the people you love and notice when they’re tired even if they don’t say anything.”

You laughed quietly. “That’s very specific.”

“So are my feelings for you.”

You let yourself lean against him then, all of your weight tucked into his side, forehead buried in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just… felt small tonight.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll just remind you again tomorrow.”

[yzzart]

WHEN I WAS LED TO YOU... ── KENJI SATO

── summary: Kenji could get used to his routine, but, only with you by his side.

── word count: 982!

── warnings: F!reader, nothing intense, mention of Emi and Mina, Kenji being a little needy.

“Come on…” — A voice, entering the melody with softness and familiarity, passed through the player’s ears. — “…i know you’re awake.” — The statement was accompanied by a laugh.

Kenji could easily — in fact, completely — conclude that that voice belonged to an angel; even though he doesn't admit to being so religious, openly. — By having his eyes closed, in satisfied tiredness and drowsiness, he was more likely to believe in his conclusion.

Even in unpleasant, unstable situations and, insanely, worries about his life — like worrying about his stats in games, trying not to destroy the city while fighting some monster, and teaching Emi something practical and not blunt — and not wanting to hear or see nothing in front of him, Kenji had his refuge; a place to feel safe and at peace, at home.

“Ken…” — You voice pleaded, with more sweetness and, trying, to mix a little seriousness. In addition to moving between the thin, silky sheets of your body, wanting to get even closer to the boy.

In fact, he could melt into the bed, right there, just to hear your voice crying out to him like that.

Releasing a brief sigh, and pulling a breathing line, inhaling your scent, which was stuck to the pillow, Kenji tried to communicate with a mumble; which even he himself had no chance of understanding. — Perhaps, his consciousness still remained trapped in his sleep.

Because you found his action funny, your laugh, a little more hoarse, enveloped Ken's ears again; automatically forming a placid smile on his lips. — Moving his head, the young boy, with his eyes sensitive to the light, comes across your image resting on the pillow and covered, just enough, with the white sheet.

Sato was mentally grateful for the privilege of waking up every day with this vision.

"Good morning, my love." — You said, without holding back your wide smile; something that captivated and welcomed Ken's chest. — Your orbs moved, without haste or greed, across the boy's face, memorizing, for countless times, every little dot that existed in the region.

"Morning..." — He replied, followed by a yawn and another grumble; a sudden and unexpected movement was caused in the bed, obviously, it was the player's body snuggling against your. — Like he wants to fit in with you. — "What time is it please…?"

“Hm…” — Your eyes crossed the clock next to the bed. — “Soon, it will be 9:30.” — With his head buried in your neck, Sato let out a whimper, causing a tickle.

“It’s not possible…” — He complained, almost whimpering; as a sign of caress, your hand entered your lover's soft black hair, causing affection and tenderness.

The oldest settled down, and, briefly, relieving a growl, memorizing a purr; feeling on your skin, a satisfied smile adored by the attention. — A true paradise for young Sato and he had no problem admitting it.

“I think someone forgot about the interview they promised for today, right?” — He definitely forgets; by the way his head moved from where it was, and how wide his eyes were, Ken had nowhere to run. — “Yeah, you forgot.” — You raised one of your eyebrows.

“Wasn’t it due tomorrow?” — He questioned, still not believing and with some messy black locks standing out on her forehead. — “I’m sure i had it scheduled for tomorrow.” — He rushed into words. — “Actually, i’m not so sure.”

End of the season, therefore, decisive games for the team and more efforts towards a high level of dedication; it also meant several interviews and moments of questioning about the games, his teammates and his personal life. — Sato understood that it was important, of course, it was part of being a baseball star, however, when trying to balance his life as an Ultraman, a player and, recently, the father of a giant baby lizard, it wasn't such a simple thing.

He wasn't alone, not to mention Mina, and, thankfully, he had you by his side. — Trying, as much as possible, and persisting in helping him; even when, thinking about your care and certain risks, he warned you that he didn't need it. — Evidently, the guidelines were not followed, for a pleasant reason. — And now, seeing you taking care of Emi, as if she were your child, lit up Sato's eyes.

“It really is today, Ken.” — You confirmed it and, unsurprisingly, another wave of mumbles and incomprehensible words and rolled eyes. — “At least, it will be the last one before they enter the rest period.” — Your hand moved along Sato's long, strong, bare arm, reinforcing his attention.

“At least there is a bright side.” — He murmured, shaking his head, prolonging his thoughts, at the same time, reusing the contact of your hand against his skin. — “I need to take a break.” — He said, turning towards you. — “Urgently.” — Like a somewhat defenseless creature, he returned to his comfort, now, with his head under your chin.

"I know, honey." — Your fingers stroked Kenji's hair, for the second time, while his arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you, with the need to keep you close to him. — “And you will soon.” — Subtly, and delicately, your voice soothed him. — “Don’t worry about Emi, i’ll take care of her for today.” — Kenji thanked, once again and mentally. — “And maybe we’ll make a list of what we can do during these days off and she’ll go along with us.”

Your boyfriend's familiar, radiant laugh spread throughout the room, resounding in your chest. — For a short time, Kenji had understood his relationship with Emi and achieved a paternal image; visibly, it wasn't just him. — The small, and immense, baby witnessed you as a second mother.

“Yes, yes, of course.” — He pulled away, coming face to face with you, looking into your eyes, in pure ecstasy and passion. — “You’re the best, dear.” — Bringing his lips to your forehead, Kenji gave you a long, careful kiss.

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕭REAKING HEARTS ᝰ! S.L.

˚⟡˖ ࣪౨ৎ summary: girlfriend material sophia strikes again, and this time round, she has no intention of keeping how much she cares about you a secret. best be known you don't mess with sophia laforteza when it came to you... she'll be breaking a lot more than hearts thats for sure

disclaimers: obvious!sophia, mostly fluff, protective!sophia, younger member!reader, everybody simping for ya’ll

prev, next (so many of yall are threatening to kill my family if i don’t do more sophia content so here she is 🫶)

Y/N AND SOPHIA PROVING L/NFIZ DEFINITELY DOES (NOT) EXIST PART. 2

17.2k likes | 330k views | 18th Dec, 24

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ WEVERSE LIVE ] join a y/nfiz hangout <3 You and Sophia started a live while waiting for the girls to come home from a schedule

You sat beside the Filipina leader, your collared shirt unbuttoned and creased, your hair a slight mess and your day-old make up still on your face. The fans loved the domestic look you always seemed to serve when you were at home, and it was safe to say they noticed Sophia was too.

Whilst she ranted on about some silly story you had already heard her tell a million times, you checked yourself out in the camera, the crease in your white shirt collar gave you an itch you desperately needed scratched.

Your hands came up to pop open the collar to your shirt more, revealing your bare chest down the low V cut of the button-up. The fans had begun tuning Sophia’s story out too, because gradually, the chat flooded with comments on your peculiar choice in styling, which caught the attention of the rambling woman. She glanced between you and the comments on the screen, her hand instinctively shooting up to grab your shirt.

user01 raw. next question.

user02 Omg she’s actually tryna kill us w the fit

user03 don’t be shy pop it open a little more ^^

user04 y/n baby save it for the bedroom

“Yo, watch it,” Sophia warned, adjusting your collar so you would be covered up to the base of your neck.

Your hands grab hers gently as you chuckled at the tense expression on her face. “Fia, calm down, I’m like twenty-one, I can wear an open-collared shirt if I want to.” You nodded towards the thirsty comments, smirking. “Besides, it sounds more like the fans want me to.”

Sophia grimaced, her face twisting into something negative before adjusting her sitting position so she was in front of you. She was in an oversized hoodie, so it shielded your body from the camera perfectly.

“Absolutely not if I have something to say about it,” she shook her head, moving her body so she would be shielding you away from the camera. “What’re you all looking at, hm?”

user05 dang baby ain’t nobody tryna snatch her😭

user06 It’s okay cuz if y/n was mine I would gatekeep too

user07 ntm on my girl sophia yall know damn well you’d do the same thing if y/n was your girlfriend

user08 SOPHIA SHARING IS CARING

You sighed, lips quirked at the older woman’s antics. “Can I talk to my people, Laforteza? Or are you gonna hold my shirt like this for the rest of the live?”

“Are you gonna button this all the way up?”

Your eyes widened, “All the way up? What am I, somebody’s Christian mom? Absolutely not!”

“Then yes, the rest of the live.”

user09 sophia confirmed brat tamer

user10 This is too much for my brain man

user11 Idk what’s crazier y/n’s fit or Sophia going all overprotective girlfriend

Eventually, Sophia would shed the hoodie she was wearing and drape it over you, despite your apparent protesting. The friends made note of the way she still seemed adamant on keeping you in the background as your hands peeked through the long sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt.

[ are they looking for a third to their marriage? ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* KATSEYE MANA Dance Practice; Sophia’s behind the scenes interview

All the members were asked to send you a message. You were out sick and couldn’t make it the day they filmed the dance practice (you did eat so hard at MAMA don’t worry), and as the girls were asked about their feelings, their experiences working towards an award show like MAMA and what they took from this opportunity. Sophia, as the leader, her interview was put last, and she got asked the most hard-hitting questions.

She knew you were getting some backlash from being sick that PR day, it made things much more exaggerated, as if you weren’t present for a lot of things.

[ y/n defender till i die. if i see one comment calling her lazy or untalented, i WILL be reporting you ]

The question: “How have you managed to keep yourself motivated and help support the girls through this journey towards achieving such a milestone?” Immediately, Sophia being Sophia begun ranting on about how every member did their jobs amazingly, how she could not be prouder, how she could not imagine herself fulfilling her dream with such a beautiful group of passionate artists. She then spun her rant away from Manon being a pillar behind the scenes to you, whom your manager had asked her to give a message to.

“It’s actually been really disheartening,” she sighed, her wide smile faltering just the slightest. It was obvious, the way you could see genuine emotion seep through the cracks of her pr training. “y/n’s been sick for about a week, she can barely get out of bed and she just—She’s been working especially hard for this, because this has always been a dream of hers. Most days, we have one of our phones on facetime with her at home. You can actually see her following along next to her bed, and she gets teased so hard for it.”

