#but the fact remains they say they were simply never attracted to a man until one day they Were

[butchviking]

those women who are like "yeah i thought i was a lesbian for a long time but then i realised i was actually always attracted to males i just didnt really recognise what it was because there were so many different social issues and personal issues i had around the idea of being with men. but eventually i realised that what i was experiencing was definitely attraction and i'd actually been bisexual all along" well they're one thing. but the women who are like "yeah i just literally wasn't into dudes my whole life but then one day i realised i was attracted to this one specific guy, and since then it was like a door opened or something and i've been attracted to plenty of men." ? yeah they fuck me up

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘. ❜

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ❀ ˚◞ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 : 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ you confront your captor face-to-face and learn of his plans. while tracking down your whereabouts, the spider squad worry about miguel.

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ angst, backstories, mention of past character death, mentions of blood, swearing, miguel pissed af

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

harry osborn. you recognize that name, learned it back at HQ while hanging out with a peter variant. the best friend of peter parker, son of norman osborn. you were familiar with green goblin variants are commonly norman osborn but there are a few harry ones. your captor happens to be one.

this harry variant is menacingly mysterious. unfortunately, you cannot deny he is quite attractive. brown hair with hazel eyes. low-key built form. however, you aren’t going to allow him to charm you. this fucker kidnapped you and has clear intentions for something disastrous. what could he possibly want with you? why does he need you? there isn’t anything special about you. sure, you’re associated with the acclaimed spider society but you don’t work there nor a spider-person yourself. just a normal, average human being trying to make a living.

“what the hell do you want from me? why did you kidnap me?” you glare at the menacing villain, demanding answers to those never-ending questions infiltrating your poor fatigue mind.

in return, you only get a mischievous chuckle as he slowly steps closer which makes you take a step back instinctively. “you seem like the perfect bait. a beautiful bait, in fact.” he said with a head tilt.

you scoff in disgust at his flirting. this piece of shit. “you didn’t answer my fucking questions. why the fuck did you kidnapped me?” you said through gritted teeth, anger laced in your tone.

to your surprise, harry remains calm but that mischievous smirk grew wider. “you’re close with your spider-man, correct? the tall one with fangs?” he knew his question was proven true as he watched your eyes slightly widen in surprise.

“the one that sent your stupid ass back to your universe? yeah, him. he’ll be hunting your ass until you’re gone permanently. and believe me, he’ll make sure of it.” you stare down at him, hints of confidence in your tone. you knew miguel would hunt his ass. that man is capable of many things.

that mischievous chuckle echoes the room. “he’s fond of you, immensely fond of you.” he takes another step but you stand your ground. “the day of the attack, he stopped everything he was doing and went to you. ignored the rest and went to you as if you were his main priority.”

your eyes narrowed suspiciously at his words. “i was about to be blown up, of course he had to save me.”

“no no…” he waves a finger in a slow, dismissive manner that pissed you off. “he acted differently towards you… as if you were a love one. the way you two were bickering at each other wasn’t a simple exchange between a hero and a civilian. he shown too much care towards your safety.”

you can’t deny the rapid beating of your heart as you listen to his words. he isn’t wrong to be honest, miguel did cared too much about your safety that day. recalling how rude he was towards you, calling you an ‘idiot’ for all things. to this day, you still don’t understand why miguel makes such a big deal regarding your safety. the numerous times he demanded you to stay out of trouble. why did he care so much? why did he care about you so much? prior to your friendship, if you wanna call it, miguel had always behaved like a concerned boyfriend. does he really cares that much for you?

“he’s fond of you… or i should say, loves you.” harry states with a smirk, watching your eyes widen drastically at his mischievous words.

loves you?

miguel doesn’t loves you. you’re just simply friends, whether he admits it or not, nothing more.

right? it’s just delusions.

sure, you’ve had one semi wet dream about him but that’s out of delusions. you never pushed further, disregarding any feelings you have for him because you’re merely friends. although, there is unspeakable tension between you two. a deep connection like two magnets drawn together and inseparable. you do feel your heart beating faster when he’s near you like standing or sitting beside you, barely leaving any space between you two. the beautiful tulip he gave you as a gift for helping him the other night. you have it in your room on your nightstand. him begging to you to repay you, saying the tulip wasn’t enough for how much you helped him. how he wanted to express his gratitude. that made your heart flutter.

snapping out of thoughts, you glare at your captor and take a step forward. “he doesn’t. now what the fuck is your plan? what are you planning to do?”

he huffs, lightly shrugging his shoulders. “like mentioned before, you’re the perfect bait. he finds you’re missing, knows my escape and will track down my whereabouts to here.” harry turns around and walks away with hands behind his back. he walks up to a machine with tons of wires and vials connected to it. “when he and his goons arrives, a fight begins, drama and such. when he is at his lowest, his ass will be dragged here, placed into this glorious machine which will drain every ounce of rapture from his veins.” he stands in front of the machine, admiring it.

your heart drops and your body freezes. he’s going to kill him; drain him to death. the thought of miguel dying shatters your heart. no — he can’t!

“you fucking psycho! you’re gonna drain him to death!” you want to beat his ass so badly but the ankle chains restrict you from doing so. “why are you doing this?! what’s your fucking deal?!” your shouting and screaming doesn’t affect him.

his laughter slowly drifts away, the amusement replaced with seriousness. “he hasn’t told you, hasn’t he?” harry quirks a brow at you.

“told me what?” venom laced in your tone.

the male sighs out of disappointment, rubbing the temples of his forehead before looking back at you. “of course he never told you, why would he? he doesn’t want you to see him as a killer.”

your heart drops again at his vile words.

a killer? miguel isn’t a killer.

what is he talking about?

“miguel is not a killer, you are.” you fought back.

hardy chuckled menacingly once again, shaking his head as he takes slow steps towards you. “you truly believe he’s a good guy. just your average spider-man saving lives when really he took lives without paying the consequences.” the change in his tone, filled with pure venom sent shivers down your spine. “do you really believe that? do you? are you another one of his believers blinded by his heroic deeds? so blind to not see the killer behind the mask?”

you step back from his approach, anxiety filling up your veins. “he’s not a killer! stop saying that!”

“HE MURDERED MY FATHER!” his voice echoed throughout the entire warehouse, ringing in your ears. silence soon followed afterwards, only the gently sounds of the water outside.

you stand there with wide eyes of shock, like a deer in headlights. murdered his father? that can’t be true. miguel is not a killer, he can’t be. “what?…”

another sigh escapes him, lowering his head as a sign of frustration. “before me, my father was the original green goblin. one night, he accidentally fell into another universe which of course alarmed your spider-man and his goons to chase after him.” he tan a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “my father was frightened and confused… trapped in another universe… away from his home, his family. can you imagine being away from your home?” faint tears swelled up in his eyes as he looks at you.

you couldn’t answer, to afraid to say anything but only listen to his story.

“when they arrived, my father was terrified. he ran away as fast as he could but of course your spider-man caught up to him.” there’s venom in the way he mentions miguel. “he chased my father on all fours like fucking crazy. they fought in the air, my father fighting for his life while that son of a bitch showed no stopping. at one point, my father lost control of his glider and sipped off.” a single tear drop from his eye trails down his cheek. “they say spider-man was trying to save him but of course they say that to paint him as the hero.” his fists clenched at his sides, the look of hurt in his eyes. “my father was found laying on the ground, a pool of blood spilling underneath him. he died by the hands of spider-man, your spider-man. miguel fucking o’hara.”

pure venom spilling from his lips by how harry said his name. you’ve never been so petrified, the unsettling feeling in your body.

“that’s why i developed up this marvelous plan, to finally make him pay the consequences, to honor my father.” harry finished with a glare, chest heaving.

“it… it wasn’t his fault… it was an accident.” you managed to croak out. you believe that miguel tried to save norman but it was too late. harry is simply hurting, grieving over his father’s death.

“it wasn’t an accident! he killed him and will not get away with it!” harry shouts with bloodshot eyes. “not this time, i’ll make sure of it.”

those chilling words frightens you; you’re more frightened for miguel. oh your heart aches terribly “don’t do this, harry. please. i may not understand the pain you’ve been through but revenge won’t do any good. not for you or your father.”

the male huffs, rolling his eyes. “my father would be proud of me for following in his footsteps, honoring him properly. and no spider is going to stop me.”

“you’re wrong. miguel will stop you before you even get the chance. he’s bringing others with him, you’re fucked.” you argue, brows furrowed.

that manic laugh echoes throughout the warehouse once again. “oh sweetheart, you’re really naive if you believe i didn’t planned this without reinforcements.”

before you could argue, sounds of metal approached from the shadows. long metal tentacles reach out, slamming the ground as the figure emerges from darkness. “good evening, miss [l/n].” the figure lowers his sunglasses with a light head bow.

the infamous doc ock.

     ━━━━━━━━ ִ  ۫   ꒰ ♡ ꒱  ۫   ݂ ━━━━━━━━

time is running thin.

the ground is shifting and the sky darkens.

a plague of anxiety consumes his heart.

ever since he stepped foot through the colorful portal, miguel has been on a manhunt for that green goblin son of a bitch. crimson eyes of wrath and vengeance. pearly white canines full of venom prepared to sink into that neck, injecting pure agony. talons ready to slice and rip multiple layers of skin until red oozes underneath.

but also large hands to caress your skin. broad arms to hold and embrace you for eternity. despite vengeance, all miguel wants is you to be in his arms. whisper a thousand sorrys into your ears while holding you protectively in his arms. how regretful he is for not being there to save you in the first place. how sorry he is for allowing you to get hurt. how sorry he is for entangling you into his mess.

this is why he doesn’t get close with anyone.

they get entangled in his mess.

while he’s on hellbent for revenge, the rest of the spidey gang are concerned for miguel. of course they’ve have seen his angry outbursts, recalling the incident with miles a while back. but this time was different and it was frightening to be honest. miguel appears more malignant. those red irises showed no mercy. his tense demeanor, a mixture of rage and anxiety. proven through those sharp talons and fangs. the heavy breathing through his flared nostrils and heaving chest, tensed back. clenched fists at his sides. the aggressive stomps and jumps after swinging from building to building.

the gang, specifically peter and jess, are worried miguel will do something he’ll regret. 

after endless swinging, they rest on top of a random rooftop which was just a few miles from the supposed warehouse according to the goblin’s whereabouts provided by lyla. just before miguel could swing off, jessica’s voice stops him.

“miguel, wait — we need to stop for a minute.” the pregnant woman approaches him from behind but he never stops and continues walking.

“no. we’re not wasting any more time.” miguel never turns to look at his colleague, only determination and vengeance consuming his mind.

“miguel, you can’t go in recklessly.” she argued. “we need to be strategic and careful about this.”

“the multiverse and an innocent life are at stake so no. there’s no time for strategical discussions.” the tall raging brunette continues walking until he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him stop in his tracks.

“miguel, please. i know how much she means to you but going in blind will only put her in more danger.” peter pleads with a concern look on his face, even mayday is worried about miguel.

just the combination of you and danger in the same sentence makes his blood boil. miguel swiftly turns to face the man dressed in a pink fuzzy robe with that iconic glare peter recognizes fairly well. 

“i summoned you all for a mission and to obey orders. if you can’t cooperate, then leave.” he said through gritted teeth, his fangs revealed.

peter slowly raised his hands in the air. “we want to save [y/n] and have her safe and sound as much as you do… but we need to be rational. we need to be careful. you can’t let revenge get the best of you.”

miguel’s eyes narrowed at his words but only responded with a grunt and turns around walking away from the squad.

“you can’t do this, miguel! you need to be careful!” peter yells but not too loud for mayday’s little ears.

“I’M NOT LOSING HER TOO!”

those words echoed the entire area into the distance, making the squad silent and shiver in fear. they stare eye-wide at the frustrated man with fangs and talons sticking out. those crimson eyes soften the minute he hears mayday crying. 

shit — he made a baby cry. 

miguel never wanted to gut himself so badly.

he watched peter try calming down his frighten daughter with gentle back rubs and quiet shushes while rocking her in his arms. the others are fixated between the crying baby and the raging miguel. jess has a sorrowful expression on her face.

lowering his head, miguel heavily sighs out of frustration as he rubs his forehead with one hand. yeah he fucked up things with his team and scared mayday but his anxious mind is consuming him entirely. if he doesn’t save you in time before the inevitable, he’ll never forgive himself. he can’t lose you; he can’t lose another important person in his life. he can’t bare another lost by his own hands. 

slowly lifting his head from his hand, miguel inhales a deep a breath before turning around and walking away from the group without saying anything else.

“wait miguel—“ peter reaches out a hand but gives up when he watches his colleague swing away.

the entire gang watched the furious spiderman 2099 swing towards the warehouse in silence. worried expressions illustrated on their faces, expect hobie but deep down he was a bit concerned. luckily, mayday managed to calm down but visible tear stains on her cute tiny puffy cheeks.

after a few moments of silence, peter puts on his mask and places mayday back in the baby carrier before stepping onto the ledge of the rooftop. 

“let’s go help him and save [y/n].” he turns to look at the others. he earns a nod and a small smile from jess. the others glance at each other before looking back at him, nodding as well. the rest of them join peter then jumped off the ledge and swing to the warehouse to join miguel to save you.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓  ˖ ࣪ ༘  @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter @razertail18 @shadowzena43 @undf-stuff @miatjie

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[69dias]

baby don’t go (i’m bad at being alone)

genre: bff2l, idiots to lovers

warnings: as slowburn as it gets for 25k words, jk is an idiot and oc is so mean to herself AND to others occasionally. religious themes [Bible verses], mentions of alcoholism, unrequited love (not between jk and oc), mentions and themes of death, resolving trauma, bad childhoods. smut: vaginal fingering, marking kink, ily kink, kinda breeding kink, unprotected sex which is BAD

wc: 25k (this is hefty IM SAWRY)

listen to a playlist for this here!

When Jungkook was seven years old, his mother had asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He'd answered, way too confident and much too quickly, that his ultimate passion in life was to be a ninja. His mother had laughed fondly, serving him a plate of fruit that she’d cut up for him, and ruffled his hair 

He’s positive that she had convinced herself that he'd figure it out eventually; that she’d probably taken it in stride considering the fact that he was seven, but the memory remains clear as day in Jungkook's head in his senior year of college.

Computer Science. That had turned out to be his actual ‘ultimate passion’ in life, though Jungkook always finds himself hesitating when he says it out loud. Perhaps his younger self had thought that he would figure it out eventually too, shoving the concept of a future deep into his mind until he was nearing the end of his gap year and had to choose something tangible to study, and perhaps he’d made the right decision considering his knack for coding and the outrageous starting salary for his major, but his voice always waivers when someone asks what he’s studying.

After all, Jungkook is nothing like you. 

Enter character: his childhood best friend, whose umbilical cord had only freshly been cut when they met, much too young to comprehend what he was even looking at. You were a year younger than him, but always a few grades ahead, thanks to your insane amount of academic aptitude (that came with the burden of being afraid to fail at all, but only Jungkook truly knows that), and you’d always, always, known what you wanted to be when you grew up.

You’d answer, voice too strong and vocabulary too poise for an elementary school kid; “My passion is to study law, like my mother.” 

You stayed true to it, as well, and if Jungkook wasn’t too absorbed in being impressed by you, he would’ve been sad that you never had a true, silly dream — a princess, or a ballerina, or an astronaut, or anything that didn’t require you to be so stringent at such a young age. But you’d skipped 3rd grade, skipped senior year, went straight to Columbia, and then to Columbia Law; by the time you had graduated college, Jungkook was about halfway done with his gap year. Simply put, being impressed by you wasn’t difficult. 

But back to the point he was making, Jungkook is nothing like you, but he misses seeing your face at the frequency he did when you lived next door. And he misses getting you your ridiculously overpriced  iced white mochas from a very specific New York-based small business. And he misses you. 

The thought of you makes the aforementioned memory with his mother run through his head a bit more persistently than usual, and it’s hard to ignore on an otherwise quiet Wednesday morning. That is, however, until his roommate pops his head into the bathroom. 

Enter character: Jungkook’s roomie, Kim Mingyu. Ripped, tall, extremely attractive, and at any given point, either drunk off his ass, or high off his ass, or hungover as shit.

Today, it’s the latter, if the exhausted lily in his voice is any indication.

“Hey, JK.” 

He blinks, and the man in question nods from the edge of the bathtub. 

“How the hell do I kick this girl out.”

Jungkook’s toothpaste drips onto his wrist, and leans across the commode to spit it out.

“I don’t know, man. Ask her to leave, and give her breakfast money.”

He is not speaking from experience, but Mingyu nods as though he’s been given profound philosophical advice. Jungkook turns the tap on, and wonders how much his friend has had to drink when he visibly grimaces at the rush of the water.

“Thanks man. See you around.”