[ my poor baby, i’m glad she put health first ]

Sophia chuckled softly, “That girl—that girl is so stubborn. I’ve told her so many times to just stay in bed and get better soon so she can actually practice with us here, but I never win that argument.” The camera angle switches to a closer look at Sophia’s expression. Her eyes pan from her hands back up to main camera off screen, glossy and brushed with a tinge of melancholy. “It breaks my heart to see her cry. She loves doing what we do, and not being able to do it makes her feel like she’s disappointing everybody. And the girls do a really good job of making sure those thoughts eventually leave, but she’s just so hard on herself. That is… definitely part of what makes her such an amazing performer, but it’s also what we, as a group, as a family—as Katseye, stand for.”

She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. The words, “The members messages to their missing friend:” appear.

“y/n, if you’re watching at home, I love you. The dance room’s not the same without you here, we all miss you, and we really cannot hope any harder for you to feel better soon.” She blew the camera a kiss, “I’ll see you at home. Love you.”

[ she said i love you twice… SHE SAID IT TWICE ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Katseye Christmas Video; a segment of the video had the members paired off and decorating their ugly sweaters, naturally, to atone to popular demand, you and Sophia were coupled up

“Yours is not looking good right now,” you teased, snorting at the third glop of hot glue yanking the little fibres off the sweater. You, yourself, didn’t have the most impressive artistic ability, but you enjoyed watching the older pout and grow fussy whenever you would make a comment about her struggling to bring her vision to life. “What is that supposed to be, Rudolph’s distant cousin Rude elf?”

Sophia rolled her eyes, letting out a whiney grumble. “It’s not even that bad, it has a good personality. Stop judging it!”

[ y/nfiz fans getting fed everyone say THANK YOU HYBE ]

You rummaged through the box of decorations you were provided, feeling your attention momentarily divert from the heat exhuming from the show lights. You pulled out a couple streamers, Christmas balls before you found a particular piece of decor that caught your eye.

Apart from the sweaters, you had to make a hat, and you knew everybody was in competition for the most ridiculous design. Inspiration struck, and you had the best idea.

When the sweaters were done, you slipped it on. Yours was a pastel shade of red, with the words “Wish list: Eyekons” spelt out with stickers. You looped the streams along the sleeves, taking the balls all over the sweater. As you stood in front of the slow-mo camera for your glam shot, you could see Sophia smiling at you in your peripheral. You smiled into the camera, blowing them a kiss with a cheeky wink.

[ she’s so fine i need her i need her i need- *gunshots* ]

Back at your table, you added the last touch of glitter before fully giving the camera another close look at your creation. You turned to the Filipina, who adjusted her on.

“Wait, Fia, you gotta look at this.”

She glanced at the camera, a nervous grimace sprawled across her face as you bent behind the table to pick up your hat. “You and creative genius do not mix, like I have a seriously bad feeling about this—!”

You set the hat on your head, a fedora you wrapped in Justin Bieber Christmas wrapping paper. Around the base tied a long rope of frills, strung at the very front a tiny, dangling piece of mistletoe flailing just inches away from your eyes. You beamed, proud of the hat. You eyed the cameras, before puckering your lips in an exaggerated manner. Your hands clasped together, eyes closed. “I’m waiting.”

[ #thisisthemostiveeverrelatedtoanidol ]

Sophia slapped a hand over her forehead, scoffing. “You’ve got to be kidding me, there’s no way you did that.”

“You gotta respect the tradition, Laforteza, come on!” you ushered, leaning in closer as you pouted. “I want my kiss.”

[ sophia’s stronger than me i would’ve folded right there ]

Sophia eyed something off camera, getting a sleek look of approval from your manager.

“Fine, come here.” She sighed, an amused smile on her lips. She cradled your face carefully, tilting her own head before pressing a gentle kiss onto your cheek. When she pulled back, the camera zoomed in on the lipstick stain nearly touching the corner of your mouth. “Merry Christmas, l/n.”

You shot the camera the widest smile, “I must’ve been a good girl this year, cuz my Christmas wish just came true.”

[ no cuz the editors knew what they were doing keeping this bit in for the starving y/nfiz truthers ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* [ KATSEYE VLOG ] Here are four separate occasions from the same video where Sophia just can’t keep her hands off you

Clip one: You stood up from your seat, second from the left and right in between Sophia and Daniela. You threw pumpkin guts at Lara, who wouldn’t stop making fun of the way you couldn’t balance on your heels earlier when you were filming winx club tiktok’s. Sophia’s hand cupped the back of your skirt, her own pumpkin long forgotten. She pressed the piece of clothing against your thighs, making sure you wouldn’t flash the entire world as you focused on dousing the Indian singer in your pumpkin’s insides.

Clip two: As the six of you waited for Megan to finish up in hair and makeup, Sophia’s arm wrapped around your neck. You, Yoonchae and Manon were deep in conversation about the last time the group was altogether for a schedule, with Sophia mindlessly watching you talk. Fans pointed out her apparent gaze switching back and forth from your eyes to your lips, a small smile perched on her own lips as she watched you joke around with your bandmates.

Clip three: The two of you were pulled aside, tasked to organize the girls into groups to set up a quick little jumpscare for Megan as a surprise to celebrate her official return to Katseye activities since her back injury. Though the video showed a wide are of the studio where you two stood, Sophia seemed adamant on staying just inches away from you, her attention solely fixed on the way your eyebrows furrowed at the ipad they had handed you. Fans noted this as one of the more subtle but iconic l/nfiz moments.

Clip four: As Daniela thanked the fans for tuning in to watch the special Halloween edition of Katseye vlogs, Sophia could be seen grabbing at your hip. Given, her other arm was around Yoonchae, but her hand merely dangled off her shoulder, unlike the sure grip you could see she had on your waist.

[ let’s play fanservice or just gay for the 193837th time ]

*Loud technical difficulty transiition* [ WEVERSE LIVE ] Manon and Daniela being big mouths ;)

“I’m pregnant with talent… I’m pregnant with star quality,” Manon announced confidently, earning a judgemental look from her roommate beside her.

“That’s one way to put it, that’s for sure.” Daniela mocked.

“Where are the others—Okay, hold up, I got this. Let me cook!” Manon set her brush down, raising a finger, the other hand pointing at that finger. “Lara’s out with her sister, Yoonchae’s sleeping next door right now, and… Megan’s still at home seeing her family.” Daniela hummed, “Yeah, her flight’s tomorrow.” Manon nodded, “Yeah, so Megan’s not back yet. And Laffy and n/n are out on their little date right now.”

Daniela squealed, slapped her in the arm, “Stop! People are gonna take that outta context!”

Manon faked a scared gasp, going back to fixing her hair. “Hybe, if you’re watching, I didn’t say that.”

user01 l/nfiz on a date… i can die happy now

user02 MANZ JUST CONFIRMED L/NFIZ LESGO

user03 never EVER pr train this woman

“Yeah, wait, I think Sophia posted it.” Daniela pulled up a Weverse post Sophia had put up not long ago of her in a movie theatre in front of a movie poster. “y/n’s been meaning to watch the movie for her favourite actress and Sophia, of course, agreed to go with her. They’re getting us dinner on the way home, so I’m praying y/n does the shopping. Sophia always tries to trick us into eating healthy.”

“Yeah, she thinks she’s slick too,” Manon snorted, “Let’s be so for real though, y/n opens her mouth and I ain’t ever heard Sophia respond with ‘no’, that’s all I’m saying.”

user04 Manon is so messy I love her

user05 so she’s a down bad girlfriend huh…

user06 manon is a mindset i want to embody

“Yeah, y/n just exists and Sophia’s smitten. Bro, last time they went out for a ‘quick grocery run’, they came back with bags on bags of shopping. I know this little gold digger did not pay with her own money,” Daniela chirped, “I was in the living room when Sophia’s dad called to ask why her card was maxed out.”

Manon sighed, “Chat, let me tell you, Sophia spoils y/n rotten. And I mean, rotten. This woman don’t need no sugar daddy, she done made a sugar momma outta Laffy.”

“Sophia plays favourites. I don’t appreciate it.” Daniela joked.

[ so basically sophia’s THAT type gf, ok, ok… taking notes for science rn ]

[agreeewrites]

Magic Lessons | B.W.

Part One

feat. Bill Weasley x intern!reader

SUMMARY: Your best friends Fred and George convince their older brother, Bill, to give you a shot at a coveted curse-breaker internship position at Gringott's.

CW: age gap, boss/intern, fem!reader, reader is whip smart and sweet, dark curses and magical artifacts, men being shitty, hurt/comfort, dark academia vibes

AN: inspired by an ask I accidentally deleted (im so sorry) about Bill tutoring Fred & George's best friend. It spiraled into this.

part two | part three | masterlist

“You're going to be fine,” George soothed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, Bill’s not so bad. You aren't scared of us, are ‘ya? So there's no need to be scared of him,” Fred added, bumping your knee with his.

You were sandwiched between them on a hard wooden bench in Gringott's, just outside their older brothers office, his name emblazoned in gold on the fogged door window. The twins, two of your closest friends from school, had secured you an interview for a coveted internship in the Ancient Artifacts Department, and you hadn't slept in a week leading up to it.

This was your dream job, a real stepping stone to the career you'd always imagined for yourself. You couldn't screw this up.

But that didn't quite explain the bone-deep anxiety clawing through your skin. It felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, one foot hanging into empty space.

Then, a shadow crossed the fogged mirror, tall and broad, and you shivered.

“You've got this,” George murmured at the same moment the door handle turned. It swung open, and your heart fell through the marble floor.

Bill Weasley was, objectively, terrifying. He had none of the softness of the twins, none of the jovial ease of youth. He was dressed in a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and charcoal trousers, traces of magic glittering along his forearms.

Standing at least a head taller than the twins, he had long copper hair and sharp cheekbones, deep scars across the left side of his face that only enhanced the striking beauty of his features. His green eyes were arresting, challenging in the way they swept across the hall before settling on you.

“Bill!” Fred said, jumping up, and Bill’s demeanor immediately shifted into something friendlier.

“Freddie,” Bill said, extending a hand to his younger brother with an expression you could almost call warm.