We live together, I’ll see you in literally one minute. 

Jungkook nods, and lets Mingyu shut the door before he’s rinsing his mouth and tending to the very strict AM skincare regime he’s curated. The memory he was stuck on has taken another path to the back of his brain, and he’s thankful that he doesn’t have to think of it, think of you, or think of how much he misses his mother any longer.

He doesn’t, however, exit the bathroom immediately. The girl Mingyu had over is causing a ruckus in their living room, demanding to know why she’s being kicked out and simultaneously letting Jungkook know that his advice was definitely not taken into account; he’d be a bit offended if he couldn’t practically hear Mingyu’s head pounding as she steadily gets louder. 

He decides Comp.Sci is a good option; he’s definitely going to get paid enough to not have to deal with this roommate bullshit once he’s out of this college, but he can’t help but feel bad for the girl, and feel worse for Mingyu. 

Jungkook walks out when he hears the front door finally lock, and looks up a sobriety program on his phone as his roommate walks past him to his own room. 

“Hey JK?”

He turns around, sheepishly hiding his phone without considering the fact that Mingyu is definitely seeing double and definitely didn’t make out his search.

“Yeah?”

“Do not do this one-night stand thing.”

Hey Mingyu? Do not do this alcohol thing. 

Both pieces of advice are a bit too little too late, considering that the two of them are in their final years and are confidently past the stage of needing such freshman-esque tips, but Jungkook chooses to stay quiet so as to not rub salt into Mingyu’s wound, though he’s positive the latter is barely aware of this metaphorical wound.

“Yeah, thanks man.”

Mingyu nods again, this time affirmatively, as though he’s given some profound Kantean counseling before shutting his door. Jungkook copies the cheapest and closest sobriety program he finds, and pastes the link in his notes app for future reference.

—

When you were 17, late in your first year of college, your boyfriend had died. 

It’s a horrible note to start off on, and it’s worse to have to think about it on a Wednesday, seeing as you reserve these deep delves into trauma for long weekends and bank holidays, but the thing about grief is that it presents itself in weird ways.

Today, you remember the wake. Specifically, you remember the coffee you’d drank afterwards, and how you’ve ended up with the same drink today. It wasn’t your fault, no, a shaken espresso is a common drink at the coffee shop next to campus, and there’s no way AJ would’ve known, seeing as it’s a detail you’ve quite literally never mentioned.

Enter character: AJ, or Alex Jacob Lee, your closest friend at law school, and barista of another overpriced coffee shop you frequent, not to be mistaken with the one further into the city from where you buy those sinfully good white mochas. He has a game going on with you, where he’ll conjure up a different drink for you every Wednesday after your last class, which aligns with his shifts there.

And today, he’s chosen a shaken espresso. Again, not his fault. Again, not a bad drink. It’s the way the bitterness sits on your tongue, and the first greetings of summer in the evening air that have you thinking of your boyfriend — ex-boyfriend, that is. You think of his smile, the closed casket he was laid to rest in because his body was pretty wrecked from the car crash, and you think of Jeon Jungkook. 

You remember his arms around you, and you remember refusing to cry. You remember him buying you the drink, and you remember breaking down in front of him, showing any semblance of weakness for the first time in all your 17 years of knowing each other. You think of how much you miss him, how it’s been a good few weeks since you’ve seen him in person, you think of how you never actually fell in love with your boyfriend, and how broken you’d been after he passed.

You still feel the ebbing pain in the left side of your chest, but that’s not something you’re willing to admit. After all, it’s been a good 6 years since then, and you laid him to rest in the tresses of your mind the second you had left the cemetery after his wake.

When you’re done with the drink, you’re done with the memory, and you decide to return to the shop; that way, you can convince yourself that you’re fine, and you can convince AJ to get dinner with you. The coffee lingers in your mouth, though, and take a quick detour to the vending machine to the left of the shop to pick up a bottle of water and think about how horrible the placement of this machine is.

“Hey, you. What’s wrong? Drink not good enough today?”

AJ’s right next to you when you pick up the water from the slot at the bottom, and you find yourself smiling up at him instinctively.

“I think you’ve lost your touch, honestly.” 

He laughs, you laugh with him, and your heart feels just a bit lighter after the thought you’ve just had to throttle out of your brain physically, which reminds you of why you returned to the shop in the first place. He looks down at you, gaze so fixed that you look away for a moment before you even open your mouth to speak.

“Wanna grab some dinner? I’m kinda winded, we can get pizza.” 

He looks back at the shop, and then at you. The silence is comfortable, and you can hear the music from within the business as someone opens the door to enter. AJ’s expression is a bit hard to read, but the little furrow of his brow, and the way he’s avoiding eye contact tells you that he’s about to say no. 

“Can I take a rain check? I’ve gotta finish up at the shop, and I have an early morning tomorrow.”

I’ll wait, and we won’t take long. We can just take it out, we don’t have to sit and eat.

Your mouth feels dry, tastes little like you’ve just thrown up bile, and your eyes shake just a bit as you think of what to say, think of where to look.

“Oh, yeah? No prob, Jakey.”

The nickname slips out, and his mouth droops into a lopsided grin. You don’t notice the twinkle of his eyes, because you’re too busy unscrewing the bottle of water, eager to finally get the tinge of coffee out of your mouth.

He doesn’t say much more, just tells you that he’ll see you around, and takes a quick jog back to work. Pulling your phone out of your pocket is a bit hard because of how hard your hands are shaking, and you clench your fingers together to stop them from doing so, though you’re not sure why you’re acting like this in the first place. Maybe it’s because you’ve just remembered one of the worst days of your life, maybe it’s because you needed company, maybe it’s because you know AJ doesn’t have classes early tomorrow, and maybe it’s because you miss your old best friend. 

You decide it’s the latter, and when you finally, finally unlock your phone, you decide to call Jungkook.

The phone rings, and you can’t stand to hear the way AJ’s voice travels outside the coffee shop occasionally, so you walk onto the pavement, trying to focus on the obnoxious rings of the phone. You let it go to voicemail when he doesn’t pick up, and decide that you won’t deal with rejection today, so text him to get dinner with you instead 

[to JayKayz] hey, you down to get some pizza tonight?

[to JayKayz] i’ll take the train to NYU and you can meet me at 2 bros?

You figure he’s either in, or finishing his last class, hence the lack of response for the first ten minutes or so, which severely dampens your mood on the way to the train station, but he replies soon after, and you’d be lying if you said your mood didn’t do an entire 180. 

[from JayKayz] this is fucking insane cuz I was literally just thinking about you this morning

[from JayKayz] yes to pizza btw. 

[from JayKayz] sorry I didn’t pick up I was dealing with Mingyu who’s fucking drunk again. 

[from JayKayz] text me when ur on campus and I’ll pick you up.

You have to physically fight yourself from smiling like a psychopath, which is awkward since you don’t really know why you’re smiling. Maybe it’s because he was thinking of you, maybe it’s because he said he’s, or maybe it’s because it’s funny how fed up he is with his roommate who definitely needs to attend a sobriety program. You decide it’s the latter, and your heart isn’t on edge the whole time you make your way to Jeon Jungkook’s university.

—

The thing about you and Jungkook is that there’s nothing awkward about the silences that tend to ensue between the two of you. It’s not uncommon for there to be no words spoken, especially in the past few years — Jungkook has always been an introvert, and school tends to tire you out of being able to carry the conversation. It’s okay, it’s normal, and it’s happened a lot since you moved out to be nearer to campus, but you’re different today.

Jungkook notices the shift almost as soon as you sit down across from him and slide him his coke, hands otherwise empty, saying absolutely nothing else. Typically (read: every single time the two of you eat at 2Bros Pizza, which is not rare), you make fun of him for ordering the Meat Supreme slice, and you always get a coke float for yourself, which reminds him of the time there was a new employee working the Night Shift, and you, in your drunken stupor, almost jumped the counter when he didn’t know how to make one for you. He tucks the memory aside to ask you what’s wrong:

“No float today? Finally saw the light?”

It comes out wrong, less empathetic than he’d like to be, seeing as you’re visibly struggling with something, but it seems to break you out of your own head, and you look up at him. Your eyes shine under the streetlight just a couple inches away from the table the two of you sit at, and the way a smile breaks across your face sends something akin to a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, I had a coffee earlier. AJ and I have a game going, so - uh, yeah, I’m not that thirsty right now.l 

Jungkook remembers this guy, but he also notices the way you’ve started to chew on the right side of your lip as you think about him. He hums quietly, opening his mouth to speak when you beat him to it.

“How’s Mingyu by the way? Day drinking again?”

He laughs out loud, taking a bite out of his pizza. You do the same, eyes a bit less dazed as you listen intently to whatever he’s about to say, but he doesn’t speak for a while again, and the silence that ensues this time is more comfortable than before.

It’s something about Jungkook that’s routinely, and you don’t hate it at all. You’ve been a stickler for organization, for schedules, for routine for as long as you can remember, and while you and him are quite different, you can tell that Jungkook appreciates the stability you bring. 

You remember being a child and coming here with your family, Jungkook with his. Your mom would share a cheese slice with you, and his mom would share the abominable Meat Premium slice with him. You’d get a coke float, and his eyebrows would furrow as he animatedly talked about how good everything tasted, almost looking upset because it was delicious. You’d stay quiet, sharing an exasperatedly fond look with the two women who sat across from each other, and then you’d look at Jungkook.

And then, you look at Jungkook.

He has the same pinch in his eyebrows, but he’s been eating here for over a decade so the comments about how good the food is have dwindled, and he just slurps obscenely at the cheese, occasionally stopping to take an equally obscene swig of his drink. You’d be disgusted if AJ ate that way, but it’s Jungkook, so you just laugh, and the question you asked about his roommate dissipates from where it was hanging in the air.

“So this AJ guy, what’s his deal?”

You pause mid-bite, looking a bit confused; the timing is scary, and it’s almost like Jungkook's managed to read your mind in the past minute. You answer with a question of your own.

“So this Mingyu guy, what’s his deal?”

“Touché.” 

“No like, actually, though,” you let out a laugh at the way Jungkook goes back to devouring his food. “He needs to get to a sobriety program.”

“Dude, for real. I was literally looking one up for him this morning, like it’s an actual fucking problem and he refuses to acknowledge it.” 

“Have you actually tried to get him to acknowledge it?”

Jungkook is many things; he’s smart, capable, strong, his eyes are bright under the streetlights, and he’s compassionate, but he’s never been confrontational. Though you don’t doubt he’s concerned for his friend, you also don’t doubt that he’s never brought it up in front of Mingyu, at least directly; you reckon there’s been a lot of beating around the bush, a lot of surreptitious monologues about ‘seeking help when you need’, etcetera. The thought makes you laugh, and Jungkook looks at you quizzically.

“I mean, I made him watch a TED talk about sobriety last week, and he seemed intrigued…”

You raise a brow. Jungkook would bully you relentlessly for watching those videos, and you doubt he’d watch them even with someone’s best interest in mind.

“We were both high.”

The two of you laugh, looking away so as to not break entirely, and then accidentally making eye contact, breaking almost immediately after. 

His laughter is loud, bright, and it brings you back to when you were kids. 

You laugh silently, taking in large gasps of air whenever you feel the need to, and Jungkook can’t help but think of how you’ve had this habit since you were a toddler.

When a few tears slip inevitably, Jungkook doesn’t let you use the collar of your shirt to wipe them like AJ typically does, using the pads of his fingers to gently flick them off of your cheeks. (It’s another thing he’s done for years now, but you don’t think about it in the afterglow of laughing so hard that your ribs sting a bit.)

Thinking of AJ reminds you of the question Jungkook asked you before you grilled him about Mingyu. You wonder why you avoided it so desperately, and you wonder why you’re thinking so much about AJ today, when Jungkook is right in front of you.

He’s pretty like this, the pizza parlor’s sign lights up a little after 21:30, and the green and red hues make the dewy skin of his face look softer. He’s chewing at his straw, and has a lazy grin on his face, occasionally giggling when he undoubtedly remembers the outburst the two of you just had.

It’s simple, routinely, laughing with Jungkook, being with Jungkook, and your mind is no longer clouded with the wake, with how much your Tort Law professor hates your whole class, with how AJ lied to you, but you don’t suppose it’d be the worst thing to not leave Jungkook hanging.

“What about AJ, by the way?”

He looks up, and his eyes are just as big as they used to be when he was a toddler. 

“You asked what his deal was, what’d you mean?”

Jungkook’s lazy grin is back as he stares at you, reaching across the table to push back a strand of hair that you hadn’t even noticed fall into your face. His touch is warm, and you hope the bright red light of the sign masks the soft blush that warms your face when he strokes the underside of your jaw before pulling away.

“I meant, like, you know,” he pauses, but you shake your head, still confused. Jungkook breathes to regroup, and continues. “The Wednesday drink thing, and how he’s the homescreen of your phone, and how you’re blushing right now after bringing him up? I know dating’s a bit tough but like, maybe there’s something there?”

The realization dawns upon you; Jungkook thinks you’re into AJ, and vice versa. You don’t know why it makes your stomach turn, so you attribute it to the pizza you’ve just had and the coffee from earlier. 

The ridiculous urge to defend yourself like Jungkook’s accused you of something fights it’s way up your throat, accompanied by bile. You swallow it down, clearing your throat before you start your rebuttal statement. (You don’t think about how you’re thinking of this like a case, when it’s quite literally just your best friend talking about who you’re dating).

“The Wednesday drink thing’s only because he has a shift there after I’m done with classes, and it’s not like he gives them to me for free.”

Jungkook can’t tell why you look so serious now, back straight and face cold, voice icy. It’s a sharp contrast to the way you were speaking only a mere 10 minutes prior, and he wants to tell you that it’s nothing serious; that he wasn’t accusing you.

“He’s the homescreen of my phone because I look good in the picture, and also because it’s from my 21st birthday, which was just a good day in my life —“

“I think y-you misunderstood me?”

He doesn’t sound confident, but you stop speaking, unable to tell him that you weren’t, in fact, blushing because of AJ.

“There’s nothing there, Jungkook.”

He looks down, and then back up at you, the prickly feeling of discomfort crawling across his chest. Jungkook isn’t sure why he feels cornered, why he feels upset at the way you responded to something innocent he said.

It makes him think of another time, back in your first year of law school when he’d asked you why you hadn’t called him for a week; you’d straightened up, basically recounted every assignment you had due, every other engagement you had, went to hell and back to justify yourself when he was just asking a question.

It makes him think of countless other times, when you’d dissect questions like he was a prosecutor in a courtroom, when you’d pounce at him at the slightest indication of being cornered, when you’d feel the need to justify and self-assess even if he wasn't even in a 100 mile radius of asking you to do that.

He wants to tell you that you don’t have to feel like he’s forcing an answer out of you, that you have a life and you could’ve just laughed it off, that you don’t have to be afraid to have human instincts and relationships and that you’re his best friend.

Instead, he ignores the way your eyes look glossy, ignores the clear indication that you’ve had a stupidly hard day, ignores the screaming cries for someone to tell you that it’s okay, for someone to just ask what’s wrong — something he’s been on the fence of doing for the whole evening. He ignores it all, and gets up to throw his plate away.

“I’m sorry —“

“Need me to walk you to the train station?”

“Uh, no. I got it. Thanks.”

You follow with your own plate, picking your bag up from the seat beside you, and wave at Jungkook a bit awkwardly. He waves back, still not making eye contact with you, and lets  you walk away without saying a word more.

Jungkook tries not to think about how pretty you are, tries not to think about how you’re going to cry in the solitude of your room which is how you’ve always dealt with emotions, tries not to think about whatever you could’ve been thinking of that had you on the edge the entire evening. He tries to think about Mingyu, sobriety, and a fraternity party he has to go to tomorrow. He tries to think about skipping his last class, and ends up thinking about how lovely your smile is.

You text AJ to pick you up from campus despite the fake excuse he’d thrown at you earlier even though you don’t really want to think of him, and you hope the person sitting across from you on the train doesn’t notice how you’re crying.  It’s your boyfriend, it’s Jungkook and how you lashed out at him for no reason, it’s fucking AJ, and how Jungkook thinks you’re dating him when he’s just lied to you — it’s how AJ lied to you about a morning class — it’s Tort Law, and it’s the shaken espresso you had that seems to still linger on your tongue.  You try to think about a party you’ve been invited to tomorrow, try to think about how badly you need to get laid, and end up thinking about Jungkook’s pretty eyes.

—

AJ ends up picking you up from outside the train station, and if he notices your red-rimmed eyes, he doesn’t say anything.

Jungkook’s words, the cause of you snapping him, his insinuations all come to mind when AJ’s this close to you. You can smell his deodorant, you can feel the thin hoodie he dons on your sleeve, you can hear the small breaths he takes; I know dating’s a bit tough but like, maybe there’s something there?”

Is there? You wished you would’ve asked Jungkook to elaborate on this theory of his; he’s observant, and as aforementioned, not one for confrontation of any kind — the thought makes your head hurt with guilt because you’ve just shown him that he shouldn’t, in fact, confront people lest they give him a reaction anywhere similar to yours — and it’s apparent that he was probably sitting on the thought for a while.

Is there? AJ looks at you warmly, the Wednesday drink thing is a bit intimate, he knows your schedule, knows your professors and how you feel about them, knows your apartment even when he's drunk and it’s dark, and you know all of these things when it comes to him. You think about it for a moment, and when you look up at him, he’s already staring down at you. It’s kind, a bit far away like he was doing some thinking of his own, too, and you’re grateful he doesn’t look away immediately. 

AJ and you make sense together, if you were to put it logistically. Met in Law School, were friends for years before potentially getting together, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel like a puzzle piece fitting into place. But logistics aren’t the game you play, and the longer you look at him, the more it settles in that there isn’t really much there. With Jungkook, for example, you’d notice the pretty doe shape in his eyes, the scar above his cheek, the slope of his nose and how when he blushes, the pink spreads from the tips of his ears inwards — with AJ, all you see is a handsome face. 

Jungkook is your best friend, though, and again, it makes more sense to notice these nuances with him than with AJ and fuck, why are you even thinking about this?

AJ continues to look at you, and you’re thankful, not for his eerie silence as much as for the fact that he’s walking you home at night after you’ve had such a rough day. If being with Jungkook is routine, AJ is the soft of your sheets after a long day — he’s always there, always with you, even if he doesn’t really say anything to you. 

(You fight this thought from appearing in your head, but evidently fail.) 

Even today, he didn’t question where you were coming from, didn’t say that he couldn’t come get you because he had this supposed ‘early morning’ (which he didn’t, which you could not get over), didn’t say a single word, at least it until you did. 

It’s a quiet question, one that has lingered in the back of your mind for the whole evening: “Why’d you lie, Alex?”

He looks startled, both at the rare use of his first name, and by the question itself. 

“What… what do you mean, exactly?” His laugh is a bit forced, and he steps away from you, looking away.

“You said you have an early morning, but I know your Crim. Justice class starts at 2. You could’ve just said you didn’t wanna have dinner with me —“ you laugh at the end, hoping to lighten the atmosphere but it doesn’t work. 

There is seriously something wrong with you today, but AJ breaks through that thought with a laugh.

“Early morning for work, ___. Internships don’t start till June, but doesn’t Cravath ask you to come in sometimes? It’s that. Some petty admin work.”

Your heart stops trying to commit suicide, and your shoulders relax for the first time since AJ handed you that damn drink this morning. You’d both landed top internships; you with Cravath, AJ with Watchell Lipton, and he was right, because you have gone in to do ‘petty admin work’ for them in the past month since you were accepted.

It’s a happy reminder of how well you’re doing, a happy reminder that your friend didn’t just lie to you, and you can’t help but laugh. It’s a sheepish one that turns genuine when you realize how accusatory you’d been, and you’re grateful again that he starts laughing along with you.

(You don’t notice his laugh the same way you did with Jungkook, but you also don’t dwell on that too much.) 

“Fuck, man. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

He throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his upper body so he can plant a loud kiss on the crown of your head. It’s something he does with everyone, but the conversation you had over dinner remains at the forefront of your mind and you close your eyes to really take in the proximity, the ease with which he just touches you, the way it feels natural, and the way you don’t mind.

“Maybe you should ask questions on the spot instead of working yourself into a frenzy about them, huh?”

“Maybe I should. No yeah, I definitely should. I don't know why I’m being slick about it —“

He laughs at that, taking your hand to spin you in front of him, and then around. 

If AJ notices the way your hair frames your face when he stops puppeteering you, if he notices the way your laugh echoes in his mind after you’ve stopped, if he notices the way you’ve remembered his classes, he doesn’t do anything about it. He had, however, noticed the way you were so obviously crying, and though he refuses to pry lest he invade your privacy, lest he finds out that he might’ve been the reason. 

He stays quiet about it, though, all the way till he reaches the lobby of your apartment complex, which is when he repeats what Jungkook had done just about an hour prior, fixing a strand of your messy hair. 

(You don’t blush like you had when Jungkook had done it, but AJ also doesn’t touch the underside of your jaw as gingerly as Jungkook had, so you convince yourself that it’s nothing)

“If it was hayfever, I know a great remedy, but if not, you should know that whatever you had to cry about, that it’s okay. If you can do Tort Law with Henderson, you can do anything.”

His assurance, paired with the fact that he hadn’t lied, paired with the fact that he’d kissed your head, paired with the way he’d spun you around like he was starring in some Glen Powell rom-com, paired with the way that he’d come and pick you up in the first place — all of it settles your heart fully, and you don’t even really remember why you’d cried in the first place. 

“Thank you. For picking me up, and I’m sorry that I was so, you know —“

“Don’t worry about it, it’s literally going to be your job to be ‘so, you know’ okay?”

You nod, chuckling lightly, and watch him wave you goodbye. If you pronounce your own wave a little extra so he laughs at it and isn’t even slightly worried about you being upset, nobody has to know. And if you still can’t stop thinking about Jungkook and how you need to apologize to him, nobody has to know.

—

Jungkook despises his schedule on Thursdays. It’s class after class, a shift at his job, another class, and another class — typically, by the end of the day, his brain is nothing but mush, he’s frazzled; exhausted, and passes out for a much simpler Friday, but as it is, there’s been a lot more unconventional breaks in routine than he’s used to, and he ends up going to a party after his final class on this particular Thursday. 

Mingyu invited him, but he’s not thinking about that, because thinking of his roommate makes him think of his conversation with you, which makes him think of how abruptly your manner had changed, which makes him feel bad for you, and also a little upset that you spoke to him that way, which makes him think of the notifications on his phone that he’s definitely not ignoring right now.

[from Elle Woods] jeongguk

[from Elle Woods] im sorry, i don’t know what that was or why I got so defensive about aj, and you didn’t deserve it 

[from Elle Woods] i really missed you, it’s been weeks since we’ve talked

[from Elle Woods] actually, can i just call you? 

[2 missed calls from Elle Woods]

He’d feel a little bad, because he knows that if you owe each other something, anything, it’s communication — you’ve been friends since you were literal infants, and he should know that there’s probably a very reasonable explanation for yesterday but he shuts his phone off, and recites the excuse for whenever he decides to get back to you.

___ie, I’m sorry, I was just busy — you know how Thursdays are, right?

He’s sure you’ll understand, and he can’t bring himself to continue thinking about it lest he breaks and gets himself into a longer-than-necessary phone call with you when he could be getting shitfaced to forget about the day he’s had; either that, or protecting Mingyu from throwing himself into premature liver failure as best as he possibly can.

Jungkook finds himself shoveling any remaining thoughts of you to the back of his head, another thing he’s being doing unconventionally often, and his short commute to the fraternity house Mingyu’s typo-filled message points him towards — another thing that should debase him, but the promise of alcohol (with a borderline frightening amount of emojis) keeps him going.

He realizes soon, that senior year is an absolute bitch, because it’s been months since he’s seen half of these people and it’s like nostalgia’s kicked him in the mouth, followed by the pungence of miscellaneous alcoholic drinks that you can only drink half a cup of before blacking out, followed by the familiar twinge of the fraternity party patented sweat. 

He’s broken out of this haze, watching people pass by him as he slumps against the doorframe of the kitchen by the vaguely familiar voice of somebody he used to know very well —

“Jungkookie? At a party? As I live and breathe!”

Enter character: Lim Nayoung, Jungkook’s ex-fuckbuddy, ex-situationship, near ex-girlfriend. Though the first two are terms exclusively used by high school students, there’s really no other way to describe the relation he has (had) with her, and even as he hears her voice, there’s a rush of emotion that he had to swallow down before he gets a good look at her.

She’s, well, a sight to see; though Jungkook told her he liked her long hair a lot (especially when she styled it like yours, which isn’t something he’s willing to say out loud), she has it cut short. He thinks it suits her, and he makes a mental note to let her know as he tries his best to take a once-over of her subtly, but gives up shortly when he notices her gaze on him; expectant.

“It’s been a while, huh?” A soft grin makes its way up his face, and he fights the urge to pull her into a hug. “I love the hair.”

“What happened to liking it long? In that weird 90s blowout?”

(Your ‘weird 90s blowout’. The same hair you’ve been wearing since junior year of high school, but Nayoung doesn’t have to know, and Jungkook doesn’t want to tell her.)

“I actually still like that look, but this is working for you, baby,” the pet name slips from his lips, force of habit, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice the way her eyes lit up for a second. “Where’s everyone else?” It’s a quick attempt to salvage his slip-up, but it doesn’t seem like Nayoung notices the deflection. She doesn’t point him to the group of friends he’s so familiar with, though, instead dragging him by the forearm into the kitchen.

He catches sight of Mingyu by the drinks as Nayoung pours him something from a punch bowl, bright red with fruits strewn about the top, and Jungkook’s sure just a smell of it would kill a medieval peasant. He does, in fact have an incentive for being here, and is reminded of that by his aforementioned roommate’s loud shriek of his name. 

Nayoung gets to him before Mingyu, passing him a solo cup that she so graciously garnished with an orange slice, and he strokes her hair as a silent thanks, and a preemptive apology for what’s about to hit her, vis-à-vis Hurricane Mingyu;

“Yo, JK? You came, man!” The side hug he gets is sloppy, and Mingyu’s voice is so slurred that Jungkook can’t help but assume he’s been pre-gaming this for a while. The thought is cut off violently when his jaw is grabbed, forehead pressing against Mingyu’s in a manner too intimate for Jungkook to deal with without alcohol in his system. “You’re the man, I can’t believe we haven’t partied at all this year!” He shoves Jungkook away, while the latter looks dazed (read: disgusted) at how strongly Mingyu’s breath smelled of alcohol. 

He takes a sip of the concoction in his cup, wincing just a bit as the gasoline-y aftertaste fully settles in, right before the realization that it has, indeed, been way too long since he's last been to a party at all. He downs the drink, trying not to let his aversion show immediately before he looks down at Nayoung, nodding towards the drinks again. 

“Down like water, huh? What happened to my whiskey addict?” Nayoung’s voice is bleary over the terrible EDM drop that’s just played over the speakers, but Jungkook laughs anyways — whiskey’s been his drink of choice ever since you managed to get away with buying a bottle at 17, and he thinks about  you every single time he drinks it; more specifically, the way you’d all but hurled it in front of a bodega, and then the way the two of you had drunkenly ran off. 

Whatever was in the drink is working, apparently, because Jungkook can feel the buzz of the drink in his veins, and as he pushes aside the memory of the two of you, there’s a burst of confidence that pulses through him. It isn’t anything forward, just the personality so many of his friends were well acquainted with — cocky, a little egotistical, a little too hot for his own good — fighting it’s way out of the somber senior he’s been playing for a good few months now.

He leans against the punch table so he’s eye-level with Nayoung, who shies away from the sudden proximity, and if she’s blushing just a bit, he pretends like he doesn’t notice in favor of grabbing the drink out of her hand and drinking it all in one go. It stings on its way down, and she stares at him, mouth agape at what she’s just seen him do twice in a row.

“There’s like, an entire bottle of vodka in that.”

Jungkook smiles, a little lazy and a little lopsided.

“Is there another full bottle somewhere?”

/

The catastrophic thing about Jungkook isn’t that he makes bad decisions, it’s just that he refuses to admit when he’s made a bad decision. 

To set the scene, think of Jungkook, on the lawn of the insanely big glorified fraternity mansion, 7 shots of vodka in and drunk enough that his equilibrium is fully askew and he’s slurring his words in the dialect only you’re familiar with, one he’s grown out of years ago.

Nayoung is still by his side, reasonably sober compared to him, and a couple of his friends — both close and those who he all but neglected in favor of computer science senior year — surround him. They’ve chosen the surprisingly well kempt area because EDM and copious amounts of alcohol stop making sense when you hit your twenties, and as it is, Jungkook’s previous attempts to keep you out of his brain are failing horrifically.

They talk about the time Nayoung and Jungkook got drunk, called Namjoon and told him the only identifiable landmark was the moon, talk about Seokjin throwing up at the foot of the Statue of Liberty, talk about their lives, Mingyu talks about his endeavors in bed (which is weird because he definitely doesn’t know half the people in this vicinity) and Jungkook thinks about you.

He thinks about feeling bad that he’s not replying, thinks about how you don’t drink a lot because drunk driving killed your boyfriend, thinks about how smart you are and how he wishes you had an easier childhood, how he wishes you weren’t so hard on yourself, wishes you were here and that you hadn’t moved out, wishes he could see you everyday, and wishes that he could just get you out of his head. 

He thinks about you, uncharacteristically quiet until Nayoung calls him on it —

“What’s got you all worked up?” Her question is really just a figure of speech, but he wants to tell her everything because if anyone knows Jungkook even a smidge close to the way you know him, it’s Nayoung. 

“N’thin, nothing,” he takes a pause to breathe out, regroup and look down at Nayoung. It takes him a while to really gather that the group has split up, all going their separate ways after getting shitfaced, presumably to find themselves another drink or a hookup. He wonders if you’ve ever hooked up with someone at a party, wonders if you’d say yes if he were to ask —

“Wanna go upstairs? I hate this fucking music.”

[In retrospect, he should’ve known, at that point, that he was making a horrible mistake, but again, he’d never admit it]

“Yeah. Not because I wanna sit in a fraternity kid’s bed, but because I wanna shoot Avicii right about now.” It takes Nayoung a while to comprehend his slurred words, but she laughs at the sentiment before telling him that Avicii’s very much not alive. It makes Jungkook grin morbidly, and he finds himself grabbing her hand to pull her back into the house.

In the essence of wanting to be a good friend, he looks around to catch a glimpse of Mingyu anywhere, and finds him near the kitchen. He’s, surprisingly so, not drunk outwardly, but Jungkook figures that’s bound to change soon; the party is nowhere near being over. His roommate catches Nayoung’s hand in his, and shoots him a horrifically confused look, which Jungkook pays no mind to.

It doesn’t take long for them to make their way upstairs and into the only bedroom on the floor that isn’t locked or mysteriously producing obscene pornstar-esque sex sounds, and even though the bed is horribly unkempt in a way that would become the butt of your jokes for months on end, they settle. 

Fuck, Jungkook has got to stop thinking about you. It’s becoming dangerously apparent that you’re becoming the forefront of his thoughts this evening, and he just can’t figure out why. It’s happened before, too, every time he’d go out to get lunch or dinner with you, every time you’d force him to come with you to The Met or every time he’d force you to come with him to a Yankees game, you’d just plague his brain for the next couple of days. He thinks it because you’re his best friend, that it’s normal to think about someone who’s entire childhood has been riddled with yours, but he can’t exactly focus on that thought when Nayoung pulls her jacket off.

It’s one she bought when they used to… be involved, and Jungkook smiles ever so lightly when he remembers the day.

“That from our little detour to Jersey?”

She looks up at him, and the light of the room is a bit too dim to properly make out her features, but it reflects off of her collarbones, gets his mind all fuzzy when she reciprocates the dopey smile he has on.

“Yeah, yep. I always keep the memorabilia.”

“I mean, the other memorabilias,” he quotes the word, still feeling really fucking buzzed, “were just tattoos. Bit hard to get rid of those, huh?”

Nayoung laughs, and Jungkook feels the claws of past intimacy scratch down his back. It’s familiar, being like this with her, and he values that. Values her, even if she never really gave him an actual reason for breaking it off — ‘we’re in different places, clearly’ she’d told him, and if he sat down to really think about it, he might be able to decipher her words in the context of their relationship but Jungkook literally cannot think of more than three things at once right now.

She lies down flat on the bed, and he has half a mind to tell her off about frat boys and their abysmal hygiene, but he thinks it’s a good idea, and readjusts himself so he’s laying right next to her. She tilts her head to look at him, and he finds the ceiling to be the most interesting thing in the world as soon as it registers in his mind what might be happening. 

“What happened with you?”

“Huh?”

��Just… how you disappeared after senior year, how you were dozing off even when you’re definitely drunk. It’s so unlike you to not be like, the one keeping the conversation going.”

I can’t stop thinking about my best friend. I’m worried about her, and senior year is ruining my life because I’m not sure I even want to do computer science and my roommate needs to be put in a sobriety program and I need to talk to my best friend right now but I’m ignoring her.

“Yeah, it’s just — work stuff, ya know? ‘S been crazy this year. You know.” 

Though his intentions aren’t to give her the wrong idea about this ordeal, he can’t help himself from turning his head to look at her. He laughs, and she doesn’t wince even when his (presumably) vodka-smelling breath hits her face. Nayoung’s giggle is quiet, and she lifts a hand to his head to push back his hair.