“Bill, this is our friend, y/n,” George said, getting up to shake his brother's hand, and you rose to your feet, hoping he didn't notice the slight tremble in your knees.

“Pleasure, y/n. I'm Bill Weasley, Head of the Ancient Artifacts Department here at Gringott's.” He extended a hand to you, calloused and long-fingered, a golden signet ring on his middle finger.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley,” you said, placing your hand in his for a brief shake. He was gentle, but you could feel the undercurrent of strength in his movement, the intention he had to put towards being soft.

“Fred and George have told me a lot about you,” Bill said, glancing at his brother's. “You’re interested in Blessed Artifacts, correct?”

You nodded. “Yes, primarily magical items created with the intention of offering protection or assistance,” you answered, fighting the nervous heat climbing up your neck.

The corner of his mouth lifted, scrunching the scars across his cheek and eyebrow. “The opposite of what I do, hm?”

You laughed nervously. “Yeah, I suppose. Though I've studied your curse-breaking work extensively. A curse and a blessing are two sides of the same coin, and we can learn a lot about the workings of one from the other.”

Bill’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing and skimming over your face, and suddenly you knew what it felt like to be one of his artifacts.

No wonder he never crossed a curse he couldn't break.

“Step into my office, I have a few questions before we discuss terms of the internship. I'll see you two this weekend at the Burrow, yeah?”

“Yep!” Fred and George chirped in unison, and Bill slipped back into his office. The twins gave you a big thumbs up and you gave a nervous chuckle, waving them away before following Bill into his office.

It was nothing at all like you expected. Two enormous windows filled the back wall, spilling grey light across the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the left wall. The shelves were overflowing with tomes and littered with artifacts, more than you'd ever seen outside for a museum or Dumbledore’s office. They perfumed the air with the scent of parchment and sandalwood, the warm musk of incense.

The carpet was plush under your feet, a mesmerizing pattern of deep maroon and teal, and overstuffed furniture rested against the right wall, a couch and two arm chairs framed by more loaded shelves and a gallery wall of shifting art.

But most surprising was his desk. It looked like it belonged in a research tent in the desert, not a gold-plated bank. It was covered in tools and stacks of paper, open books and deconstructed items, half-drank mugs of tea and a spilled ink pot.

“You look surprised,” he mused, following your eye.

“I didn't realize you still did field research,” you admitted sheepishly. “Now that you're head of the department.”

Bill shrugged, grabbing a mug and a stack of papers from the table and gesturing to the furniture against the wall. “I prefer the hands-on approach. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you answered, sinking into one of the arm chairs. It was so comfortable, you had to force yourself to sit upright. You could smell his cologne on the leather, vetiver and black pepper, and it made your chest warm.

He sat in the other armchair, bracing an ankle on the opposite knee. “So, how did you come to befriend my brother's?” He asked, taking a sip of tea.

“Fred needed some help in Charms,” you said, crossing your legs. “Then George needed help in Potions. And we just worked well together. They're good friends.

“So you're the reason they didn't flunk out, hm?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. They just needed a different perspective. They did the work themselves.”

Bill nodded, shuffling the papers in his lap. “Have you ever worked with curses directly? Beyond Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

You shook your head. “I don't have a lot of experience with curses, but I can read magic well, and have an eye for detail. I know I'm not the most qualified of the candidates you've probably met with, but this is my dream, and it would be such an honor to learn from the best— ”

“It's alright, y/n,” Bill stopped you with a small shake of his head, his low voice demanding acquiescence. “You're clearly bright, and determined to learn. That's more valuable to me than anything else.”

You exhaled in relief. “I appreciate that, Mr. Weasley,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Bill,” he corrected. “Bill is fine.”

Your heart gave an excited thump, and you nodded.

“So, for this internship, you'd be working directly with me, mostly archiving artifacts as they come in and out of the bank. You'll be spending a lot of time here and in the vaults. The pay isn't great, but if you do well over the six months term, there's potential for full-time employment.” He passed a contract to you, a quill floating over from his desk and into your hand. “And you're welcome to conduct supervised independent research whenever there's downtime.”

You blinked, shocked at the employment contract in your lap. “You don't—you don't have any more questions for me?” You asked.

Bill shook his head, giving you an amused smile. “You already showed that your head and heart are in the right place, and I trust my brother’s judgement. If they like you this much, there must be a reason.”

“I—thank you, sir,” you said, a grin breaking through as you signed your name on the line. The ink blazed gold before settling back to black, the contract magically binding.

Bill rose, extending a hand to help you to your feet. “Welcome aboard, y/n.”

The first few days of your internship were spent with members of Bill’s team, taking lengthy tours of Gringotts and the Archives. You quite liked Rumi and Kira, two of the lead archivists, but had a difficult time with Waylan, the Collector, as they called him, who seemed to have it out for you.

You waited with bated breath for your first project with Bill, but you'd barely seen him since you started. You brought it up to Kira at breakfast one morning, and she chuckled.

“He's around, I promise. Hardly goes anywhere else. But we usually only see him if he needs something.”

“Or when we fuck something up,” Rumi added, and you chuckled.

Kira rolled her eyes. “They're being dramatic. Bill's not nearly as scary as he looks.”

“Aren't I?”

The three of you jumped, turning to find Bill leaning against the wall beside Rumi’s seat. He looked exceptionally handsome this morning, his hair tucked behind his ears, a single strand falling over his eyes, dressed in finely pressed white shirt and navy trousers.

“Well you are when you sneak up on people!” Rumi laughed, and Bill cracked a smile.

“Apologies, mate. Y/n, ready for your first assignment?” His eyes met yours, brilliant as polished jade, and your tongue forgot how to function.

“Oh, uh, yes, sir!”

“Sir?” Kira snorted. “Are we supposed to call you ‘sir’?”

Bill shook his head. “I’d rather you didn't, but maybe you could use a lesson in manners from this one,” he teased, stealing Kira’s croissant. “Come along, fledgling,” he said, his deep voice resonant and rough around the edges.

The nickname jolted through you like a lightning strike, heating your blood to a simmer, and you nearly gasped, hiding your reaction by taking a final swig of breakfast tea.

Fuck no, you were not developing a crush on your boss. Get it together, you chastised yourself.

You got to your feet and hurried after him through the dining hall and into the wrought iron elevator. He held the door for you as you scurried in. The grate rolled shut, and the machine heaved off the ground with a metallic groan.

“Glad to you see you're getting along with the team,” he remarked, eyes trained up to watch the pulley system.

“Yes, they've been very welcoming,” you said, resisting the urge to stare at the hard angle of his jaw, the reddish stubble dusting it and spreading down his throat.

“There's a lot they can teach you. They're some of the best in the business,” he said, glancing down at you as the elevator came to stop. The doors rolled open and he strolled out, his long legs taking him a third of the way down the hall before you managed to get your knees to unlock.

You caught up to him at his office door. “What are we working on?” You asked, excitement building as you followed him to his desk.

He moved around it, stopping in front of a black velvet box. Carefully, he lifted the lid. “Waylan brought this back last month, and I hadn't been able to crack it until our meeting.”

“Oh?” Your heart began to beat a little faster, eyes fixed not on the box containing the object, but the way his deft fingers handled it with such a care.

He turned the box around, revealing a stunning necklace, dripping with black sapphires and diamonds, the chain a thick and luscious gold.

You gasped, covering your mouth. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you'd ever seen.

He smiled at your reaction before catching himself, returning to neutral, if a bit curious, expression. “I hadn't considered that it might be a blessed object until our conversation.” He gingerly lifted the necklace from the box, the luxurious stones creating a stark contrast against his laborers hands. “And if I read the magical signature correctly, it should be a chameleon charm. To make any spectator see what they want to see in the wearer.” He came around behind you and you lost your breath, his closeness overwhelming your senses.

There was something about him that tilted the axis of the world, bending everything to center around him. He had his own gravity, his own magnetic force that you were struggling to resist.

“May I?” He asked, and you nodded, holding your breath as the cool stones kissed your clavicle, his fingertips ghosted the edge of your throat.

With a small click, the necklace was fastened around your neck. You could feel the magic in it, warm and buzzing as it spread through you.

Bill stepped away, moving back around to your front, and his brow furrowed.

“What? Did I grow a horn?” You joked, trying to dispel the tension winding tighter between you.

He shook his head, stepping back to ring a silver bell by his desk, a small plaque reading ‘Kira’ beneath it. There was one for each of you, you noticed.

A moment later, Kira walked in. “What's up, boss? Oh, did you change, y/n? I absolutely love that designer in Hogsmeade. His work is stunning,” Kira praised. “Sorry, can I help with something?” She said, turning to Bill.

Bill’s frown deepened as his eyes skimmed over you. “That'll be all, Kira. Thank you.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Let me know if you want to go shopping sometime, y/n!” She said before stepping back out of the office.

“So, she saw something in common that we didn't have before,” you observed, moving to jot some notes down on a piece of parchment in an attempt to stay on track despite the frustrated look on his face. “What do you see?”

“You can take it off. I need you to decode the magic signature yourself, archive the piece and charm accordingly, and see if you can replicate it on something else,” he directed, turning away and rustling through some pages on his desk.

“Sure, no problem.” Carefully, you unclasped the necklace and set it into its velvet case, confused by his sudden shift in demeanor, both the absence of the necklaces magic and his sudden distance leaving you cold.

What did he see in you?

He conjured another chair for you and sank into his own, turning his attention to what appeared to be a wooden horse.

Uncertain, you sat down and pulled the necklace towards you, along with the parchment and a quill, and got to work.

The uncertainty dissolved as the minutes turned to hours, both of you working quietly side by side to solve your own puzzles. The only sounds were the rustling of papers and scratch of quills, the soft music playing from a record player in the corner, and you felt a wave of peace settle over you.

Being able to work at your own pace, in a quiet, peaceful environment was all you'd ever wanted. And finally, you felt like you found a place that allowed that.

You glanced over at Bill, finding him scribbling something with his black feather quill, completely zeroed in on his task, and you felt a rush of gratitude for him, and a determination to ensure he didn't regret his decision to take a chance on you.

You turned back to the necklace, eager to uncover it's secrets.