If Jungkook keens just a bit, nobody has to know.

“I don’t know, really. I mean, I don’t have a sick internship, so work’s not that bad for me.”

Jungkook’s pupils are blown out, and when Nayoung’s eyes meet his, he sobers up enough for him to realize just how close they are. With a portion of his brain suddenly not inebriated, he should realize what’s happening, he should pull away, but he also realizes that you haven’t crossed his head for a good couple of minutes, which is good enough of a sign for him to stay put.

“Your thing with ___ not work out?”

He’s confused at why you’re being brought up, but he shakes his head as best as he can manage; there’s no way she remembers you, and there’s no way she thought there was a ‘thing’ between you and him. That would be weird, but he can’t help but think of what she’d said — we’re in different places, clearly. 

Different places.

“There was… no thing.”

“So there’s nothing with her and you?”

“No, Nayoung-ie. Never was.”

Different places? Was there a thing? 

When she kisses him, he doesn’t stop her.

(And when she asks him to fuck her; delirious, eyes wide, skin dewy, he doesn’t stop himself.)

It’s messy, limbs tangled as he’s basically bent her over in half to plow his cock into her, more drunk off the pretty sounds she makes — familiarly, intimacy — than the copious amounts of drinks he’s had. She’s moaning his name out like a prayer, and he’s leaning over her like a god, and Jungkook’s stopped being religious, but he thinks it’s sin, the way she envelopes him and gives herself to him. The way he doesn’t have to ask, the way she’s meeting his hips halfway.

Exodus 20:14, Proverbs 6:32, Hebrews 13:4 — You shall not commit adultery, But a man who commits adultery has no sense; whoever does so destroys himself, Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.

He remembers these verses, and he remembers your pretty eyes, and you’re all he can think about when he looks down at Nayoung. Does that make him an adulterer? Does that make him a cheater, dirty, sinful? He fucks into her deeper, inevitably hits the spot — familiarity, intimacy — and drinks her moans in. He remembers the slope of your nose, and how you’d laughed together over dinner a day ago, how your eyes had looked under the streetlights. Nayoung tears up, tells him it feels so fucking good, and he thinks of the tears in your eyes. His hips stutter, and it makes her dig her blunt nails into the clothes expanse of his shoulders, but he welcomes the pain better than he welcomes the guilt of having let you walk away.

Exodus 20:14, Proverbs 6:32, Hebrews 13:4 — You shall not commit adultery, But a man who commits adultery has no sense; whoever does so destroys himself, Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.

He feels wretched, feels horribly for Nayoung and feels the vodka in his system crawl its way up his throat but he keeps it down. He’s close, she’s close, and if this was a bad decision, nobody has to know. 

Jungkook feels her lose herself over him, and he lets his mind drift to you one last time, biting his lip so he doesn’t groan out your name as his hips lose their rhythm. When he pulls out, one hand lazily pumping his cock, he tries to picture Nayoung, her tits bouncing pretty under her shirt, how she’s trying to regroup all because of him, how she laughed and how it felt when she touched his hair but all his brain can manage is you. 

Fuck, he feels wretched. Disgusting, like it’s incestual to think about you the way he is but he welcomes it, let’s you into his mind after fighting it for hours, and when he spills all over Nayoung’s stomach, there’s some sick gratification that coats him.

And that’s the thing about Jungkook. This was a horrible decision, down to every last detail. Fucking your ex-fuckbuddy in a random frat boy’s room after getting shitfaced because you haven’t drank that much in months, and ending up thinking about your best friend even if the goal was to not do that? Bad, bad decision.

But he takes it in stride. Thinks of this as a silver lining, a distraction from you as though you haven’t clouded his head like a stupid wet dream while he fucked somebody else. 

And that’s the thing about Jungkook. He refuses to admit that he’s messed up. 

/

Jungkook doesn’t take much time to recuperate from sex. He has incredible stamina coming from the insane workout regime he absolutely has to keep up with, and he can definitely go multiple times in one night, thank you very much, but he can’t bring himself to even think of agreeing to fuck Nayoung again.

He hopes she’s on the same page when he looks at her, the pacing of her breath slowing down as she sits up slowly. He reaches out, stroking her arm right above her elbow where the matching tattoo she got with him sits. Jungkook distracts himself from deciding on what to say as he recalls how they’d gotten it together, how he’d called you right after to show —

Fuck, he hadn’t even thought about you. Granted, you don’t fit into the situation very well, but he doesn’t doubt that you’ll be impartial to telling him off about what he’s just done. He thinks about what to tell you, and remembers the unread messages on his phone, and remembers what he should be doing, which is somehow getting the idea of ever doing this again out of Nayoung’s head.

“Well, you’re never gonna be bad at sex.”

He laughs sheepishly, shuffling to pull his boxers over his still exposed dick. He has no idea what the hell to say to that, and it seems like it’s about to lead to a monologue about how since he’s never ‘gonna be bad at sex’, that they should continue — or return — to be fuckbuddies. 

Fuck.

“But we aren’t doing that again.” 

Jungkook’s neck snaps up and he lets out a breath of relief he had no idea he was even holding. Nayoung looks incredibly beautiful, and he would lay everything at her feet out of gratitude because she’s just made this whole ordeal inexplicably easy for him. Her face is bright, like it always used to get after they fucked, and Jungkook feels a bout of familiarity catch in his throat, this time accompanied with a sick rush of guilt. 

“Uh, w-why do you say that?” His voice is gentle, coaxing the answer out of her, though he can predict what she’s about to say.

We’re in different places, clearly. 

“I mean, you were shitfaced just half an hour ago. This was like, a drunken rebound,” Jungkook laughs at that, quiet and low, reaching up to rub at his nape. He doesn’t feel as drunk now, but Nayoung’s next words definitely do the job of sobering him up. “You’re fun, but I want a relationship before I graduate and I honestly don’t think you even like me.”

His world pauses for a split second, and his heart breaks for her; because he made her feel unloved. 

Jungkook thinks of Nayoung. Sitting in front of him, face tinged a bit pink from the incredible sex (Exodus 20:14, Proverbs 6:32, Hebrews 13:4), hair cut short and hair long in a blowout (the one you sport all the time) (he thinks your hair is the prettiest shade of brown, and he remembers running his fingers through it). He thinks of Nayoung, matching tattoos and drives to Jersey and how she kissed him with so much fervency and how he tried so hard to match it. 

“Your thing with ___ not work out?”

He thinks of calling you after getting tattoos, thinks of how your laugh echoed through his phone in the empty street. He thinks of texting you (shit, he has to text you) for ideas of things to give Nayoung. He thinks of Nayoung opening those gifts and throwing her arms around his neck. He thinks of getting drunk with Nayoung and telling her about childhood memories with you — he thinks of the house you grew up in and the one next to it, where he grew up. 

He thinks of you telling him how hard school was, how young you were in high school. He thinks of you crying when your boyfriend died. He thinks of your overpriced white mochas and 2Bros Pizza and fucking AJ. He thinks of how you told him to date Nayoung about two years ago, he thinks about how you’ve always been under this multitude of pressure to excel, and he thinks about how he loves you, and how he loves (fuck) Nayoung.

“Of course I like you, Nana.”

Jungkook remembers how she’d lay down on his bicep after he fucked her one night, telling him about the silly nickname. He remembers thinking then, about how you never had a silly nickname because your parents were too focused on getting you into the top ranking kindergarten in all of the Upper East Side. He remembers laughing at Nayoung’s story, and then making a note to give you a stupid nickname.

And then, Jungkook realizes she’s right. 

He doesn’t like her, at least not enough to date her. He thinks of his best friend more than he thinks of her, and Nayoung probably already knows this, hence her little comment earlier.

“Your thing with ___ not work out?”

“But I think I like you too much to fuck you and let myself leave it at that. So you’re wrong about that. But I also think that I can’t give you that relationship. I’m busy, and I think I need to figure out like, my future job and stuff and fuck, I’m sorry if I led you on.”

The look Nayoung gives him reaches down into his stomach and tugs at his gut. She looks pitiful, like he’s the one who’s being hurt in this situation. He looks equally as confused as she does woeful.

“I don’t think your job is all you need to figure out, Jungkook.”

“Your thing with ___ not work out?”

Exodus 20:14, Proverbs 6:32, Hebrews 13:4

He doesn’t ask her what she means, and she doesn’t elaborate.

Jungkook watches her redress, and he chooses to do the same as the reality of being butt naked on a random frat boy’s bed nearly gives him whiplash.

He feels the weight of his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, and realizes how desperately he needs to talk to you, to let you talk to him. To let you tell him what went wrong yesterday. He thinks he won’t tell you what just went down with Nayoung.

Nayoung.

She’s beautiful in her clothes again, a little messy, but Jungkook feels the urge to never let anyone hurt her, including himself. It’s love, he knows immediately, when the dim lamp hits the apples of her cheeks and he can see the flutter in her eyelashes when she blinks. But it’s not romantic, and he’s a bit relieved when he realizes this. (It feels nothing like how he does when he looks at you). This love is platonic, not brotherly but friendly, like he’d pick her up from a club and remember her restaurant orders and be the one to haze any of her boyfriends.

And he tells her just this.

“I love you, Nana. You know that, yeah?”

She looks over at him, and it must click in her head what he's implying, because her eyes brighten just a little.

(If they’re glossing over because she’s about to cry, Jungkook will pretend he doesn’t notice.)

“I love you too, Jungkook. You know that, yeah?”

He nods, and he feels the taste of his love for her heavy on his tongue. This love is platonic, not brotherly but friendly, like he’d pick her up from a club and remember her restaurant orders and be the one to haze any of her boyfriends.

(He thinks he loves you platonically as well.)

(If the love he feels when he looks at you is entirely different than the love he feels when he looks at Nayoung, even though he cites them both as being platonic, nobody has to know.)

—

[from JayKayz] im sorry baby, i didn’t check my phone all day.

[from JayKayz] you know how thursdays are.

[from JayKayz] dont apologize. i don’t wanna talk over call, twll me when you’re free

—

It’s about a month after the small reconciliation that Jungkook tells you about how he’d fucked Nayoung.

The last couple of weeks have been incredible; works dwindled down over the past couple of weeks for the both of you, finals are in their last bow before summer, and after a brunch at one of Manhattan’s finest rooftop bars where the two of you had drank a shit ton of margaritas, the guilt of potentially offending Jungkook no longer eats you alive.

It reminds Jungkook of, funnily enough, his freshman year of college  — going out as he came in — when the grief of losing your boyfriend wasn’t eating you alive any longer. The two of you had done every cheesy New York tourist thing; ice skating at Bryant Park down to lunch on top of the Empire State Building, and you’d laughed, learned to ballroom dance from YouTube videos only to botch it horribly in the streets; it was the first time Jungkook felt that rush down his throat, and he’s begun to feel it again recently.

It’s like the montage of a romantic comedy where the main characters get to really know each other: a part you savor, and a part Jungkook tends to skip so he can get to whatever conflict awaits. The two of you have done everything together, continued to get weekly pizzas at 2Bros, where you’ve openly made fun of him for his order choice, gotten white mochas at the small business you love too much (he thinks it’s not that great but spends $18 anyways), rewatched the first 5 seasons of Friends (he’s realized you can literally quote it), gone to every Yankees game you could get tickets to (you make him explain all the plays even if he’s done it a million times), spent too much time and too much money at the Statue of Liberty, gotten pictures together at random photo booths in the street, slept under the stars, slept tangled in each other’s arms, drunkenly made out once only to never talk about it —

It’s going better than it ever has, and Jungkook can count on one hand the memories he has that beat out any of the ones that he’s spent with you.

However, as a callback to the Glen Powell rom-com plot curve, there has to be a conflict. So when Jungkook tells you about that drunken memory that still is very much in his mind, you really think you should’ve seen it coming.

It happens over lunch, another sick foreshadow you should’ve seen barreling towards you, and it hits you in a way you can’t exactly explain. He doesn’t take it as seriously; doesn’t think you’d care because it’s not like any of this is inherently romantic. It’s not like he cheated on you; the two of you were just best friends who hadn’t even seen each other in a while when it happened. 

(If the Bible verses are at the tip of his tongue when Jungkook thinks of it, he leaves that part out of the recollection.)

He laughs when he tells you, and you savor the sweet sound, the one that’s low and tugs at your heart in an inexplicable manner. 

It starts off as a conversation about how he cannot drink vodka anymore, and you immediately wish you hadn’t asked when he speaks: “You know that time, when you got really pissed at me for saying that AJ shit to you?”

The memory sends something queasy down your stomach. It shoots down your legs for a split second before you remember his words from a month back.

You don’t have to explain yourself, I get it.

It must’ve been a hard day, huh? That fucker got you a shaken espresso, Jesus. 

Yeah I know he had no idea, but still. I do. And it makes me feel so shitty for you.

You don’t have to explain yourself.

“I’d say pissed is an overstatement.”

“Overstatement for you, you have the best attorneys in the country teaching you on random Tuesday. For me,” his hands reach to rest dramatically over his heart, and you laugh unironically, making a note to yourself to only order mocktails from this moment forward. “It was like getting bitchslapped.”

That genuinely makes you laugh.

“But whatever, the next day, I went to a party and got shitfaced to deal with the pain.”

That reminds you of how you’d dealt with snapping at him the day after — how you had hyperventilated in your room when he didn’t reply, how you had to skip a class because your heart wouldn’t stop beating at the prospect of losing him.

You don’t have to explain yourself.

“And I fucked Nayoung. So no more vodka for me.”

“Lim Nayoung?”

You don’t know why you ask, obviously it’s her.

Obviously it’s Lim Nayoung. The girl who has a matching tattoo with Jungkook on her arm. The girl who has gifts you told him to get for her decorating her shelves. The sweet girl who never stopped Jungkook from speaking to you even if the ‘girl best friend archetype made perfect sense. The girl who has a jacket from when Jungkook and her had almost had a Ross/Rachel wedding after getting drunk in Jersey. His ex-fuckbuddy, hell, his ex-girlfriend because who does all of that with someone who’s supposed to be strictly physical.

Obviously it’s Lim Nayoung.

Obviously you shouldn’t be this fucking surprised.

Obviously your heart shouldn’t sink to the tresses of your stomahc.

Obviously this wasn’t meant to be romantic.

“Yeah, her. It was fucking crazy, I don’t think I’ve ever drank that much.”

His voice is fuzzy in your ears, and you can’t look him in the eyes properly. You take a sip of the drink that’s next to you, willing yourself to suddenly get wasted so you never remember this moment.

Why does it make a sharp pain go through your left side? Why do you have to clench your palms into a fist to subside said pain. Why did you think this was going somewhere, why did you think Jungkook wasn’t still hung up on her.

You think of AJ, and how he doesn’t even know about your ex-boyfriend. You think of your ex-boyfriend, and shaken espressos, and wakes, and how Jungkook’s the only person who’s been through all of that with you.

You think of how you graduate in less than a month, and you think of how Jungkook will have attended six of your graduations by that point. You think of Nayoung, how pretty she is, and how much you think she deserves him.

You wonder why you think you would ever deserve him, and you wonder why you thought it would end in anything but an eternal friendship; beautiful, intimate, but forever bound by the jagged cuffs of platonicity. You wonder if he, even for a fleeting moment — when you were tangled in his sheets, when you laughed at his stupid king-kong jokes at the Empire State Building, when you reached for his hand during the climaxes of horror movies, when your lips were fervent on his in that back alley — thought that this would go anywhere.

“Maybe we need to get you in that sobriety program, huh?”

If your voice cracks, you pray he doesn’t notice. You pray the laugh you get out of him is genuine, and you pray that he didn’t look at Nayoung so warmly, only to feel just as guilty as you had a month prior.

/

AJ has no idea why you’re at his apartment, nor does he have any idea as to why you’re drunk. It’s way too early in the day for you to be wasted; in fact, he distinctly remembers you telling him that you and Jungkook were going out, which is why you couldn’t make it to the lunch he had proposed. 

Were you getting drunk at noon? He knows you like margaritas, but he also knows that you have an insane tolerance; how many did you drink to get you this —

“H- he doesn’t love me.”

You interrupt the tangent of his thoughts with a hiccuped, slurred out sentence, and his entire face contorts trying to decipher what you’re saying, and then why you’re saying it.

“Hey, hey — wait, come in, what are you saying? Who doesn’t love you?”

Your skin is warm under his touch as he gently tugs at your arm to pull you past the threshold of his door, and he tries not to look too hard at the way your lips glisten under the dim light of his entranceway. He tries not to notice the way your hair is a little messy, undoubtedly from the wind, and how pretty your collarbones look under the small top you’re wearing —

Jungkook.

You’re talking about Jungkook, and he knows this not because there’s literally nobody else you could be talking about, but because there’s nobody who could get you this upset by ‘not loving you’.

(Do you love him?) 

He sits you down on one of the barstools he keeps in front his kitchen countertop, and you slump your head down onto your arms, mumbling incoherently. 

(Do you love him?)

He pours out a glass of water for you, and pats your head gently, touch lingering for a second to give you even the slightest inkling of comfort in this outwardly distressed state.

You lift your head, eyes red-rimmed and glossy with tears. 

AJ doesn’t feel like this often. He jokes about how the two of you grew up, devoid of the privilege of showing normal emotions, bottling them up and spilling them over textbook pages and only ever being allowed to feel happy upon seeing numbers scribbled in red at the top of test pages. He jokes about the two of you ending up in Ivy Leagues at the cost of having normal human feelings; he knows that he’s perceptive and sharp and he likes to think that he has you all figured out, but when you look at him like that, he knows that he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know why you told him to never make you a shaken espresso again, he doesn’t know what relationship you and Jungkook even have, he doesn’t know why you’re this upset over him not loving you.

He does, however, know that even if Jungkook doesn’t love you, he might. 

AJ met you in your first year of law school, and he remembers thinking that you were the only person in the whole class who was fit to be his rival; you’d been only person other than him who’d gotten through the cold calls, the only person who’d read all the way to the end of the syllabus, the one person he would accept as a ‘rival’, like he was in a Viola Davis drama, if you may.

He’d spoken to you after class — a little cocky, a little smug — and you’d been nothing but sweet. Soft voice, pretty smile, quips that had him looking away to stop himself from laughing, he liked you immediately.

The two of you had really done everything together — studied at ungodly hours, called each other drunk to drive the other home, you had inside jokes and three years worth of memories, you’d helped him through breakups and he’d gotten you free coffee every week for a year now — the rapport he had with you was one he’d never ever expected, and the way he looked at you, felt about you, was something he’d never ever expected. 

He had his girlfriends, and he told you about them while you’d answer with a curt joke about never having dated anybody, but he’d never ever looked at them like he looked at you. Never noticed the furrow in their brows when they read something hard to understand, never noticed their lopsided smiles and the way they’d drink, but never enough to really get them wasted. And the thing is, AJ hadn’t cared that he saw all of these things, because perceptive as he was, all you’d ever been to him was a brilliant girl who he’d be sure to keep up with after law school.

Right now, though? He knows. He knows why he noticed, he knows why it bothers him that you might love Jungkook back, he knows that you graduate soon and that he doesn’t have much time, and even if he did, it wouldn’t matter because you might love Jungkook back —

“AJ, Jungkook doesn't love me.”

“Yikes.”

He wants to say more. Wants to tell you that it doesn’t matter what Jungkook thinks, because I love you, and I think you’re incredible and I’ve spent the past 3 years ignoring it but I’ve never ever ignored you and I love you.

“He fucked Nayoung.”

AJ has no idea who that is, but he wants to sock Jungkook in the face for having this girl, this amazing girl with him for his entire life and fucking somebody else.

“I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry he did that, and I’m sorry you don’t know that I would never do that.

“He —“ you pause to sob: a soft, strangled noise that makes AJ’s stomach turn. “He doesn’t love me.”

“Do you love him?”

Say no. Say no. Say no. Say no. Say no.

“Fuck, AJ. He doesn’t —“ you don’t again, shoving your head back into your arms. 

“Do you love him, though?”

AJ’s not sure why he’s asking, because he knows that there’s no way you’d be upset if he didn’t love you back. He thinks of it like a prosecution case; he’s gotten enough out of you on the stand that everybody can draw the conclusion but he has to get it out of you. 

A surefire kill.

“Hm?”

Your eyes are bleary when you look up, half from crying and half from being the drunkest you’ve ever been. Your hair is still messy, and your lips are bitten red from all the quiet crying you’ve been doing. He can’t cry in his kitchen, not when you’ve been here laughing, not when his granite countertops hold years of your touch, not when you’re unraveling a foot away from him.

“I think I do, AJ. I really think I do.”

“Fuck, baby. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry that I thought I could have you, when Jungkook’s always been the one you wanted.

“He used to be like, the one person —“ pause to hiccup. “I never thought I’d love like that. But we got closer after the fucking, shaken espresso day last month. And I guess the proximity j-just set it in.”

He can’t tell if the reason your words are so mangled in his ears is because the sound of his own heart crashing into his stomach is so loud, or because you’re slurring your words that much.

“Drink some water, please.”

Say you’re lying, please.

—

Jungkook doesn’t exactly know why you ordered another 3 margaritas in the middle of your lunch detour, and he doesn’t know why you stopped looking him directly in the eyes right after he told you that he’d had sex with Nayoung. He doesn’t know why you insisted on drinking when you never get to a point where being wasted is even an option, and he doesn’t know why you so fervently denied him walking you home.

He doesn’t know why he stays awake at night thinking of you, either. 

Jungkook is surprisingly introspective for somebody who zones in and out of conversation so much, who is typically dazed and doesn’t have much to offer when it comes to picking up obvious hints thrown at him, but he knows himself quite well.

Better than you, he’d argue.

The sheets are warm around his waist, and he has one arm propped under his head as he stares at the ceiling, eyes wide without even a hint of sleep in the tresses of them, which is unusual for it being the middle of the night. He remembers how a month prior, all you’d ever been was his best friend. He remembers the little fall-out and how you’d gotten together for dinner, how pretty you’d looked and wonders why he’d focused on that when he simply never had done that before. 

He remembers the day after, and how he’d taken another girl to bed. Jungkook remembers faint Bible verses about adultery, how he couldn’t get you out of his head, and he remembers what Nayoung had told him that night, as long as what she’d told him when they broke it off.

“I don’t think your job is all you need to figure out, Jungkook.”

“Your thing with ___ not work out?”

“We’re in different places, clearly.”

He never thought about what she meant when they’d split; the pain of losing someone who’s memory he had literally etched into his skin was too imminent for him to even think about the ending scene. He also never thought about what she meant when she’d walked out of the fraternity room that day; he’d made up with you right after, and the following month was you, you, and more you. Focusing on Nayoung’s words and the small sliver of conversation they’d engaged in hadn’t even been an afterthought, at least until he’s brought her up today and you, like similar poles of a magnet, quite literally repelled him. 

But really, what was she even talking about? 

Why would there be a thing with you? Sure, the two of you were close, and sure, he’d probably talked about you and called you and FaceTimed you too much for her security, but he’d always thought the concept of him having a ‘girl best friend’ was what annoyed her, and not the notion that the two of you would have a ‘thing’. 

Why would there be a thing with you? Sure, he idolized you and told her how smart he thought you were, but him and Nayoung were never official, and he’d only ever assumed that she was confused as to why he was always talking about some other girl after literally sleeping with her -

Oh.

Oh.

It hits him like a shot to the heart, and he physically sits up to grab his phone because he has to confirm this sudden realization.

The look Mingyu had given him at the party shoots to the forefront of his brain, Nayoung’s words echo, and the way your resolve has crumbled when he told you about her suddenly makes a lot more sense.

In fact, it all makes sense.

I don’t think your job is all that you need to figure out. 

She was talking about you. About how he was hung up on you and never even realized it —

We’re clearly in different places.

She was talking about you. About how she was willing to be invested with him, but the place he was stuck at, was you. 

The ringing of his phone as he calls Nayoung seems louder than it usually is. It’s daunting, like he’s hoping she doesn’t pick up with each ring so he doesn’t have to face the reality he’s been unknowingly ignoring for… fuck, he doesn’t even know how long.

“Jungkook? It’s 2 in the morning. Are you okay?”

“Why did we break up, Nayoung?”

His voice is hoarse, and if he wasn’t so fucking stressed, he thinks about how proud you’d be for putting on the ‘interrogation voice’ you’d introduced him to in your second year of Law School.

“What?” Her laugh is quiet, laced with sleep, and Jungkook wonders if she should hang up and say sorry for waking her. “We weren’t really together, so I wouldn’t call it a break up —“

Her pause is long, and Jungkook doesn’t correct her, doesn’t bring up the tattoos and leather jackets and how they’d nearly eloped and the fact that they just had sex a month prior. She’s right, and he needs her to continue now.

“But I always assumed that you had something going on with __”

“You mean the time I called her after we got matching tattoos?” He can’t fight the urge to make the joke, even though it just dawned on him that you were, indeed, the straw on the camel’s back that broke him and Nayoung up. It just dawned on him that he might be in love with his best friend, and that he’d hurt Nayoung because of it, and that you might love him back.

Maybe.

He ignores that, and laughs wryly at the silly anecdote, thanking every religious figure he can think of when she also laughs.

“Yeah, that, but also just… your relationship. The way you obsessively talked about her and were literally always on call with her was one thing, but…” she pauses like she’s thinking about what to say next, how to describe the end of it all to him in a way that won’t flip his entire world around, not knowing that she’d already done that. Not knowing that you’d already done that.

“She came over once to pick us up when we got drunk. It was the same night I was talking about at the party, when we told Joon the closest thing to us was the moon? Yeah, ___ came and got us that night.”

“I knew right then, honestly. The way you looked at her was fucking insane. When you used to look at me, my friends would say that it was like I’d done every good thing in the world for you. But when you looked at her, it was like she’d saved you from every bad thing that could’ve ever happened to you. It was like, relief. Like you could let it all down in front of her. And I’d never been on the receiving end of that look; not ever when you were sober. Being like that and looking at her like that completely shitfaced? I knew I couldn’t stand in the way of the two of you, even if it literally killed me.”

He doesn’t process it immediately, choosing to focus on the last sentence, because feelings for you aside, he felt like the most massive douchebag in the world for making her feel that way.

“Nayoung, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I honestly — I had no idea, I really didn’t —“

“Jungkook, I know. And I know you’re probably trying not to drive yourself insane thinking of whether she loves you back.”

He definitely is, but he doesn’t tell her this in fear that it’ll just hurt her more.

“No it’s not like that, I’m just, so incredibly sorry that I put you through that, you deserve so much more, you deserve the relationship you want and I feel like shit —“

“What do you mean it’s not like that, Jungkook? You’re not thinking about whether she likes you back?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t think she loves you back?”

Do you love him back? Do you look at him like he’s saved you from every bad thing that could’ve ever happened to you? Do you? Will you ever?”

“I don’t… know?”

“When you called her that night, you tripped over your own feet. She knew exactly where we were based off of that.”

Summer of 2006.

The field he’d gotten wasted with Nayoung, except he only remembers you.

Remembers how you’d just gotten promoted up to the fourth grade, remembers how you were licking down the side of your ice cream cone; vanilla with sprinkles, as always. He had his mint chocolate chip, and your mothers were on a bench a couple of feet away from you.

The sun had made your hair look golden, your eyes were bright, and your smile was so pretty that he couldn’t hold your gaze for longer than three seconds. He remembers this, because he’d physically tripped over his own feet when you looked at him just a couple of seconds too long.

The small ‘oof’ that he’d let out when he’d fallen, damp grass and soil under his tender palms, knees tickled by the summer green just seconds later, the way you’d gasped and abandoned your ice cream cone on the ground to come tend to him, and your mothers rushing over too, laughing at how much you cared for him.

He’d always, always tripped over his own feet at that spot, always fallen with that little ‘oof’ and soon realized that it wasn’t really because he couldn’t make eye contact with you, but because there was a little hump in the ground at the spot he’d been standing at.

And you remembered. 

You remembered even if the first time it happened was more than a decade and a half ago, you remembered even if you had grown out of visiting that field when you went to college.

“She remembered.”

“Yeah, Jungkook. Obviously she remembered. Because she loves you back, and it’s honestly making me more upset that the two of you haven’t worked it out yet.”

“Fuck, Nayoung. Fuck. Thank you. Thank you — I have to think about — fuck, I’m sorry it’s so fucking late and I’ve just called you and went on this weird self discovery path —“

Her laugh is bright when she cuts him off, and Jungkook feels part of his heart ease when he realizes that she’s not angry with him.

“Go to bed, talk to her tomorrow. I love you, Jungkook. And you love her and she loves you in a completely different way, but I love you. And don’t say sorry, I was up anyways.”

She hangs up after, not giving Jungkook space to even say goodbye, and simultaneously giving him a million different things to think about, but only one that he can really focus on: how he’s in love with you.

And how, apparently, you’re in love with him as well.

—

The beauty of New York City is the anonymity it provides, even amongst 8 million other people. Street bustle, skyscrapers kiss the clouds, floods of people drown you in the street, and even through all of that, you have the privilege of being alone. Solitude; a lighter flickering in a Brooklyn balcony, and the drip of water down in Harlem.

Tonight, you and Jungkook have the privilege of being alone, just 20 minutes away from each other, staring at the same film photograph of the both of you from the photobooth you’d stopped at a couple of weeks prior.

The grainy picture features four shots; your hair is damp, and Jungkook can still feel how it felt on his neck, your lips are a dark maroon, and Jungkook can still feel them hovering right above his. Jungkook’s in his leather jacket, and you feel the goosebumps on your arms from when the fabric brushed against your skin. His hair’s also wet from the rain, but the gel he still uses had kept it together surprisingly well; you remember the way you’d made fun of him for his incessant usage of the product.

The picture on the top right is a glamour shot, if anything. You’re smiling, and when he looks down at it, his chest blooms with a warmth akin to spring’s first bloom. He has a softer look; sporting the lopsided grin you’re so used to seeing, and it makes your stomach coil enough to make you physically look away and laugh. 

Top left is a lot less serious, you remember he’d made a joke about the two of you being mafioso heirs, and it hadn’t even been that funny, but the picture features bright, childish, innocent grins. Your eyes are shut, smile spreading all the way across your face as you lean forward. His head is thrown back, lip piercing caught between his bottom lip when he laughs. The both of you hear each other’s laughter, echoing in the photobooth and across the empty, rain stricken streets of New York.

You think of how much you miss this, about how this day had inevitably been when you fell face first, defenseless with your guard all the way down. You think of the bottom left picture, not having the courage to look at it fully; you remember how you’d leaned into his body, and how he’d let you do it, how your lips had been just millimeters from touching when the flash had caught you off guard and you’d looked up straight into his eyes like something out of a Glen Powell rom-com.

Jungkook thinks of how much he misses this, about how this day had been one of the ‘moments he knew’, a collection that grows the more he thinks about how irrevocably in love with you he is. He thinks about the bottom right picture, how he’s looking at you and you’re fixing your hair, how he got the picture developed and still didn’t see the stars in his eyes, still didn’t realize that you were always the one. 

The four photos are pressed to your heart. You haven’t had it in you to fall asleep, there’s still a full ache in your head from the alcohol and you make a note to thank AJ for getting you home safe today. A tinge of embarrassment shoots down your body when you think about the conversation you had with him today, the conclusion you’d reached, what you’d learned about Jungkook and Nayoung, what you’d learned about yourself; that you loved him, and he didn’t love you back, and how it made you want to die the more you thought of the month the two of you had.

The four photos are pressed to his heart. He wonders if they’ll soothe the ache or not knowing whether you love him, too. The phone he’s just put down should provide him with silence; fuck , he craves silence, but Nayoung’s words just echo in his head. Talk to her tomorrow, but he has no idea if you feel even remotely the same. He has no idea if he’s completely off base, he has no idea if he’s gotten the wrong ideas based off of the last month, and the guilt of potentially having taken your platonicity and genuine friendship as a lead eats him alive.

[But it can’t all be platonic, you think.]

[But it can’t all be platonic, he thinks. ]

No, you think. Because the alcohol might’ve made it easier, but you remember the way he tasted on your lips a little too well. The way his hands traveled down your shirt, sodden and soaked in the rain, caressing the curve of your waist. The way your own fingers had explored the figure of his shoulders, pressing into the hard plains of muscle as he moved his lips against yours too languidly to be a drunken detour.

No, he thinks. Because the drowsy haze of Sunday might’ve made it easier, but he remembers the way your leg was thrown over his thighs, the soft cotton of his own shirt hardly covering any of your legs, the rasp in your voice when you’d mumbled out his name, looking over you as he cooked. The way you’d laughed at his stupid dad jokes, and the way Mingyu had slapped his back after you’d gone, talking about the ‘way she looked at you’ — there’s no way it was just platonic.

There was nothing platonic about the way he’d held you in line at Liberty, the way he’d looked at you when you went up the fire escape when Mingyu had another girl over, the way you’d spoken, hushed into his skin the night you fell asleep at his place. Maybe falling in love, for the two of you, was like having your eyes closed while standing on the shore; maybe it was a wave that came crashing, rushing up your legs and soaking the two of you entirely before you even realized it. Maybe all the two of you had been doing, was enjoying the crashing of water ahead of you, ignorant to the receding waves and how dangerously close you were to being caught up in the mess your ignorance would inevitably bring.