The rest of your first two weeks passed the same way, you and Bill with your heads bowed, working on separate projects. He'd come over periodically to check your work, but mostly left you to your own devices unless you needed help, which he provided without judgement or reservation.

You and Bill seemed to work together well, both of you preferring the quiet so you could focus, with the occasional conversation about your findings during your lunch break or afternoon tea.

Despite yourself, your ill-advised attraction to him only grew as he loosened up around you. But that's all it was, you told yourself over and over again. An attraction to a handsome, accomplished man.

You were only human, after all. Who could blame you?

On Friday, Bill had a meeting with the Board and left you in his office to work. You were more than happy to occupy his space, enjoying the comfortable quiet as you reviewed your notes on the artifact you were working on.

A knock pulled you from your work. Waylan walked through the door, a long, thin wooden box in his arms.

“Oh, hey Waylan,” you said, getting up. “Bill is in a meeting—”

“I know, but this can't wait.” He dropped the long box onto the desk with a thud, scattering your meticulously organized notes, and a prickle of irritation climbed the back of your neck.

“What is it?” You asked, already sensing the dark energy permeating off of the box.

With a pry bar, Waylan cracked open the box, a putrid smell wafting out of it.

“Are you sure we should be doing this here? Surely a vault would be safer—”

“It's fine,” he snapped, and you cracked your jaw shut, irritation growing to full on anger. “This is a cursed executioners axe,” he said. “And the curse needs to be broken now.”

“Waylan, surely—”

“I thought you were qualified?” He bit. “Isn't that why you got the job? Or was it because your friends with his brothers?”

You grit your teeth. “What's the nature of the curse?”

“You tell me.”

You moved to look at the axe, it's blade dark and stained with gore, the handle black wood. Tiny notches decorated it's expanse, and your stomach turned imagining what each notch represented.

Carefully, you held your hand over it, coaxing the magic to reveal itself, but couldn't focus properly with Waylan breathing down your neck, the magic slithering through your fingers like a sieve.

Suddenly the room went dark, all the light and air sucked from the world around you until you were staring into the void, cold dread dripping down your spine.

“Waylan?” You called, fighting the urge to panic. You tried to lift your arms to feel around, but found that you couldn't move. “Waylan?!” You cried, a little louder.

Something white, a delicate, vaguely human shaped mist floated by you and you screamed, unable to move away from it. Then another appeared, slightly more formed like a person, then another, until you were surrounded by spirits. Terror split your skull, your heart pounding so hard it made your vision shake.

“No, please,” you croaked, fighting your body to move even an inch away from them. “Let me go!” You shouted, but they only moved closer. “Let me go!”

Suddenly you slammed back into your body, the bright light of the room blinding you. You were on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Bill was leaning over you, his mouth moving like he was speaking.

“—m’right here, you're alright. It was just a trick, just a little curse. Wake up, love. Come back to me,” he murmured. “There we are, that's it,” he shushed when you began to shake, his grip tightening on your shoulders when you tried to sit up.

Your body was still tingling with numbness, nerves prickling painfully back to life. “Bill,” you gasped, clinging to him as you came fully back to consciousness.

“Are you alright? Does anything hurt?” He asked, helping you sit up slowly, one hand braced on the slope of your ribcage, the other supporting your head.

“No, no. I--what happened?” you asked, looking around the room. You noticed Waylan then, also prone on the floor, eyes staring wide at the ceiling. It seemed Bill made no effort to wake him up.

Bill glanced at Waylan as well, shaking his head. “He was trying to scare you. Prove you didn't deserve the position. And apparently was too stupid to realize the curse would affect him too.”

“Will he—”

“He'll be fine. Are you okay?” He repeated, catching your eye so you'd look at him.

You nodded. “I think so.”

Waylan groaned, stirring on the carpet, and you saw a flicker of anger in Bill’s eyes.

“Wait for me in the lobby,” he said, helping you to your feet. “I'll deal with him.” There was no question in his words, and you obeyed without thought, collecting your things and slipping out of the room.

As the elevator doors started to close, you heard Bill shout, “I should have you sent to fucking Azkaban for pulling—” The groan of the machine cut off the rest of his words.

You did as you were told and waited in the lobby for Bill, busying yourself with people watching and admiring the expansive marble floors.

Twenty minutes later, Bill appeared from one of the elevators, holding Waylan by the scruff of his neck, a box of his stuff in his arms. You jumped up, alarmed when a few security guards rushed over to them.

“Waylan is no longer permitted on the premises, my orders. I discovered him tampering with curses,” Bill directed. “He's a threat to Gringott’s security.”

Your jaw dropped when the security guards nodded and dragged Waylan away without question, effectively tossing him out onto the street of Diagon Alley.

Bill stepped up beside you, concern over your frowning face drawing his brows together. “What is it?” He asked.

“Did you—you fired him?” you stammered.

“Absolutely. I can't have someone on my staff that doesn't take curses seriously. It puts us all at risk,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation.

You nodded, you supposed that made sense.

He started walking, beckoning you to follow with two fingers, and you fell into step beside him. “Come on, I'm going to teach you how to dispel that curse.”

You froze. “What?”

He turned to look at at you. “You heard me, fledgling. I need to make sure something like this won't happen again.” His voice was firm, but not unkind, and you found yourself yielding despite your trepidation. “I'll be with you the entire time, okay?” He said, a bit softer when you returned to his side.

“And if we both get knocked out?” You scowled.

He smirked at your pout. “Do you doubt me?”

A pulse of heat curled around your spine, warming your lower belly. “No, sir,” you replied, intending it to come across as teasing, but you saw something dark flash in his eyes, something hungry, and your heart began to race.

Surely you imagined it, you told yourself as the two of you descended into the vaults. There was no way you could be affecting Bill the same way he was affecting you. He was Bill Weasley, and you were just some intern that got a lucky break. He would never be interested in you, not to mention how wrong it would be for a boss to be romantically involved with his subordinate.

So, why did that thought make your pulse spike?

He guided you to a private vault, the heavy door unlocking with a wave of his hand. The inside was dank and poorly lit, permeated with that same rotten smell as before. The axe rested on a table at the center of the room, encased in glass.

You hesitated at the door, that cold, deathly sensation crawling over your skin again.

Bill paused, sensing your fear. “You can do this,” he said, offering you his hand. “I'll walk you through it.”

You placed your hand on his, focusing on his warmth, his steadiness, as he led you into the vault.

“You can feel it, right? The energy of the void clinging to it?” He asked, his voice low.

You nodded. “Feels like death,” you murmured.

“That's what this curse does, makes you feel like you died. It was used by an old Ministry executioner to subdue prisoners before their deaths. Kept them from trying to escape.” He cast his eyes to the axe, a somber look on his face. “Waylan was supposed to leave it here until after my meeting. They just unearthed it this morning.”

“That's awful,” you said, finding yourself counting the notches along the handle. There had to be at least two hundred, maybe even five hundred.

“With every kill, it got stronger, until it eventually took the executioner himself. It was buried with him, until some unfortunate muggle grave robber dug it up and nearly killed himself.”

“So, how do we dispel it?” You asked, hating the tremble in your voice.

“Take your wand out,” he instructed, and you obeyed. “I'm going to open the box. Stay focused on your breathing, the ground beneath your feet. When I open the box, you'll feel it start to pull at you, to drag you under.”

You nodded, lifting your wand and squaring your shoulders, forcing your lungs to take big, deep breaths despite the rotten smell.

“Good, when you feel it pull at you, imagine your wand is an axe itself, okay? You're going to cut the tether of the curse reaching towards you. It will resist, but I promise you can do it. Ready?”

You grit your teeth. “Ready.”

With a wave of his wand, he opened the box. The curse spilled out of it, clawing and twisted, and you immediately felt the blackness start to tug at the edge of your vision, its cold talons digging into your flesh.

“You can do it, fledgling. I know you can. Fight it,” Bill encouraged, somewhere to your left.

You pushed back against the darkness, refocusing on your breathing, the stone beneath your feet, your wand at the tips of your fingers. You slashed through the air with it, imagining an axe cutting through thick, black tendrils, and suddenly the tugging sensation vanished, the blackness receding from your vision.

“Yes, good girl! Keep going, push it all the way back into the axe.”

You did, pushing with all your might against the dark magic until it began to retreat, sinking back into the blade of the axe. But it wouldn't go all the way in, resisting your quickly depleting energy, when you felt something akin to a warm breeze blow over you: Bill’s magic. It joined your efforts, making the final push to force the curse back into the axe.

“Now hold it for me. Just like that,” Bill said, moving around the room. “I'm going to try a counter curse, but it may not take. Are you ready?”

“Ready.” You nodded, a rush of excitement pulsing through you. You were actually doing it. And doing it well.

With a flourish of wand movements and a string of words you don't understand, a beam of white light blasted from the end of Bill's wand and towards the axe, blinding you.

Something gave a godawful shriek, echoing off the walls until rubble rained over your head, and you heard a thunderous snap, followed by a whoosh of screaming air.

The light suddenly vanished, leaving you and Bill alone in the dark room, silent besides your ragged breathing.

“Lumos,” Bill muttered, and the torches along the walls relit, revealing the room around you. The axe lay on its side on the table, splintered in half. The rotten smell, and the curse, were gone. The handle was now just smooth wood, no notches in sight.

You exhaled, a giddy laugh bubbling up, and Bill smiled, crossing the room to you.

“Let me see you, you alright?” He asked, taking your hands to inspect your trembling fingers. The touch sent a zing of energy under your skin. “It didn't hurt you?”

You shook your head, dizzy from his unexpected tenderness and the after effects of using so much magic. “I'm okay,” you murmured, a little breathless.

“Okay,” he said, releasing your hands, though for a second, he seemed reluctant to. “I'll clean up here. Go home and get some rest, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, dipping your chin obediently.

His eyes searched your face for a moment longer, his jaw flexing, before he nodded once and turned back to the axe, dismissing you.

You slipped out of the vault and returned to the surface, reckless hope burning in your chest.