And there you are —

Present day New York City, staring up at empty ceilings with full hearts, itching to reach for your phones with nothing but apprehension holding you back; what if he doesn’t love me, what if she doesn’t love me, what if I’m off-base, what if everything changes, 23 years down the drain, I have to tell her, I have to tell him. Alone, anonymous, lovers amidst millions others, feeling so much that you taste it on your tongues, feeling so much that you want to rip your beating hearts out; alone, anonymous, in love, in pain.

And there you are —

Begging the other not to go, because you’re so bad at being alone, but not being able to tell them why. 

—

Cravath asks you to work in their London office after you graduate. It’s one of the perks of

consistently being at the top of your class, one of the perks of having an internship at the best law firm in all of New York, and it’s an opportunity you can’t say no to.

You figure it’ll help you get over this Jungkook fiasco, considering the fact that it’s basically a dead-end for you; you wonder if Watchell Lipton can refer AJ to a firm in London so you won’t completely be alone in a new city, you start to think about how wonderful it’d be to get some time away, to get space away from where you’d suffered such a big loss just a couple of years back — away from where you’d been pushed beyond every limit of yours since the first grade.

There’s nothing loss has taught you other than to put up walls, to close people off and to shut them out at any waking moment that you even come close to vulnerability. It’s not healthy, nor is it a quality you’re proud of; your stricken body’s last attempt at cushioning any further blows, any further losses from even those you claim to be the closest to you. It’s the reason you never told your parents about the intense stress their expectations put onto you, it’s why AJ doesn’t know about your ex but you know about all of his, and it’s the reason you’ve been ignoring Jungkook for a week now.

The realization that you were, in fact, madly in love with him had might as well carved through your skin to make its way into your system judging by the pain you’ve gone through since it’s hit you. You’re a rational adult, and loving someone is human nature, but loving your best friend and knowing that he doesn’t love you back should be something God implements in hell as punishment. You haven’t been able to look at the photo booth picture, have turned every photograph that reminds you of him around to avoid seeing it, have turned to sticking your head in your ridiculously heavy textbooks so you have a way to save face should Jungkook ever text you, and you’re sure that this game of shutting him out is going to be successful when you accept the job in London.

But you don’t. 

For some reason, the drafted email accepting the position sits on your laptop, in a minimized tab that you open and contemplate hitting ‘send’ for hours on end, but never do. There’s a sliver of yearning — stupid, human yearning — that you wish you could just turn off, that tells you there’s a chance Jungkook might love you back. That tells you this situation will end with him running to you in the rain and kissing you under the stars, a grandiose recreation of the kiss you’d had almost a month ago now; the little voice in your head is your biggest vice, and you stare at the email over and over everyday, telling it to just shut up, telling you to get over yourself because he’s always loved Nayoung and you will never be her — never be that pretty, that put together, that kind or compassionate — and you tell yourself to just send the email.

Send it, burn this love you have with the littlest flicker of emotion you have left in your heart, move to London and start over. Reinvent yourself and learn to love properly, learn to love things that will love you back, learn to feel properly and not be so stringent on goals, learn to be human because it seems like you’d forgotten how to, until the realization that you love Jungkook barreled towards you like an avalanche of everything you never wanted to be.

Send it, and tell Jungkook. Take his little display of sadness and walk out of his life with the bitter taste of a confession that’ll never leave your lips still heavy on your tongue. Watch him in pictures like he’d watched you sleep, watch him fall in love with Nayoung eventually and move out because Computer Science has a killer starting salary, watch him pursue something he wants to do —

(“I think I really wanna do art. Sing, paint, do something that doesn’t involve binary code.”

“I think you should go for it. Stick it out till graduation and work for like a month because your starting salary is totally gonna support you even if you fail, and take the leap. Kierkegaard.”

“No idea what the fuck a ‘kira gard’ is.”

“Shut up.”

“You think I’ll be able to do it?”

“I think you’re the most talented person I know. If anyone can be an artist, it’s you.”)

If you love someone, let them go. And you want to do it so badly, a part of you craves the final sweet release of pain that New York City will give you before you escape it, but there’s another part that’s screaming in agony because you cannot do this to yourself, like your body fears that giving up someone you love so much that it physically hurts you to think about will be the final straw, that you’ll drop dead at JFK airport if Jungkook doesn’t tell you that he loves you, too.

If you love someone, let them go. Let them go, let them go. If you love yourself, let yourself go. Leave, and enjoy London and free yourself from a city that’s so beautiful that all you’ve done is loved it and the loneliness it’s handed you on a platter. If you love New York, let it go. If you let Jungkook, let him go.

/

You’re staring at the email again, and you can’t tell if you’re tearing up because of how long you haven’t been blinking, or if it’s because you know that when you finally click the send button, it’ll all be over.

You’ll be putting the fear of shaken espressos behind you, you’ll be putting Jungkook, New York, your parents, your entire life behind you; you’ll graduate in two weeks after finals, and you’ll grab nothing but your passport to go to London. It’ll be over, which is a thought that’s as daunting as it is relieving, but not because of your ex, not because of New York, or your parents —

It’s hard solely because you don’t want to put Jeon Jungkook behind you. The first person you’d ever talked to about how burnt out you were, the first person to sleep under the same sheets with you, the only person to eat a meat lovers pizza at 2Bros, the only person you let your guard down with, the only person who’d ever seen you cry, the only person you’d ever been in love with. The photographs you’ve turned around, the permanent imprint of his lips on yours, the way his hand found purchase on the small of your back, his heartbreaks and your biggest loss, the strum of his guitar back in middle school when you’d blushed under his gaze for the first time, the way he rubs at his nape when he’s embarrassed, his smile, the way he trusts you with his life — you’d sooner die than call it quits on those memories, but it’s even harder to imagine living with them, knowing that he’s never going to feel the same way about it.

Your heart is heavier than it's ever been, even if you’ve been carrying the weight of your own world for the past 17 years at least, without putting it down even for a second. You’re sure you’re crying, if the way the words on your screen blur is any indication. Your left side aches the same way it had a month ago when he told you about Nayoung, and you wonder if that pain will ever go away if you leave.

Your fingers tremble when they clasp the mouse, and you decide that the pain is something you’ll have to live with. It’s the melancholy it’ll leave in your eyes that’ll make strangers fall in love for you and never quite forget; it’s the edge of having to walk away from something, from the only thing, you’ve ever loved, that’ll make you a strong lawyer. Unattached, a bit desolate, and incredibly strong, but only when working. It’ll be this mistake that’ll prevent you from making others, it’ll be this mistake that’ll make you fall harder for whoever will come next; that’ll teach you to cherish those who love you back.

(You fall back onto your bed and break down.)

(You send the email minutes after you’re done crying.)

(You figure you’ll tell Jungkook the day after. That you’ll apologize. For everything.)

(You figure Jungkook’s going to cut you off for not telling him before sending the email.)

(You figure it’s for the best.)

—

Jungkook feels like his heart is being torn from his chest, inch by inch so he feels the surface of his skin ripping, so he feels the blood dripping down his chest and soaking his shirt, so he can feel the poison in his veins, can feel the thump of the organ when it’s pulled out of his body.

You’re leaving.

“You’re leaving?”

You’re leaving.

He loves you, and you’re leaving in two weeks and he’s trying so hard to not look like he’s in unfathomable, unspeakable, unrelentless pain that leaves him wanting to get on the floor of his apartment and claw at his chest so he can scrape some of the ache away.

He clenches his fingers into fists and refuses to look at you.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook, I thought I’d tell you but finals had me busy —“

You’re fucking lying to him, too. You’re leaving, and he loves you and you’re lying. You weren’t busy with finals, you were ignoring him for whatever godforsaken reason, you were cooped up in your apartment overthinking and fixating on whatever he’d told when the two of you had brunch, and you were doing it on purpose.

Fucking finals.

Your go-to excuse for shutting people out and putting up walls that nobody will ever be allowed to break down. He thought he’d be the first to, he thought he’d already broken them, plowed through the cement when he’d kissed you in a back alley, when he’d held you in his arms after the wake, when he’d bought you your coffee and gotten the order correct, when he had you in his bed. He thought he’d broken them, but he’d been wrong; he hadn’t done shit to stop you from holding yourself away from the world, he hadn’t done shit to help you face vulnerability instead of ignoring it in favor of not facing anyone at all, he hadn’t done shit to get you out of your stupid fucking law school shell, and he was in love with you despite this one tiny flaw, and he knew everything about you, so he knew you were lying.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You’re fucking lying to me.”

Your scoff is incredulous and it makes Jungkook want to pull his hair out and drag his blunt fingernails down his face until he’s bleeding out to show you; I care, stop pushing me away, why are you leaving, you don’t know I’m in love with you, why, why, why, why —

“I’m not lying, you know I have finals — you have my planner!”

“No. No, you’re not fucking doing this again. In sophomore year, you were upset because of something your dad said and locked yourself in your room for three days straight. You said you had finals back then. After your fucking boyfriend died, you locked yourself in your room and said you had finals. Whenever you’ve been scared, or humiliated, or had any semblance of fucking human emotions, you’ve said you have —“

“Jungkook, you have no fucking right to bring that up now, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

“What’s wrong with me is you! You decide you’re leaving the only place you’ve ever lived in within the week I last saw you and didn’t even think to discuss it with me? Even after the month we’ve had — even after the life we’ve had?”

You stare at him, and he can see the redness in your eyes like he had seen before you broke down at the wake.

He wants to get down on his knees and put his forehead to your feet and apologize, hold you and never let you go.

You’re leaving. 

“It’s my life, not yours.”

“It’s my life, too. You know this.”

“No. I don’t fucking know this, because I’ve worked my ass off for the past 17 years to get to law school and graduate and work at the best fucking law firm in the country. It’s not your fucking life —“

“You’ve killed yourself for all this—”

You stand up from his couch, and turn away so he doesn’t see your tears fall.

“You’ve fucking killed yourself. You worked like a dog since middle school to get into that pretentious private school, and you worked even harder to get to Columbia. You never had a fucking dream, you never had a childhood because you killed yourself to get to this point. You never had time to have a fucking ‘life’ or whatever you call it because all you’ve ever done is work for some stupid fucking goal.”

You sob once, twice, and Jungkook has to put a hand to his heart so he doesn’t die on the spot.

“And you can’t tell me that I don’t know this because I’m the only one who knows this! I’m the only person you’ve ever told about this and it fucking hurts because I love you, and it fucking hurts because you’re leaving me —“

“Because my best friend is leaving me,” he backtracks. 

Best friend. Because you don’t know, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to have the heart to tell you.

“And it hurts because my best friend is leaving me and she didn’t even think to mention this before.”

“You didn’t think to mention Nayoung even once in this aforementioned ‘month’ we had,” the quotes you make with your fingers do nothing but show him how much you’re shaking. He wants to grab your hands and tell you that it’s okay; that you don’t need to cry and that he has you. 

That he’ll always have you.

(But he won’t, because you’re leaving.) 

You’re leaving, and you’re talking about Nayoung for some reason.

“Yeah, because we had sex one fucking time! I don’t even like her, why the fuck would I bring her up — and why are you bringing her up like fucking a girl is anywhere similar to moving halfway across the world.”

You sob once, twice, and when you turn around to face him, he feels like he’s holding his dead heart in his cold hands and watching it try to come to life.

“I’m bringing it up because you love her, and you didn’t even bother to tell me.”

“I don’t fucking love her.”

I love you. I love you, why do you think I love her —

Why do you think he loves Nayoung, and why does your face fall when you say it, and why did you start to ignore him the day he told you that he’d had sex with her?

“You do. She’s the one that got away, and she’ll be here so it doesn’t fucking matter —“

“Stop saying that it doesn’t matter. Stop saying that you don’t matter.”

“Because I don’t, Jungkook,” a sob breaks your sentence and it feels like his world has just come crashing down when he realizes how you feel about yourself. “I’ve lived here for 23 years and nobody knows shit about me and you’re right, it’s because I shut myself away, but nobody bothers anyways and I’ve worked so hard to get here so I’m gonna take the chance to leave, so I don’t have to not matter anymore, so I can like… change.”

“You don’t have to change, ___”

Your name on his lips is a prayer, a silent hope to the god he only remembered when he was fucking somebody, a plea and the final chance he gets to have you.

“Don’t change, __”

Don’t let her leave me, God. Don’t let her change, don’t let her go.

“How can you ask that of me?”

He hears his mothers laugh from when he told her he wanted to be a ninja. He decides that he doesn’t want to be a ninja, or a computer science major, or an artist.  He decides that he wants you to know how madly in love with you he is.

“Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

“No — fuck, I’m in love with you.”

Your stare is dumbfounded, like he’s just told you that he’s a vampire hybrid or something else completely unorthodox. He would laugh at the look typically, but he feels empty, like the compression that had been a steady pressure on his chest for the past few days had lifted, only to be replaced with a pain unlike any other, because what if this messes it up more?

What if you would originally go to London and keep tabs with him and be in his life, and what if he’s told you this and turned you off the idea of ever even looking in his direction again.

What if you don’t love him back?

“You’re in love with me.”

He nods, silently swallowing as he tries to whisper a prayer to whatever god is listening that whatever you say won’t end in you leaving for good.

“You’re in love with me?”

“I am. I have been. I am. I’m in love with you, I’ve been in love with you, and I don’t even remember how long it’s been since it first happened.”

“Jungkook —“

You chuckle, and it should break his heart because it seems like you’re on the road to mocking him, but he feels his heart rejuvenate in his arms when he hears the sound of your laugh. It sounds like a metaphor he’s been trying to write down for ages. It sounds familiar, it sounds intimate, and his name rolling off your tongue is a balm he presses over the open wound of his chest to soothe it.

“Jungkook — you’re in love with me, and not Nayoung?”

He can’t speak, isn’t used to the lightness in his chest.

He shakes his head, and he swears he sees the world light up behind your eyes. He swears you’re the prettiest girl in the entire world, even when tears track down your face and even when you’re red-eyed and have a snotty nose from crying.

(Especially then.)

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, I’m in love with you too. I am. I have been. I’m in love with you, and I’ve been in love with you for as long as —“

You won’t finish that sentence, he decides, taking one long stride towards you to close the distance between your bodies. Your face in his hands is warm, a little sticky from the tears, and your lips are chapped. He doesn’t doubt that he’s in any better of a condition, but you look up at him through your wet eyelashes and he’s had enough.

He’s had enough of yearning, and pleading, and wondering if you love him back because you do. He’s had enough of waiting and wondering why he keeps thinking of you because he wants to think of you.

In fact, he thinks he’s open to thinking of you forever.

So he kisses you, and he thanks his lucky stars when you kiss back, for blessing him with the embodiment of them in the form of you, a girl who shone so brightly that he couldn’t see the love cooped up in her eyes until she cried, told him she was moving to London, and kissed him in his living room.

He thinks he could die happy, but he doesn’t want to die when he finally has you.

Finally has you. 

(Except, you could be leaving.)

Jungkook ignores this because you tilt your head so his lips slot against yours better, and he can barely focus on anything other than the way you feel and the fact that he’s kissing his best friend — kissing the love of his life.

He bared his heart and walked through hell for this, and if the way he feels right now is redemption, he’d do it all over again.

—

It starts with you on a table, umbilical cord freshly cut, wrapped up in a pretty pink fluffy blanket. Jungkook, just a one year old, stares blankly, and starts crying in his mothers arms.

It starts in the suburbs of New York City, where you lose yourself between textbook pages and Jungkook wonders what he’ll ever amount to being.

It starts with your boyfriend dying, and the way shaken espressos feel on your tongue. It starts with Jungkook seeing you cry for the first time, and it starts with you wondering if you can ever love someone. 

It starts with law school, and a three week gap in your final year during which you and Jungkook don’t talk. He finds himself thinking of you, and you text him, asking to meet up for dinner.

It starts with him asking you about a friend of yours, and you getting vigorously upset, uncalled for and downright appalling on Jungkook’s part. 

It starts with you calling him to apologize while he makes a drunken mistake. It starts with you meeting him to apologize and promising to do better; it starts with him telling you that he doesn’t need you to ‘do better’ like it’s a standardized test — that he just needs you to talk to him.

It starts with an amazing month, trailblazing and falling for each other, starts with drunken kisses and getting soaked in the rain and the ruse of being ‘best friends’ and drinking margaritas even though Jungkook doesn’t really like cocktails. It starts with the city of New York, and the anonymous back alleys where millions walk, but nobody lingers long enough to leave a mark.

It starts with him telling you about this drunken mistake, starts with the both of you realizing how madly in love you are with the other. It starts with you accepting a job in London, and it starts with Jungkook calling his ex and figuring out that it’s always been you.

It starts with an argument encased in the walls of his living room, where you empty your heart out and he empties his, starts with accusations that he loves somebody else and utter silence because he can’t tell you that he loves you. 

There’s a million beginnings to this story, thousands of waking moments that could’ve been the moment both of you knew, hundreds of little sparks that ignited into the brilliant flame of the love between the two of you, but there’s only one ending.

This is the end of yearning; his lips are on yours, and his warm hands are holding your body like if he lets go, you’ll really be gone. His hands find purchase on every inch of you like he’s trying to map your very existence out with his ten fingers, and you lose yourself when he licks into your mouth, your own hands flying to his face, tracing the little scar beneath his eye, scratching over his sideburns, on an excavation of your own; to discover him and to never let go.

He has you pushed up against the kitchen counter, large hands groping you through your jeans, soft squeezes at the flesh, quiet moans coloring the air when you move your tongue in tandem with his. 

Jungkook promises himself to take it slow, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to honor that thought when your manicured nails play with the hair at his nape, when he feels you pull away so you can get a better look at him —

Fuck, are you a sight to see. Red rimmed eyes, swollen lips, cheeks dusted with the slightest hues of pink; you wear a smile so pretty he thinks he could fall for you all over again, and your warm breath hits his face with every exhale.

You think he’s never looked better, either. His lips are bitten from kissing you, tear tracks down his soft skin, jaw tight and eyes dark when he looks at you as though he’s trying to drink you in like you’re a glass of fine scotch. You rub your thighs together, desperate for some friction to provide even a fraction of relief from this innate need Jungkook’s instilled in you with just one kiss, and he catches your lips in another, clearly wanting this to go the same way you do. 

Jungkook encases your face in his hands, he feels you keen against his lips and releases yours to curse lowly. Your hands travel down his chest, toned and warm from hours at the gym, and trace down the trail of hair you know leads down into his underwear. It has him bucking his hips against you lightly and you can barely hold back a moan, readjusting your focus so you can trace the denim of his waistband, letting two of your fingers slip beneath the fabric, rubbing at the elastic of his boxers —

You’re a fucking tease, and Jungkook should’ve known this about you after 23 years but he’d be lying if he said that it wasn’t thoroughly enjoyable. It’s barely been 5 minutes of you fervently making out with him, though, that he realizes how badly he wants you. The bulge in his pants is one indication, but he’s utterly surrounded by you — your cologne, your soft sounds, breathless whimpers, incredulous gaze like you can’t really fathom this; he gets it, he’s horrified that he’ll wake up in his bed and you won’t love him back and you won’t be kissing him and feeling him up like this, and he needs to feel you, needs the reaffirmation, needs you to fall apart between his sheets. He needs everything you have to offer, needs to smell your shampoo on his pillowcases and your perfume on his shirts and he might as well should just die if he’s waited this long to stall some more.

Two hands trail down your back, pads of his fingers pressing into the little dimples at the bottom of your spine before they land on the junction of your thighs. His eyes are stuck on yours, like he’s too afraid to even look away, and you smile against his jaw.

“Jump, baby,” it’s a whispered order, too silent for anybody but you to have heard it, and the thought makes your brain go numb for a second — it’s you and him now, your whispered secrets and hushed tales, it’s the two of you and this space you’ve curated, even if it was out of your own heartbreak. You can’t do anything but oblige; fuck, you might as well should just die if you don’t hang on to every word that leaves the tip of his tongue.

Your legs find home around his waist, and he carries you to his room, telling his high school self and college self and every single past existence of his that you’re his. He’s mapping out this floor with you in his arms, and though they’ve been around many women, he doesn’t think any one of them have fit like you do. It’s simple intimacy, you can see sunlight pouring into the living room as he carries you out, you see the art he has framed, and you see traces of his roommate strewn around the apartment. You wonder what his and your apartment will look like, wonder if he’ll like the interior design you do, and decide that if he doesn’t, you’ll let him choose whatever.

The door to his room shuts behind you, and you notice the only photo frame he has contains a picture of the two of you. 

Your eyes tear away from the glass frame in fear of breaking down again, and you choose to look at him. You choose to look at his eyes that hold all the stars in your skies, you choose to run your finger over the curve of his face and the slant of his nose and his Cupid’s bow. You choose to bask in his presence, feel all of his body pressed against you and feel him uncomfortably hard against your thighs — it’s a bit filthy, but you’ll take anything when it comes to Jungkook, and you let that thought linger when you lean forward to kiss him again.

Jungkook closes his eyes because he doesn’t think he can look into yours without going insane. He hasn’t shut his curtains, so the sunlight lands on your face and highlights all the angles and all the slopes and he thinks that he should memorize the planes of your face, that it’ll give him a reason to stay alive. Your lips smack softly, and he readjusts his hips so he can grind the clothed bulge in his jeans against your own, and his thighs stutter just a smidge when you let out the sweetest moan he’s ever heard in his life.

His fingers trail their way down from your waist, pulling gently at the hem of your shirt, a silent final exit just in case you want to back out, but you don’t let him even consider the thought of you leaving when you pull your own shirt off your head. It’s an aggressive jerk, one that catches him off guard and following you, abandoning the piece of clothing somewhere in the corners of his room.

Even when you’re just in your bra, he can’t stop looking at your eyes. He can’t stop thinking of you, how you’re in his bed and how he has you with him now and how he’ll have you with him forever if he has anything to do with it. Jungkook never doubted that you were attractive, not even for a slight second, but he doesn’t dare look at you, near naked and in all your glory in front of him — he wonders if this is what Icarus felt like, wanting to fly so close to the sun because he loved Helios too much, and he vows that he’ll be careful, he won’t look too quickly and that he’ll be gentle because he cannot stand even the idea of losing you, even if he’d be the one crashing and burning.

You pull him closer by the name, and his hands go to cradle your bare shoulders. Before he can even process the proximity, your lips are on his neck, and they’re soft, warm: they’re everything he’s ever wanted and he feels like he’s been set aflame because he’s lived his whole life not really knowing what he wanted, but he knows now. Your lips on his skin are the tantalizing fruit that's been dangling behind his head the whole time and he can see it, can feel it and he can feel it; all he’s ever wanted is you, and he lets himself go, voice breathy and untethered to his own self as he moans, incoherent pleas for you to keep going.

Jungkook prays he’ll see marks tomorrow, if this is even real. He prays that you leave a tangible sign, a purple bruise on his golden skin as a reminder that this was once real. If you leave after he’s made love to you, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to recover from it, but if you leave your mark; the indent of your teeth and the faded stain of your lipstick, he thinks it’ll be enough to satiate him.

You’re not one to waste time, apparently, fingers tracing down his abs agonizingly fast before Jungkook can process the touch, reaching for the button on his jeans so he can be free, get inside you, because it’s been way too fucking long and you need him sheathed within your body like you’re entwined, like you’re one entity. You reckon the thought is one of the filthiest ones you’ve ever had, but it doesn’t matter, because you can feel yourself soaking through your panties and you run cold like ice, wanting him to melt you — needing him to melt you.

This will be your new beginning; fuck London, you decide. Fuck London if it means you have him like this, the pads of his fingers running like feathers over your skin, leaving chills in their wake. This will be your new beginning, his lips grazing over your collarbones as he grinds his hips into yours just hard enough for you to feel through your jeans. This will be your new beginning, desperately bucking your hips up to meet him halfway, to gain some much needed friction until he decides to stop giving you the tantalizing guise of what you need, until he decides to unbutton your jeans with daft digits,, pulling them until you lay before him in all your glory.

Jungkook has never known religion until he sees you like this. The curves of your body and the slope of your waist and the way your bra just barely covers your breasts and the way your panties sit on your hips and your collarbones illuminated by the sun that desperately laps at your soft skin like it, too, wants to have you wholly. He has never known a God until he thanks Him for you, thanks his lucky stars that he has you in front of him, fights the urge to sink to his knees and pray that you don’t disappear into a brilliant beam of light like you were nothing but a figment of his imagination.

His cock strains, and he reaches out to stroke the lace of your panties so gently, almost like he’s afraid to leave a mark, though he yearns for yours on his skin. You want to ink the calluses of his fingers so they leave permanent imprints on your body, so you feel the rough drag forever, but it's only an afterthought when he begins to rub at your clit through the fabric. The added friction feels like heaven on your tongue, like you can taste the waning of yearning on the tip of your tongue –

“Fuck, Jungkook,” your voice sounds dazed in your own ears, and he shifts your panties aside to rub your wetness all over your sex, thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit as his fingers tease your entrance. If there was a way to put the bliss, the desperation into words, you’re sure that you could talk for hours. You hear his breathing, heavy like he’s incredulous, in utter disbelief, and you hear the unrecognizable keens of his name. 

“I know, baby. I know, I love you. Lemme have you.”

He repeats it like a prayer, those three words running like water off his tongue as he rubs tight eight-figures of your clit. Eyes raking your figure, he drinks in the tilt of your head backwards, a tattoo on your shoulder blade that he makes a note to ask you about, the bend of your elbows and the way your stomach tightens. Jungkook tries to take his time, but his fingers are drenched in your arousal and he deems you wet enough to slip his index finger in. 

You moan, high and unadulterated, and he moans, low and throaty; it feels like you’re complete, and he can’t help but wonder how your walls would feel on his cock. You suck him in, pussy greedy for something to fill it, and he does his best to affirm this when he bends down to catch your lips within his again –

“Shit, doll, you’re soaking me… look at your sweet cunt, look at how she’s taking me,” he uses his free hand to tilt your chin downwards, and the pink of your bitten lips distracts him for just a second before he pushes another finger in.

“Jungkook – ah, fuck, more please, more,” you let your mind go adrift, thinking about how good you feel and then thinking of nothing at all when he curls his fingers in an upwards motion, rendering you speechless and fucked silly. The thought of what his cock would do is lost among a myriad of unsullied pleasure, and you don’t know whether it's because you haven’t cum in so long, but you’re dangerously teetering over the edge of your release, continuing to beg him to just throw you over.

He tells you he has you, eases another finger in until the tears that prickle the corners of your eyes finally spill over. He licks them away, rutting his hips up into his free hand like it gets him off, seeing you cry for him, seeing you writhe under him. He knows it's too much, knows that you’re close like he’s done this a million times before, like your body is his own.

“I’m f– fuck, so fucking close,” you can feel the coil in your lower belly so close to snapping that it makes you want to run away from the feeling. It’s all too much, because his thumb feels rough on your clit and his fingers are jackhammering into you like he has a point to prove, because he’s calling you his and his voice is echoing somewhere in the back of your mind, because all you can do is squirm and push your hips up to get yourself over the precipice of pleasure –

“Fu- fu- uck, Jesus –”

“I gotchu honey, let go for me, just let go, ‘m always hare, let go for me –”

What you expect to be a wave, crashing into you like the realization that you loved him had, is nothing but a soft roll of ecstasy taking ahold of every inch of your skin. It starts in your head, numbing your senses and then heightening them, makes its way down to your arms until you’re clawing at Jungkook’s because it’s so fucking good, rolls down your legs until you clench your toes, grapples at your throat until your voice is choked out and all you can do is pant helplessly. What you expect to be a wave is a slow pulse that leaves you breathless and staring up at Jungkook who seems to be mesmerized by the expression you’re wearing, fingers slowing within you as he helps you ride it out.

“Fucking hell, baby. You’re stunning,”

You laugh, out of it and incredulous as he presses a kiss – too chaste for the mind-blowing orgasm he’s just given you – to your temple.

“Gonna make me do that everyday, Jeon?”

“You can count on it, angel. I’ll make you do that every single day.”

The two of you move in tandem, knowing that this wasn’t nearly enough to satiate you both; your hands fly to his jeans, pulling his zipper down and yanking the fabric off of his legs. Jungkook’s laugh is breathy, pupils still blown out as he watches you try to get him naked and he lets you. 

He lets you strip him until his skin is bare, watches you rake your eyes over his figure and pause at the ink of his arms. He vows to tell you about all the secret tattoos he’s gotten that remind him of you; that he got because of you, but all he can focus on is the way your eyes go dazed and glossy when you push down his boxers to pull his cock out.

You’re well aware that Jungkook is beautiful, and he’s never doubted his physical appearance for more than a split second since college, but he never thought that his dick would be the center of said attention. Fuck, he has a pretty cock; it’s thick and your mouth waters at the angry vein running down the underside of it, desperate to get your mouth on him and savor the weight of him on your tongue. It curves up, pretty mushroom tip having been rendered a dark red from when he was getting you off, the pearly beads of pre-cum that spill over the sides of it when you rub your hand over his length a stark contrast.

He buckles over, hand splaying over your stomach as he lets out a choked groan at the contact, and you can feel the wetness of the sheet underneath you as you see him lose himself underneath your touch. You could do this forever, and the inexplicable urge to just get him in your mouth takes over your body reflexively, but Jungkook doesn’t let you act on it; his warm fingers press down on your skin, and he lets his free hand replace yours on his cock. 

“Gonna fuck you real good, darling. You’re gonna feel it all the way — shit — all the way up to here,” he pumps his cock like he’s trying to deprave himself of your pussy on purpose and your eyes desperate search for his, no longer trusting your brain to form adequate words to explain just how badly you need him to fuck you.

He knows, he knows you like the back of his hand, and he knows how much you need and crave this. Just as quick as he’d gotten your hands off of him, he presses himself to your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your embarrassingly wet slit. The squelching would typically have you curl in on yourself, but it’s Jungkook, and you’ve let every wall down around him and it feels so fucking incredible when he rubs his dick against your sensitive clit that you just cannot bring yourself to care;

“Please, please Jungkook —“

“I know, I know baby, shhh… just relax for me and I’ll make this so good, ‘kay? That’s my girl,” the hand on your stomach goes lax when you exhale, letting him align himself with your entrance and ease himself in.

He gets his tip in with surprising deftness, rubbing over your torso when you tense your body. He knows you’re not a virgin, he’s done this before and so have you, but with each other? It feels holy, like you’re coming back to earth and coming back to the person each of you is meant to be with.

His inked hand goes to cradle your face, pushing your hair away from your tear-stricken skin, kissing away at the new tears that threaten to slip from your eyes. You breathe out at his touch, and he pulls out all the way to thrust back into you, slipping in and filling you all the way to the brim.

A choked moan leaves you, and your simultaneous gasps color the air, mingling and dissipating as the two of you mold into one entity. Jungkook forgets the Bible verses about adultery, things of new beginnings and redemption and how you’re the Holy Grail he tried so hard to find when you were right there. He curses himself for not doing this earlier, for realizing so late, but it’s all so worth it when you give an experimental roll of your hips, bucking upwards to get him to move.

Jungkook thinks he would give you anything, take chunks out of the moon if you so looked at it with desire, and he thinks that he’ll lay his body down for you if you even implied that you wanted him to. He thrusts into you, a gritty moan leaving his throat when he feels your walls, warm and wet and fluttering around his cock. Your pussy is greedy for him, milking his every drop and he knows you can feel him, knows you feel everything.

He’s right, too, because the veins of his cock, every ridge and every edge of it is fully sheathed within you. When his shallow thrusts get longer, deeper, when he bucks his hips upwards to fuck you just right, when you look down at his hand and see the bulge of his cock in your stomach — fuck, it’s exhilarating, and he seems to notice it too, following your gaze and letting his hips lose their well adjusted rhythm for just a split second.

“G-god Jungkook, so fucking full — shit.”

“Yeah, you are. Fuck, fuck, I told you. Told you I’d fill your greedy little cunt up.”

You think this is the only side of Jungkook you haven’t seen, so when he continues to talk, confidence and this natural allure of dominance absolutely dripping off of him, you thank whatever deity is up there for letting you have him.

“Look at you, tsk tsk. Baby, you kept this pretty pussy away from me for so fucking — shit — long?”

His moans are nothing compared to the high keens, pornographic breathy whimpers that leave your throat. It’s like he’s ripped off every barricade you put up in front of you, has you naked and bare and begging in his sheets like you were made for this, fucks you like your pussy was made for this.

“How’d you keep her satisfied without me, darling?”

He leans down, hands still playing with your hair and holding onto your face in a way that you know will leave pink fingerprints — in a way that makes you wonder if he even believes this is real, grasping onto you so he can reassure himself that you’re tangible. You see the knot in his brows, feel the murmur of his words against your jaw when he presses his lips to the bone, catch the tension in his abdomen as he tries to keep his rhythm.

You’re sure he won’t have to, though, because there’s something about the way he’s leaning down into you, the way he’s thrusting into you so deep, never slow but never too fast, the way he snakes one hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, knowing he won’t be able to last long inside of you. All of it has your head spinning, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever experience anything this riveting, this revitalizing before. It feels like you’re closer to being born again with every thrust, with every bit of the coil in your stomach tightening —

He presses his forehead to yours, thumb rubbing circles onto your clit, cock prodding against just the right spot like he’s practiced this only for you, only for you. Your eyes meet, and you see tears in the corner of his own eyes, you feel his hand trembling in your hair as he tries to leave traces of his prints on every inch of you — you lock your legs around his waist, and the new angle is like the straw on the camel’s back as you’re thrown so violently over the edge that it catches you off guard.