>Part Two

Thanks for reading! 🫶🏻

[nmakii]

must be love

— you find sae’s phone opened, and you decide to snoop.

or; sae gets exposed for being a fake idgafer. this is too sappy. 2.7k words, this is my longest fic in my whole life… what life feels like as a girl who loves too much core

tags: @narcjsistx

— for @itoshiluvbot. love ya, partner.

‘she seems really eager to please,

but she has quite the backbone.’

you huff out in frustration. “ah!! ugh…” you scowl. sae raises his eyebrow. “my groupmate never started on her share of the work… ugh, now i have to cram it..!” you explain your sudden outburst. sae scoffs. “then tell your teacher or something. it’s not like i can do anything about it, im not your teacher.” he, quite obviously, points out. “wh… ugh, i’m gonna… i just— needed to let out my anger.” you groan, face planting and screaming into your textbook. and he hums in response. although he didn’t show it on his face, your outburst was quite out of character for the person he had grown to know. it was… weird, to say the least. and it had caused him to make a mental note not to anger you.

‘her generosity knows no bounds.’

“sae, this is for you. merry christmas!” you hand him a wrapped box. “hm..? i don’t take christmas gifts.” he bluntly states. “i haven’t gotten any gifts since i was 10 years old.” you scoff to yourself. “maybe that’s why you’ve always got that stick in your ass.” you tease. “excuse me?” he glares daggers at you. “aaaanyway! open it!” you shove the box into his hands. he looks at the box, and then at you, and he decides to open it. “new cleats.” he acknowledges. yes, mhm. these were indeed cleats..! “i didn’t need these, i was going to buy them myself.” he states.

“i know, you could probably buy them yourself. but, i thought i’d save you the hassle, y’know?” how thoughtful of you. he eyes the cleats up and down; it’s an expensive brand, but it’s worth the price for the quality. “…thanks.” he says, at last. he didn’t expect a gift from you, he doesn’t have one prepared for you. he’ll make sure to buy you something you’ll love later. “oh! hold on, i wanted to give you some other things ♪~” you fish a keychain and envelope out of your bag and hand it to him.

“…cinnamoroll..?” he questions. “it’s cute right? i thought you’d like it.” what an odd way of thinking… never once has he mentioned anything about cinnamoroll. but then again, it is pretty cute. “…well, i won’t say i hate it. thank you.” he thanks you as he eyes the envelope. “ah, don’t read it in front of me..! i got a bit sappy, it’s pretty. embarrassing…” you awkwardly laugh. “ah, got it.”

later that day, he opened the envelope. there was a letter; it had cute doodles all over. and, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel your affection radiating off the letter. it was… really sweet.

‘what a beautiful human being she is.’

itoshi sae is what you like to call a shy lover, if you were to put it kindly.

you know for a fact that he loves you, he just isn’t good at verbally expressing it. words of affection are too sappy for him. he prefers to show it through the thoughtfulness of his gifts, and the longing touches of his hands, which seem to never leave your’s.

you know he loves you. but, you can’t help but wish for him to say it more often.

it wasn’t many nights lately that the two of you would have a date night. with sae’s rigorous training schedule and endless interviews, the only thing he wants to do at night is to fall asleep beside you.

however, today was the end of the season. meaning, sae would have much more free-time for you.

with sae’s last game for the year completed in 0-4, the first thing he had to do was call you. even though you weren’t far away at all, sitting in the VIP lounge with the relatives and girlfriends of sae’s teammates.

“s/o?” he calls your attention. “mhm? congratulations on your win, babe! i knew you’d win.” you congratulate him. “they could barely keep the ball when they had it. is it really an achievement for me to have won this match?” he says, almost sassily. “pssh— alright. i get it, mr. ‘tepid.’.” you tease.

“don’t call me that.” he huffs. “stay where you are. i’ll go to you.” he commands. you hum in acknowledgment, and he hangs up.

he doesn’t keep you waiting too long before showing up. “there you are…” he sighs in relief, kissing you as his hands automatically find themselves on your body— one tangled in your hair, and the other resting on the curve of your spine.

once he finds the will in himself to finally pull away, he’s breathless.

he looks like he wants to say something, but he holds himself back, his fingers flowing through your hair. “…get ready for our date later tonight, yeah? formal wear.”

you nod, and his lips curl upward. “i’ll see you later.”

you decided to go all out, pull all the brakes. and when sae picks you up in his car, he can’t help thinking that you look like a dream. ‘are you sure you aren’t a model?’ he muses to himself. his heart twists, and the fat of his cheeks redden with affection. your hair flows like silk, and that glimmer in your eyes was once a star, handpicked from the skies, he’s sure of it.

everything about you encourages him to keep staring, but he manages to get ahold of himself. “…you…look beautiful.” is the only thing he can get himself to say. but, beautiful doesn’t seem to encapsulate it, not at all. it’s not even close. beautiful is only a fraction of what he thinks. “heh, you think so?” you ask. “yeah; beautiful.” he assures. “let’s go.” he says, barely turning his attention away from you as he turns to the road.

the drive to the restaurant is quiet, but sae’s mind is screaming at him. his eyes can’t stop moving back to take sneaky glances of you. he drinks up your beauty like a serpent, and he still hasn’t had his fill.

“…we’re here.” he pulls the shift into its’ brake. he gets out, and hands his keys to the valet boy— his words are inaudible through the car door, but he quickly finishes his conversation and moves to open your car door.

you take your first step out, and his hand immediately moves to help you out. god, you might be even prettier under the gleam of moonlight, shining like the pearl of the planet.

his arm moves and snakes around your waist, guiding you into the restaurant under the flash of paparazzi cameras. he grimaces at the loud, pitchy voices of news interviewers, begging for a comment; anything for a headline quote.

the gentle touch of his fingers tighten, as he silently encourages you to walk faster, and lose the crowd. the two of you hurry up, and dash into the restaurant, where you’re greeted with a dim candlelight, mahogany walls, and the rhythmic trumpet of jazz.

“welcome, mr. itoshi.” the receptionist greets. “your table for two is right this way.” she quickly guides the two of you into a secluded part of the restaurant, just like he’s always done as to make sure neither of you are spotted and harassed in public.

lamps hang on the walls, creating a romantic atmosphere. and the curved dark-brown leather booth couch perfectly complements the dark oak roundtable.

the date isn’t too different from the others. the two of you chat about anything that comes to mind. but, it’s actually more like it’s just you chattering on, and sae listening as he admires that excited grin on your face.

on the outside looking in, it’s obvious how he has heart eyes when he stares at you. he’s in a trance as he listens to the rich honeying sweetness of your voice; his finger traces the lines on the roundtable, wishing that it’d be the crinkles of your smile he’s tracing when he blinks and opens his eyes again.

his trance is broken though, when his phone rings. damn it, he forgot to put his phone on do not disturb… “something wrong?” you ask sae, and he takes his phone out of his pocket. “not sure. there shouldn’t be a problem, i cancelled everything for tonight. ugh… just a second, amor…” he remorsefully takes your hand in his as a silent gesture of apology. he took too long to pick up the phone, it already went out…

he opened his call app, and saw that it was from his publicist, dabadie. he groaned before picking up.

“sae! you didn’t mention that you’d be going out on a date today, your paparazzi shot is already all over social medias..!” he worriedly stammers. “i didn’t? well, whatever… it’s just a date photo anyway.” sae shrugs, speaking quietly to ensure that you don’t hear. “right— but… you know the internet… they might criticize you, and say that she’s distracting you from soccer…”

sae is about to correct him— he’s about to say that you aren’t distracting him from his career, but he holds back once he remembers that you’re right beside him, eagerly waiting for his attention to be back on you.

“i… have to speak to you for a second, im already outside the restaurant… the paparazzi didn’t censor out the location well enough either… so, the agency’s security car will follow you two home…” he adds on. sae sighs. “i have to speak to you too. i’ll meet you outside.” he hangs up. he huffs in exasperation and shallowly drops his phone, making it clatter on the table; the screen is left open on his call record. “im sorry, amor… i have to quickly take care of something, i’ll be back soon, i promise.” he kisses your hand.

“hmph, don’t worry. it’s dabadie, right? he’s always worried about something…” you laugh. of course you’d be understanding about it. you always understood. “heh, that he is.” he sasses before leaving the table.

…and you can’t help but notice that his phone is still open.

his phone is practically yelling at you, “check out what’s on me, s/o! check it out right now!”, and you simply can’t resist the temptation to!

first, you simply scroll around at his call record; nothing too interesting, it’s filled with calls from dabadie, and you. as well as occasional calls from his mom. how tepid, as sae would put it. you exit the app, and find his home screen wallpaper to be a picture he took of you; you’re looking out into the distance, the large castle of sleeping beauty in the background.

you smile to yourself at that cute photo, and move to his photos; it’s filled with photos of you, and almost none of him— not unless you were beside him. you scroll down to check out his older photos; they’re childhood pictures, only a few of them are with rin included.

…

…anyways, ‘what is in sae itoshi’s notes app?’, you ponder. you open his notes app.

‘things i want to eat: 1. omelette, 2. paella, 3. pesto pasta’

‘onitsuka tiger mexico - kill bill/grey, new balance 2002r - grey, asics gel NYC - oyster grey’

‘laundry’

‘i love you’

you laugh at the randomness of his notes, quickly scrolling through them. it’s true when they say that a boy’s notes is truly random.

but that last note catches your eye. it’s a pretty odd note that just says ‘i love you’ with no additional text. and, it makes you wonder.

sae’s an organized person, more or less. so, his notes must be filed too. and, you’re correct. there are three files; ‘lists’, ‘important documents’, and a file with your initial as its’ name.

the other two don’t seem as interesting, nor seem as mysterious. so, you click on the mysterious file.

and, the file is filled with everything about you; he’s written down your birthday (including the time…), your family members’ names, foods you like to eat when you aren’t feeling well, shows that you like to watch… everything.

and, there’s a note that catches your eye. it’s a cut-off sentence, since it was too long. you decide to feed your curiosity and click on the note.

‘she talks to everyone, even the people she doesn’t like.

it takes a lot to piss her off.

she’s always kind to me, after all.

she seems really eager to please, but she has quite the backbone.

she works really hard, but i don’t think many see it.

her generosity knows no bounds, and she always knows what kind of joke to make.

i didn’t think it was possible for a soul to be so beautiful.

nor, that someone like i would meet a soul like her’s.

but, im grateful to the stars above that i met her.

someone as kind as her deserves to receive all the love she gives.

i don’t think she knows how loved she really is though.

what a beautiful human being she is.

there simply isn’t enough words to describe the way her dimples crinkle when she’s happy.

the day she was conceived, the gods must’ve tenderly sculpted her heart out of ivory and gold.

the way she enamors everyone in the room simply by walking inside, and the way her personality shines in her rushed, yet sweet handwriting.

one day, i hope she’ll finally be perpetually happy.

so, that she can always shine that enchanting smile of her’s.

she deserves all of it.’

was this a poem..? it didn’t seem like it, it didn’t rhyme, and the stanzas didn’t have equal amounts of lines… but, the way he worded it out almost made it seem like he was a poet.

you don’t… even know what to think at such a romantic confession. it’s certainly much more than sae has ever verbally said to you. but, the fact that he had written this with you in mind makes your heart pound like crazy.

you’ve always known that sae loves you, but seeing his private thoughts all written out for you to read was… overwhelming.

“going through my texts, amor? i’m not texting any other woman besides you.” sae nonchalantly jokes. shit— time went quicker than you’d thought. “ah, nn… just got a bit curious, babe…” you hum. “what were you looking at..?” he asks, and his eyes widen the moment he sees what you were reading. out of all the things on his phone, that was the last thing he wanted you reading.

he embarrassedly closes his phone. “so… what was all that writing about..? were you trying to be a poet?” you jokingly ask; you knew that sae wasn’t mad, per say… he was probably just embarrassed. “n..no… it was, ah…” he clears his throat. “it was just… something i typed out when i realized i had many observations about you that i needed to write down. i just got sidetracked while i was typing.” he explains.

you smile, your entire body feeling like you’re on fire. the love you feel for sae itoshi feels like too much to contain in your heart. “it was really sweet, sae…” you assure him. for some reason, you have the odd incentive to just… cry right now. you love him so much.

“i know. but, it’s also too sappy.” he huffs. “aw, don’t be so shy… i know you’re just a huge softie under that tough surface…” you tease, moving closer to cuddle up to his side. “im not soft. i just love you, okay?” he groans. “don’t make me say embarrassing things.”

your smile widens, making him look at you with that lovesick look in his eyes. “aww… well, i guess i know how much you love me now anyway, so that’s good enough..!” you mentally fist pump at this small victory.

the atmosphere suddenly feels light again as you start to chatter again, teasing him slightly before going back to what you were speaking about before he had left. and still, sae’s looking at you like you’re the world cup trophy, like you’re all he’s dreamed of.

and sae thinks…

‘…you’ll know how sappy i can get when it’s our wedding day.’

but he should save that for another 5 years, or so.

[suliigwp]

Hello Hello!! I'm back and I was wondering if we could have the rookie struggle with social media? I see her as being very tech savvy but doesn't know how to translate that to English so people assume she's chronically offline but she knows everything just not in English

(maybe she knows how to disable the mics of dts and it leaves Netflix so confused but she's just like "nah they were trying to hear the gossip but we're talking abt them)

Also in case no one has told you, Good morning, Good evening and good night!

-⭐

Quote-on-Quote Offline

the grid x rookie!reader | crack

find the rookie series here!

SULI: ROOKIE BACK AT IT AGAIN! sorry this took long, loved the idea, can't wait to hear from you again ⭐ anon! Much loveee

SUMMARY: Oscar and the grid slowly realizing that the rookie isn't as "offline" as she claims she is

WARNINGS: none!

Everyone thinks you’re offline.

Oscar used to believe it too. The first few races of the season, you barely posted. No Stories. No cryptic tweets. Not even a driver selfie with a “💪” caption or a filter-heavy pic of your shoes like the rest of them do.

And you had that… energy.

As much as you were one of the jokesters in the paddock and adorable, you were Mysterious. Polite. The type to nod in interviews and say “I don’t really go on social media. I find it distracting.”

The fans ate it up. So did the team. So did he.

“Chronically offline,” they called you in interviews.

“Anti-influencer era,” a podcast host said.

One headline literally read: "The Girl Who Didn’t Even Repost Her Podium."

Oscar believed it—until last week. That was when the first crack appeared.

You were all in the driver’s room. Someone showed a meme edit of Yuki spinning with dramatic music and fire emojis and that horrible TikTok voice saying “OH NOOOO OUR TABLE IT’S BROKEN.”

Everyone laughed. Lando wheezed.

You didn’t.

You just raised an eyebrow and said calmly, “That’s the old version. Did you see the one where he spins into the fireworks and they play the Naruto outro?”

Silence.

You sipped your water, eyes back on your phone. “Way better timing.”

Oscar blinked. So did Lando. So did Yuki.

“…That just came out today,” someone mumbled.

No one questioned it.

But Oscar started to wonder.

That brings us to now. The night it all breaks.

They’re back from dinner. A media-heavy day, and the two of you are waiting in the hotel lobby for the others. Oscar’s scrolling his own phone when he hears it:

You laugh.

Not a chuckle. A real, genuine, kinda-evil little laugh. The kind of laugh someone makes when they know something. When they’ve seen things.

He glances over.

You’re on your phone, obviously, thumb moving fast. The screen brightness reflects off your face. He leans a little closer.

It’s Instagram.

And it’s your account.

Oscar double-takes. “Wait, you posted something?”

You glance at him innocently. “Hm? Yeah.”

You hold it up like it’s no big deal.

The Story shows Charles Leclerc sitting on the floor of the paddock with his face in his hands. Captioned in violently translated English:

“He gets paid to suffer 💸🙏🔥💀✨”

…and there’s a screaming frog emoji in the corner.

Oscar stares. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” you say, calm as ever. “The lighting was perfect.”

“There’s a frog.”

“It means despair.”

He squints. “Since when do you use English captions?”

You tilt your head. “I don’t. I use emoji. They’re cross-lingual.”

That’s when it hits him.

“Oh my God,” he whispers. “You’re not offline.”

You smile a little. It’s terrifying. “No.”

“You’re just—secretly online.”

“I am extremely online,” you say proudly, already uploading another post. “I have five burner accounts. One is dedicated to edits of Kimi Räikkönen eating ice cream.”

Oscar is horrified. “I follow that account!”

You throw your head back and laugh.

It spirals quickly.

You post another Story. This time, a blurry screenshot of your media obligations calendar with the caption:

“I wake up. I media. I die. I media again. I am worm.”

Oscar gasps. “You can’t post that—”

You’re already hitting send.

“PR is going to kill you,” he whispers.

You lean in like a villain. “They don’t follow me.”

And then, like a final nail in the coffin, your phone buzzes. A reply to your Story. Oscar watches your expression as you open it.

You laugh again — and turn the screen.

It’s Fernando Alonso.

He replied with:

“what does ‘i am worm’ mean 😐”

You start typing back, fingers moving way too fast. “I’m sending him the worm gif. He needs to understand the worm mindset.”

Oscar covers his face. “I’m gonna have to explain this to so many people.”

Later, Lando asks Oscar why he looks like he aged five years overnight.

Oscar just stares off into the distance and mutters, “She’s not offline. She’s just fluent in meme."

And somewhere across the paddock, you post again.

No caption. Just a blurry photo of Pierre Gasly mid-sneeze with a single, haunting sticker that says:

“vibes.”

@miniaturedreamchild @nishimura-mimura @faithxyu @pookynknowntranger @elliott-calls @nemo-fish @sadprimrose @sagestack @enfppuff @imoompalumpa @mal3f1cent @moomlightphilosopher @bxuzi @peqch-pie @mimisweetz @maxswhore33 @lalala-by-bbnos @pwunkks

Vroom vroom taglist, comment to be added!

[fawnme1]

FOR YOU, I WILL || HARRY LEWIS

summary; harry always said weddings are a nightmare. overrated, dramatic, unnecessary. and yet, one night, in the quietest way possible, he asks you the biggest question of all.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

You’d heard it a thousand times.

“There’s nothing worse than a wedding,” Harry would say, half-laughing, half-serious. “Like, genuinely. The planning, the drama, the guests you don’t even like — what’s the point?”

It never bothered you. Not really. You never dated him with a ring in mind. You didn’t need white dresses or vows to know you loved each other. You had lazy mornings tangled in sheets, long drives with no destination, his hoodies in your closet and your toothbrush in his bathroom.

It was enough. More than enough.

But that didn’t stop people from asking. His mum, his mates, random interviewers. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Harry would always scoff. “Ask someone who hasn’t sworn off the idea entirely.”

You’d just smile and change the subject, pretending you didn’t notice the way his hand tensed slightly in yours every time.

Tonight feels like any other night. Rain taps lightly at the windows. A film you’re both only half-watching flickers across the screen. Harry’s head is resting against your thigh, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee.

“I love this,” you murmur, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Hm?”

“This. Us. Quiet nights. The fact that you’ll let me use you as a personal heater.”

He snorts. “You say that like I don’t get the better end of the deal.”

You smile, letting your hand fall to his jaw. He kisses your palm, casually, as if it’s a reflex by now.

Then he sits up — too quickly, almost like he’s changed his mind and now he’s forcing himself to commit to whatever this is. His eyes are serious. A little nervous.

“What if we did it?” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Did what?”

“The… the thing.” He clears his throat. “The wedding.”

You stare at him.

“What?”

“I know I always said I wouldn’t. And I meant it — for a long time. I just thought, y’know, we didn’t need it. And we don’t. But lately I keep thinking… I want to. If it’s with you.”

You sit up straighter, your heart hammering. “Are you — are you proposing?”

His hands are fidgeting in his lap now, and you can tell this has been sitting on his chest for a whie.

“I didn’t get a ring yet. I was too scared I’d talk myself out of it again. But yeah. I’m asking.”

He looks at you then, properly, blue eyes wide and honest and filled with something that makes your breath catch.

“I still think big weddings are dumb,” he says quietly. “But I think not marrying you would be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

You don’t realise you’re crying until he leans forward and wipes your cheek with his thumb.

“So,” he adds, a little softer, “what do you say?”

You throw your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“Yes,” you whisper. “God, yes.”

His arms wrap around you like he’s anchoring himself. Like letting go would ruin everything.

“I don’t care if it’s two people or two hundred,” you say. “As long as it’s you.”

He laughs, breathless with relief. “Thank fuck for that. Now I just have to survive the planning.”

“You’ll be fine,” you grin. “I’ll let you skip the flower decisions.”

“Oh, thank god.”

And somewhere between the jokes and the promises and the feel of his arms around you, you realise this is better than any fairytale wedding you ever imagined.

Because it’s real. Because it’s him.

[miyaz6ki]

can i request sucking off modern streamer kinich while he’s live? ;3

──── ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა if it's not you !﹒⟢﹒

ᯓ★ ── . summ. when you both miss each other so much, you'll show that it's not mualani he's dating.

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ pairings. kinich x gn!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹ director's note. hello disciples (sharks), i'm today here vlog with everyone (will be writing a lot today n tomorrw i suppose)

ᯓ★ ── . warnings. nsfw, sucking kinich off, kind of subby!kinich, but he's more of a switch

part 2 here :)

kinich isn't necessarily lively on his streams, but he gets many swoon with his looks, blunt attitude, and sarcastic humor.

often collabing with another streamer; mualani. people often suspect he'd been dating her, their personalities definitely contrasted well.

but the issues only worsened when she came over to his place.

people in his chat always asked "who's the one sitting in the beanbag?!" "is it mualani?!" "oh my gosh he has a partner!!"

he always had ignored them, they didn't really need to know about you yet anyway.

but days pass, and the rumor continues to frequent his chat, especially today's. he couldn't ignore it this time.. the only messages he'd see were asking if him and mualani got together yet.

even the donations were non-stop with the questions. so he decided just to end stream early, the last of us could wait 'till tomorrow anyway.

when he hops into bed with you, he simply buried his head in your chest.

"something wrong, kin'?" you wrap your arms around his back, holding him closer into your warmth. "nothin'. let's sleep."

the next day felt extra lonely, your boyfriend had left for an event, visiting it with none other than mualani. hm.. you couldn't help but be a little jealous, but you did enjoy the silent life, even with your pretty boy being live all the time, you appreciated that he still kept you private, and away from attention.

but at the same time, you wished everyone knew it was you, not mualani. even mualani cheered for you guys! she always denied dating kinich in public eye, but kinich never gave an answer.

so the public took it two different ways; he isn't dating, and he's not confirming it but is dating mualani. they never thought there might be an option outside of it! how damn cruel!!

"so are you dating popular streamer, mualani?!" an interviewer almost shoves the mic up to his mouth. he simply looks around awkwardly, and leaves, he wants to get home as soon as possible. get some rest before the demon hours of streaming begin.

i guess all the missing went elsewhere, down onto his cock of course. it was almost time for him to stream, but he hasn't finished letting you cum for the sixth time yet! fuck..

you offer to suck him off from underneath, so what can he do? he's just a man! (he denied it at first, like a ton of times before reluctantly agreeing.)

he could feel the way your head bobbed down each time, taking his shaft into your throat so well, oh sshit don't gag on him like that, he might cum right in front of the viewers!!

"hnngh- pretty don't choke on it like that.. mmf-" he quickly mutes his mic to take a breather before going on with the next phase of the quest.

bucking his hips into your mouth, he could feel his orgasm build up like blocks. you could feel a grasp of your hair from behind, it was his hand, and he faced his camera away from view.

he bucks his own hips into your throat, oh fuck, don't tease his tip like that while you stroke his cock!! (he wants more)

the more you moaned- it sent vibrations down into the base of his cock, he groaned suddenly arching his back, a blissful hum comes from your mouth once more.

the lustful eye contact you gave him was his last straw, holding on to your other hand that held his he came into your mouth, loudly whining, you show your mouth off to him as you stand up from your original spot underneath the gaming setup; swallowing every last drop of his semen.

his lips eager to reach yours, he kisses you; tasting the saltiness mixed with the taste of your mouth, it was euphoria. everything he could ever ask for. he couldn't wait to show his viewers the ring on your finger after he'll propose tomorrow.

i'll write fluff part 2 of this soon :)

[kxsagi]

Hear me out

Blue lock boys with an F1 driver or sports car racer gf

I feel like some of them (Shidou especially) would def find that sick as hell

“𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫”

a/n: formula 1 and sports car racing in general is so hot i have no idea how they do it

ft. shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, barou shoei

shidou ryusei

this man is your biggest, loudest, and most chaotic fan. he’s the type to scream his lungs out during your races, banging on the barriers like an unhinged menace. 

calls your car "our baby", despite doing nothing but exist while you do all the work. 

absolutely insists on getting a ride in your car, and when you finally take him for a spin, he's cackling the whole time, completely unfazed. "faster, babe! c'mon, is that all you got?" 

if any other driver tries to mess with you on the track? oh, he’s barking from the sidelines, ready to throw hands. 

posts videos of you overtaking people with captions like "watch my baby smoke these losers"

definitely tries to bribe your team into letting him drive your car. they have to physically remove him from the garage. 

itoshi rin

at first, he's skeptical. racing seems dangerous, and the thought of you getting into an accident makes his stomach twist. 

but the moment he watches one of your races? oh, he's hooked. you being the best at what you do? yeah, that’s rin’s love language. 

watches every single one of your races with his arms crossed, eyes sharp. never misses a detail. he knows your lap times, your rivals, your strategies, everything. 

refuses to admit that watching you dominate on the track turns him on, but you can see it in his eyes. 

if anyone talks shit about you, he will humble them. “you think you could do better? funny.” 

absolutely hates when shidou tries to hype you up in his presence. their fights get worse because now shidou has something new to clown rin about. 

itoshi sae

"hm. that's cool." he says, watching a clip of you overtaking someone in the most insane way possible. he's acting all nonchalant, but his ears are red. 

your career actually reminds him a lot of his own. the precision, the discipline, the high-speed decision-making – it’s something he deeply respects. 

secretly loves watching you race. he's the type to stay up at odd hours just to catch live broadcasts, even if he pretends it’s “just on in the background.” 

never says much about it, but when you win, you’ll find your favorite snacks waiting for you at home. if you look closely, he’s watching you with the smallest, proudest smirk. 

the only time you catch him openly impressed is when he’s in the passenger seat and you take a sharp turn at high speed. “not bad.” (he's actually fighting for his life). 

kaiser michael

he's already got an ego the size of a racetrack, but you being a literal racing champion? yeah, that just boosts his pride even more. 

calls you "my speed queen". constantly. 

insists that he could totally handle driving your car, even though he has no actual racing experience. the second he gets in, he’s gripping the wheel like his life depends on it. 

“baby, let me drive it just once.” “you’re not touching my car.” “you wound me.” 

customizes his soccer cleats with your racing number. tells the press it’s for “a special someone,” knowing damn well they’ll all go crazy trying to figure it out. 

watches your post-race interviews just to smirk at how effortlessly you handle the media. if an interviewer ever tries to corner you with weird questions, he will make a scene. 

isagi yoichi

at first, he’s just in awe. like, holy shit, his girlfriend is a professional racer?? that's insane. 

gets super invested in your races. he watches them the same way he watches soccer – analyzing strategies, predicting overtakes, yelling at the screen like he's your personal coach. 

"SHE'S GONNA TAKE THE INSIDE LINE – YES!! THAT'S MY GIRL!!"

definitely asks you a million questions about your thought process mid-race. "so when you overtook that guy, were you already planning it two turns ahead, or did you read his movements last second?" 

big on post-race analysis. if you ever lose, he’s watching replays with you, pointing out moments where you could’ve gained an advantage. 

but when you win? oh, he's losing his mind. posting clips, hyping you up, grinning so hard his face hurts. "look at my girlfriend, that’s MY GIRL." 

lowkey nervous when he rides in your car for the first time. he trusts you, but he's gripping the door handle at least once. 

“this is... fast. yeah. really fast.” nervous laugh 

totally has a custom jersey with your racing number on it. wears it to your races like the supportive bf he is. 

100% the type to dream about you winning a championship and running into his arms like athletes do in sports movies (he will deny this if you ask).

BONUS: will send death threats to anyone harassing you.

nagi seishiro

first reaction? “ehh, that sounds like a lot of work.” but the moment he watches you race? he’s mesmerized. 

loves watching replays of your overtakes in slow motion. something about the precision and reflexes you have makes him think "ah, that's kinda like soccer and games, huh?"

the type to fall asleep in your lap while you're watching old race footage. mumbles "you're so cool" before passing out. 

if you let him ride shotgun, he’s totally unfazed. doesn’t scream, doesn’t flinch, just vibes like he’s on a casual sunday drive. 

but don’t let that fool you, he brags about you constantly. “my girlfriend’s job is literally speedrunning in real life.”“huh? my driving? nah, i just let her take the wheel.”

definitely asks you to pick him up from practice in your race car at least once.

bachira meguru

oh, he's obsessed. you drive fast? he thinks that’s the sexiest thing in the world. 

if you let him ride along, he's laughing the entire time. “woohoo! go faster, baby!” 

gets way too invested in your rivalries. “ugh, i hate that guy, he cut you off last race. lemme fight him.” 

definitely forces you to teach him how to drift in an empty parking lot. 

will 100% challenge you to a mario kart race and then sulk when you absolutely destroy him. 

chigiri hyoma

finally, someone who understands the need for speed! 

he loves how both of your sports are all about acceleration and precision. he’ll actually analyze your races like he does soccer matches. 

insists on stretching with you because “reaction time is everything, babe.”

if you take him for a ride, he's cool about it, until you really push the speed, and then he’s gripping the seat. “okay, okay, i get it, you’re fast – holy shit.”

lowkey loves how fierce you look in your race suit. 

barou shoei

"hmph. a sport where all you do is drive? easy." 

then he actually watches one of your races and sees how intense it is, and now he has respect. 

refuses to admit that seeing you dominate on the track is attractive, but he gives you that one approving nod after a win. 

if you let him ride in your car, he crosses his arms and acts unimpressed, but his grip on the seat betrays him. 

threatens to crush anyone who even thinks about cutting you off in a race. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[nativegirltapes]

⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ what happens when sweetheart!reader invites drew over after their recent movie together finally wraps . . .

pairing: sweetheart!reader x drew starkey

warnings/notes: smut but not much until the end. also new reader yay <3 hoping to get her moodboard out tmr 🎀 lmk your thoughts sexies

the tension between you and drew was undeniable, to the both of you and the rest of the world; your friends, his friends, and both your guys' fans. it's not like you guys tried to hide it though, you were both constantly staring at each other whenever in the same room, especially during interviews, or the way you would both subconsciously have your hands all over each other, or maybe the way you'd both find a way to bring each other up when the other wasn't around.

and now that the movie you both starred in was wrapped, you both felt some weight fall from your shoulders. drew didn't feel like much of a pervert since you weren't exactly his costar anymore. and you didn't feel like you had to suppress the way your body reacted every time he got too close to you.

you hated how much you liked him, he made your stomach do literal flips. the feeling was mutual though, drew adored you in a way he hadn't anyone else. "nice place you got." drew said as you showed him around your apartment. "thanks." you stopped when you made it to your bedroom, drew looked around, your bedroom making him realize how much he really didn't know about you. "so, this is where the lucky guys get to come huh?"

"guess so," you plopped on your bed, letting your dress ride up your thighs. you'd be lying if you said that you didn't have intentions of getting somewhere with drew tonight after inviting him over alone. and it would also be a lie if drew wasn't hoping that you had intentions tonight, because he definitely did.

"am i one of those lucky guys?" drew questioned as he sat next to you on your bed. "are you?" you questioned him back, flashing him a little smile. "can i be?"

you shot out of your bed, standing up in front of him. "don't know. can you?" you teased him. drew chuckled, you were playing hard to get and it surprised him. you were the shy type yes, but there was something playful and even a little daring about you tonight and drew loved it. "do you like messing with me?" drew looked up at you as you still stood in front of him. it took a lot for him to not pull you down on his lap and kiss you. a lot actually. "maybe."

"we both know you want me just as bad as i want you right now," drew's hand fiddled with the end of your dress. "and what makes you so sure about that. hm?" you took a seat on his lap, his arm wrapped around your body, they felt even bigger than they looked. "i don't think you would've let me in your bedroom if you didn't." he said. and he was right, he was absolutely right and you didn't like it.

but clearly not enough because before you knew it, you were both tearing your clothes off each other and you were riding him. "fuck, i'm obsessed with you." drew said squeezing your ass as you bounced on his cock. his tight grip making you squeal a little, you knew it would leave marks but that was the last thing you were worried about. "you're so fucking perfect." you watched as drew's chest rose and fell at a certain pace. "cmon, talk to me." he begged.

your whole body felt so good that all you literally could do was let out moans and squeals, "s' good." you whispered, your eyes instinctively shut from the amount of pleasure. "wanna fuck you all the time." you said.

"yeah? you can baby. i'm all yours." drew responded. it was your first time having sex, but holy, the way your pussy felt wrapped around him; he swore he'd never even want to fuck anyone else ever again. "knew you weren't that shy."

you felt your cheeks get red at his comment, "m'gonna come!" you fell into his chest, heavy breaths leaving your lips as you collapsed on top of him. your manicured nails gripped onto his big arms, "me too." drew's breath hitched. you laid on him as you both caught your breath, "soooo, i am one of those lucky guys?"

[mydear-corinthian]

while you're interviewing

synopsis: giving cillian a head while he's having an online interview.

pairing: cillian murphy x reader / cillian murphy x wife!reader

warnings: SMUT +18, oral sex (m! receiving), blowjob, domcillian, implied sex, reader is horny as fuck

notes - rushed, a bit short <1500 w.c, divider and gif is mine

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

It's turned out that your husband has a more complicated schedule than you had imagined, partly because of his notable work as a celebrity. You're very proud of him, especially in light of his most recent success—getting the lead in the movie that everyone is calling the best of the year. Along with receiving positive recognition, which his success has attracted a lot of media attention, that has resulted in a ton of interviews and promotions.

Consequently, your partner's days and nights are occupied with continuous responsibilities. Where you both currently reside, in Dublin, it is currently two in the morning. Even though it's late, Cillian remains involved in his work. His face is softly lit by the laptop screen as he sits in his home office, which is a calm yet busy space. Due to the changes of several time zones, he is preparing for an interview that is taking place at this unusual hour, yet he remains focused throughout.

These late-night interviews are a natural component of his schedule due to the nature of his work. The joy you get from his accomplishments and the commitment to his trade make up for the challenge of adjusting to this fast-paced workplace. His dedication is clear in the conversation as he carefully goes over his notes and collects his thoughts, which is a praise to the ability and hard work he has put into this incredible project. 

Although you were always proud of your lover, there was also a hint of melancholy. You two haven't really bonded with each other in a while. sharing a bed, going on a date, or simply staying home.

Cillian's head lifted up when he heard a soft knock. "Baby, why are you still awake?" he asked.

"Can't sleep."

He gave you a little smile and then tapped his thigh to invite you to sit on it. You approached your partner and took a seat on his right thigh. As he did the same to your hips, you put your arms around his neck to support him.

"Is there something on your mind?" Cillian asked, giving you a soft kiss before laying his eyes back at yours.

Sighing, you looked at the screen in front of you. He was already in the logging-in part of the Zoom call, showing how his interview will start in awhile.

"Nothing.. just tired," you lied.

"Hm? What's actually bothering you right now?"

You didn't answer his question, instead you let your lips crash to his, allowing yourself to taste him. Cillian let out a small oh and smirked, knowing what you meant. He kissed you back, deepening it. You moved your position, now sitting on his lap facing him. Your husband gripped your hips and caressed your bare back when he lifted your shirt a bit.

"Need you, Cillian," you moaned in between kisses as the making out session got more heated. Your arms wrapping his neck, grinding your hips to his clothed bulge. Your breath getting ragged.

You felt a familiar spark flare up inside of you after the kiss, awakening the need you'd been craving. His touch, calming and soft, surrounded you with a warmth that only he can give. You got the comfort you were looking for in his hug, and Cillian's hand was a gentle reminder of your strong relationship.

Suddenly, Cillian pulled the kiss out. A short sigh escaped his lips. "Not now, honey. I still have an interview."

"Can't it wait?" you pleaded making him chuckle.

Before turning off the camera and microphone and getting ready for the Zoom conference, his fingers danced across the keyboard as he entered his log-in information. Your lips met Cillian's soft lips in a brief but sweet kiss that held a hint of melancholy. With a trace of remorse, he said, "I'm sorry, honey, it really can't." 

The both of you heard a voice, assuming it was the interviewer, coming out from his Apple laptop. "Okay, Cillian," the interview called his name, "we'll start the interview now."

He looked at you apologetically. His eyes pleaded and his lips curved into a small sad smile. You lifted yourself off of his lap and walked behind his desk so that the interviewer won't see you once Cillian turns on his camera.

Cillian then clicked the camera button, turning it on and his microphone as well. He expected you to leave his office and not you crawling below his desk.

He looked at you below, giving you a gaze of what the hell are you doing? but you didn't stop, instead you chuckled.

"So, Cillian! How are you doing?" the interviewer's voice echoed all over the silent walls of his home office.

"Yeah, everything is great. It's actually three in the morning here."

"Oh! I think your family is asleep now, especially your wife, yeah?"

"My wife definitely is." he laughed a little, looking down at his pants as you slowly unzip them.

"So, tell us about Oppenheimer!"

The tension between you increased as your fingers neatly removed his zipper, and the hope in the air practically sparked. His Calvin Klein briefs' fabric pulled against the hardness below, revealing his erect, pulsating length. You gently touched him, feeling the heat escape through the thin material, and then you shot him a playful glance that caused his breath to hitch.

You slid his boxers down slowly, almost like a tortue to him, revealing his entire erect cock. Your mouth started to moisten at the sight, and you found yourself wanting to lean in closer, your breath hot against his skin. He let out a deep, low moan that echoed across the still room as your thumb slowly moved around the swollen tip. There, a bead of pre-cum accrued that provided resisting impossible.

Cillian grabbed a fist full of your hair, letting you take his whole length; his tip hitting at the back of your throat. He let out a groan but tried to cover it with a cough, not letting the interviewer know what was actually happening.

Cillian took hold of your hair with his fist, allowing you to take his entire length, his tip brushing the back of your throat. He groaned, trying to hide it under a cough to keep the interviewer from realizing what was going on. Every time he gave you a thrust, his breath was labored. He tried not to look suspicious at all, but for a few seconds his eyes were forcibly shut.

"Mmp—!" you moaned at his cock, taking him again and again and again. His grip was getting harsher and harsher but it doesn't hurt you. Your left hand gripped his right thigh, allowing yourself to balance while your other hand massaged his balls—which he absolutely loves.

His silent airy moans are starting to hear not so silent anymore. His other arm gripped his swivel chair tightly.

"Cillian, are you okay?" the interviewer asked.

"A-actually, I think I'm not feeling that well, Jimmy," he lied, looking at his webcam. "Can we perhaps—Jesus— reschedule this meeting?"

You bobbed even faster, letting his cock hit your throat, your cheek, everything inside your mouth.

"Yeah, sure. No problemo! We'll just send you an email later. Get well soon, Cillian!" and that's the last voice that echoed through the laptop before you heard him closing it.

Cillian relaxed his back and continued to gasp and whimper at the way you were feeding him. He was having an incredible amount of pleasure, and he most certainly needed this after all the hectic job he had to accomplish. He smiled and said,

"Fuck— you really can't wait don't you?" he was close, because you felt him twitch inside of you. He let out a loud groan as you swallowed him completely once more.

"Oh honey, that's it—yes."

He leaned in closer and said, "Gonna cum inside your mouth, honey. Take it all, okay?"

It took him a couple more thrusts until he came. Inside your mouth, a white, creamy, and salty liquid spurted out of his cock. You licked your lips clean after swallowing it all, got to your feet in front of him, and then sat back down on his lap.

"Looks like I need to reward my wife, hm? Let's go to our room." Cillian said.

"Oh finally!" you sighed in amusement.