This one is a wave, drenching you and drenching his cock and the sheets and the miles of skin that connect the two of you. He lets out a deep groan, lips connecting to the column of your throat when you throw your head back, nails digging deep into the skin of his shoulders so as to lessen the blow.

Fuck, he wants you to leave his back scratched and bloody, needs a reminder of this rebirth; needs the sting of you permanently imprinted if it on his body, then in his brain.

You get the memo, clearly, running the sharp acrylics up and down the toned expanse of his back as you just barely catch your breath — it comes in pants, the achy pleasure of overstimulation creeping its way up your spine.

If he doesn’t come inside of you, it’ll be his biggest regret. You’re smart, he knows you’re on the pill and he knows you would’ve told him to pull out, wouldn’t have had your legs wrapped around his waist if you didn’t want this just as bad as he did, but he opens his mouth to ask anyways.

“Come inside, baby. I — fuck. I fucking love you, I’ll love you forever, come inside of me, please.”

The deliriosity of your orgasm, along with the continuous sensation of being fucked senseless as Jungkook loses his rhythm and resorts to jackhammering into you, chasing his high like you’re nothing but a toy to do it; all of it pushes you into overdrive and you babble, begging for him to finish inside like it’s the only thing you can think of.

He doesn’t dare look away from your face, mapping every second within his brain, feeling the familiar feeling of an orgasm washing its way up to shore. He’s sure you’re on the same page, too, recognizing the face he’s seen twice now etch itself back onto your features —

You cum for a third time when his hips stutter and he buckles over your body, hand never moving from your head, cradling it like the contact is keeping him grounded. You feel the warm ropes of his cum paint your insides, and the third orgasm is nowhere near as intense as the others, just a gentle pulsation of pleasure and a bout of love that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before blooming over your heart.

Jungkook collapses next to you, dirty sheets be damned when he throws his inked arms over your body. For a while, neither of you find it in yourselves to talk — it’s barely even the orgasms, more so the fact that the two of you are best friends who are madly in love with each other, the fact that you’ve just told each other this and then proceeded to have the most mindblowing sex the either of you could even imagine, all within the span of an hour or so.

He’s first to make a move, lifting your chin so you look at him, smiling down at you so gently that you feel every bit of insecurity — every worry that’s already clouding your mind about the future, London, all of it — disappear. 

You match his gaze, trying to read what is so clearly written in his eyes. I love you, they say, twinkling brighter than the golden rays of sunshine that pour through his poorly strewn curtains. It’s hard to speak so you don’t, opting to reach up and slot your mouth against his.

Jungkook swears he’s been given a second chance at life when you kiss him, and he decides to plan it out better this time. The thought goes away quicker than he’d like, though, because you slip your tongue into his mouth and his brain short circuits for the umpteenth time that day. It’s hard to imagine anything being difficult if you kiss him like this, it’s hard to imagine struggle, hard to imagine dissatisfaction, hard to imagine not being in love with every waking moment of his life when he’s this madly in love with you.

You pull away. 

“I’m not worried, by the way.”

He grins, leaning into your smaller frame to press a kiss against the junction of your shoulder.

“I know. I’m not either.”

“We‘re gonna make it work?”

“Yeah. Of course. It’s us, ___. We’ll make it work.”

—

Jungkook doesn’t like summer, but he thinks you make it better. You graduate law school a week after he graduates college, and he’s in the front row watching you give your high honors speech before getting your degree. You tell Cravath that you can’t work in London, and ask AJ if he’s willing to quit Wachtell Lipton and take your place.

He tells you that he thinks he���s in love with you, that he’s happy you’ve found love with Jungkook, and takes the job. 

You decide to give New York a second chance that summer; decide to give yourself a new beginning as you start to work and don’t immediately take immense bouts of stress upon yourself. Jungkook thinks about what he really wants to do, and though he takes a job that is gratuitously well paying – bless the Comp Sci starting salary – he thinks he wants to freelance art on the side. 

–

When fall rolls around, you stand in the kitchen with your mother. The two of you look out at Jungkook and your father turning pages of old photo albums, and she tells you that she’s proud of you. You wonder if this is what it feels like to be avenged. It gets colder, and Jungkook gets you all the white mochas you want to drink, especially when you drive up to the cemetery to see your ex in early October. The two of you lay down orange roses, and you tell him that you’ll always love him in a way nobody else knows – Jungkook is proud, you’re proud, and for the first time in years, your heart doesn’t feel heavy when he drives around that part of town.

Jungkook paints portraits of you in the living room of the apartment you share. The two of your extremely well-paying jobs had let you buy a penthouse in Greenwich Village, and you’re just grateful you can find someplace to call home. Speaking of living together, Mingyu had enrolled himself into a sobriety program when Jungkook had forced him to watch that TED Talk, only this time neither of them had been high. 

You tell Jungkook’s parents, too, and their excitement is nowhere near as gentle as your parents’ had been. His mom cries, and his dad tells you that he’s been rooting for you and Jungkook for ages.

(As it turns out, Jungkook had been rooting for him and yourself for ages as well.)

–

Winter follows, encasing New York in an icy chill but your heart has never been warmer. You have a classic NYC Christmas, doing all the insanely cliche tourist activities that are manageable. Nayoung moves out of state as well, and Jungkook cries into her shoulder at the airport. You’re there with him every second of every day – baking cookies, forcing him to take notes when the two of you watch Die Hard together for the first time, in his sweaters, in his sheets, in his heart.

Jungkook’s art sells well, he loves this city, and he still loves getting 2Bros with you – he even forces you to get the meat pizza he’s devoured for years, and you decide that while it’s not so bad, that you’ll continue to make fun of him for it. A tradition, just like the coke floats you still buy in sub-zero temperatures. 

He makes you a shaken espresso in February, and you tell him it tastes incredible.

You stop putting walls up, and he learns to actually talk about his feelings, and you’re still the same toddlers from two decades ago; a bit immature, bound to end up together, and totally susceptible to throwing your ice cream cones on the ground if the other shoes any semblance of an injury. 

–

New beginnings are for spring, though. Months after his birthday and yours have passed, months after new years, right when the first flowers bloom and the cold starts to whisper it's goodbyes, right when he realizes it’s nearly been a year since the day he’d randomly thought of you and set lose this insane chain of events – right in the middle of April, he decides he’s going to marry you.

It won’t be anytime soon, but seeing as how you’re steadily progressing in your career, and he’s earning more with his art than with his job? The budget for a wedding is definitely on the table, and he vows to officially make you his one day. 

Some day.

(He already has the ring in his cart on the Cartier website.)

(Mingyu comes out of the program a few weeks later, and Jungkook asks him to be the best man.)

(You’re on the same page, if the wedding themed Pinterest board he sees you shut with insane speed is any indication.)

–

You love infinitely, filled to the brim and overflowing with it; so much so that it gets overwhelming at times, but neither of you go. You choose him, and he chooses you, and seasons go by and Jungkook figures out the direction he wants to go in this new life, and you learn to be gentle with yourself, and neither of you go. 

And so it goes. 

You and Jungkook, two kids grow into two adults in the most marvelous city in the world. A million possible beginnings in the span of two decades, but one conclusion; one ending: the both of you aren’t flawless – it’s hard to be – you’re just bad at being alone.

—

a/n: U GUYS ITS HEREEEEE. I’m sorry for the incessant word vomit and unnecessarily long smut scene it was important for the plot development hehe. and if u feel bad for AJ and Nayoung… so do I! this is also a birthday fic for my love jungkook and I hope he has the bestest day in the entire universe I love U my little virgo sweet boy I should Kiss u a million times

taglist: @bumblerebbee @brownapsara @smolbitchwithcakes @allfryou @carmen-j @1316s @yoonjinsyy @bishuthot @ahundredtimesover @readingfavorites

[asundertale]

Tea party with mad people

"A happy unbirthday for me,for you, a happy unbirthday for you,for me,yes,yes,let's celebrate with a tea party."

The girl looked amazed at the man from afar,he was a very strange figure,dressed like a scruffy Victorian gentlemen,with a coat that seemed to be made of green rags of different shades with some prints and a huge top hat,singing loudly in a rectangular table that looked like the fangs had been prepared for a tea party.

She was startled,the man had noticed that she was there and in a jump of astonishment he got up from the chair and stared at her,suddenly he began to walk quickly towards her.

The girl shivered a little at this,but still she didn't back away,instead remaining motionless until the man stood in front of her in silence.

"You.....you weren't invited to tea" Finally the man spoke, in fact the man didn't know what to say and his head was full of questions like:"Why is this child here?","Where did she come from ?","Is she homeless?","What the hell should I do with her?".

They both looked at each other in silence, the man actually looked like a scruffy Victorian gentlemen,but now she could see that he was wearing a dark green waistcoat over a white shirt with a black bow tie and trousers with a black and white checkered pattern with brown shoes and white and yellow striped socks.

His eyes were light blue and his hair was blonde but with the base and some dark brown highlights, making it appear to be dyed, his features were round and his mouth had protruding front teeth that seemed to stick out of his mouth, he was short and He didn't appear to be very thin.

The girl was dressed much more simply, she was wearing a type of loose white pajamas consisting of a very long-sleeved blouse and pants that dragged on the floor, along with dirty white socks on the soles due to her having no shoes.

She had straight, but messy, black hair that reached her shoulders and fell over her face and her eyes were brown, she didn't look more than ten years old and her face had delicate features.

"What...what's your name?" The man broke the silence.

'A-Alice Williams" The girl replied shyly.

The man widened his eyes and made an expression of astonishment, until he said "Hello...Alice...you can call me Mad Hatter".

The hatter walked to the end of the table and pulled out one of the chairs.

"Sit down, drink a cup of tea" Said the hatter, trying on a friendly smile, Alice obeyed.

The table was covered with a tablecloth sewn from rags of different prints and filled with empty jars and teapots.

The hatter placed a cup on a saucer in front of Alice and filled her with tea, the girl took a small sip and drew her mouth away from the bitter taste.

The hatter subtly looked at the girl with a look of curiosity, then he said: "Are you alone here, dear?"

Upon hearing this, Alice began to stare at the hatter with wide eyes, as if she were scared.

"D-don't be afraid" The hatter said with a desperate tone "I would never hurt a child."

The hatter's attempt at explanation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the dry leaves and in the distance a silhouette could be seen, it was a man slowly approaching through the decaying garden under the afternoon sun.

.

.

.

A black figure was standing in front of the entrance to the park "Land of Fairy Tales", a place that was once one of the biggest attractions in Gotham but was currently abandoned in ruins with the darkness of the night making the place somewhat macabre.

The figure pushed the gate, without the padlock, and advanced into that decadent setting, which seemed to embody a childhood forgotten in time.

It had the princesses' castle, the witch's candy house, the seven dwarfs' mine and other attractions inspired by fairy tales, but the figure's destination was just one in specific, Wonderland, an attraction full of statues of the characters. In the book, there was the White Rabbit with his clock, the blue caterpillar with his hookah, the tweedledee and the tweedledun, who were not from Wonderland but from Through the Looking Glass.

But the character that the figure was most looking forward to meeting in that place was the Mad Hatter and perhaps an Alice who couldn't leave Wonderland, knew very well that she would find him in the middle of the park's garden, which simulated the queen's of hearts garden.

When he saw the arrow-shaped sign saying "Mad Hatter" he knew he was on the right path, following the sign he finally saw the damn chaotic tea party among the decadent garden along with an equally decadent hatter.

The Hatter also noticed his presence there, he smiled mischievously when he saw the man dressed in armor that looked like a bat.

"Well, if you're not the great Black Knight, would you like a cup of tea?" Said the Hatter, leaning over the table "I'm sorry, sweetie, but these are adult things, I'll get back whit you soon" The Hatter continued, turning to his current Alice.

However, Alice was not an adult blonde woman with blue eyes but a girl who didn't look more than ten years old with straight black hair cut short with bangs and brown eyes, even so she was dressed like the character.

She opened her eyes wide and looked at Batman with a look of terror, as if he were a monster, she tried to say something but swallowed hard.

"Come on bat, sit down and drink some tea" The Hatter insisted.

"Enough, Jervis" Batman replied with an usual firmness in his voice "Free the girl now, this is the last chance I'll give you".

"Well, I said sit down and drink some tea!" Said the Hatter with a more aggressive tone of voice.

Batman looked at the Hatter with a look of irritation, but he could see his henchmen wearing animal masks slowly approaching behind him, trying to surprise him.

But Batman blocked the first attack from a metal pipe and then all the henchmen attacked him at once, some with pipes and others with knives, but Batman's armor blocked the blows to his body and he blocked the blows to the head with his arms.

But one of the henchmen managed to hit him with a pipe on the back of the head, giving the Hatter himself room to rub a cloth soaked in a strong sleeping pill on his face, leaving Batman nauseated, he tried to get rid of the cloth but some of the henchmen stopped him. they held on, until finally Batman fell asleep on the floor.

"Great,great, now sit him on the chair" Said the Hatter, the henchmen obeyed and dragged Batman to a chair at the end of the table and chained him there.

The Hatter returned to the other side of the table, giving a friendly smile to his dear Alice, he was about to sit down again but the girl grabbed his waist, whimpering.

"P-please, please" She said between sobs and tears "Please don't let him catch me".

The Hatter looked at Alice with a look of pity, and he hugged her back.

"Don't worry, my dear, I won't let that bad man got you" Said the Hatter trying to console her "I got rid of a guy like him once and I can get rid of him again, for you."

"For me?" Alice asked as the Hatter gently wiped away her tears.

"To protect you" replied the Hatter "To ensure that you will stay here with me".

The hatter gently pulled Alice by the arm and placed her sitting on his lap, wrapping her in his arms, the girl rested her head on his shoulder, seeming to be a little calmer.

The hatter felt a warmth in his heart, it gave him enormous comfort to have that girl with him, to feel that she loved him and understood him, an almost father-daughter relationship and of course he wasn't going to let nobody, especially Batman, ruin it.

.

.

.

"What a despicable man" Said the hatter.

Alice was confused by the scene she had just witnessed, it was only a few minutes ago that she was whimpering to the hatter begging him to save her from that man.

"Help me" She whispered "He wants to kill me".

Then the man approached the hatter asking what he was doing and told him to stay away from her.

But then the hatter approached him and quickly placed what looked like a playing card in his ear and now he was standing still.

The man seemed paralyzed as he hadn't moved a finger to stop the hatter from rummaging through his coat pockets to find a pocket knife and a black ski mask.

"Just a minute Alice" Said the hatter, starting to walk and the man followed him.

Alice waited sitting in her chair waiting for the hatter to return and hoping the man wouldn't return with him, the whole situation was very strange for her.

After about fifteen minutes the hatter returned and did not have the man following him, much to Alice's relief.

"Sorry for the delay" Said the hatter with a friendly smile.

"What happened to that man?" Alice asked.

"I got rid of him" replied the hatter.

"What do you mean? Where is he?" Alice asked again.

"Does it matter? He wanted to hurt you and the important thing is that he will no longer be a nuisance, my dear" Said the hatter in a calm voice "Oh, with all this confusion I didn't realize it was evening, Alice, could you help me set this table?"

"Okay," Alice said and then helped the hatter put the teapot, chircaras and tablecloth in a basket and ate what was left of some cookies.

The hatter looked at Alice from time to time, it was as if she had simply fallen down this rabbit hole and by chance their paths crossed.

To never be separated again.

[lesp1een]

Indulgence. (Undertaker x Goldust)

Request for the sweet @strangedreamlandmagazine !

Thank you for requesting this 💕 I hope you like it even though it came out longer than I thought

Content warning: NSFW

"Thanks for inviting me over, my darling"

The man remained silent. He had sensed a foreign presence in his house by the time he walked in, yet he did not expect to find Goldust in his living room, golden figure splashed on his sofa in the most comfortable way.

He was so stunned he didn't find a way to react. Paul wasn't there. He was the one who did the work, the one who told him what to do, and he would obey.

Paul hated Goldust. To him, he was nothing but an eccentric freak looking for some men to lure.

Undertaker wasn't sure about that. They had spoken before. Goldust was not an evil man. He was simply too much for him. Too much color, too much conversation, too much hedonism.

He could just take him by his long, swan neck and break it, leave him dead on the dark ground of his room. Goldust was a big, strong man, but Undertaker was stronger. He was no human, after all.

However, he was no monster, either. He was nothing everyone thought of him, so he decided to step into the living room, boots creaking under the old, weak wooden floor.

"I brought you some fruit" Goldust told the other, while slipping a grape in his own lips, savouring it. He was ready for the deadman to jump at his throat at any given moment. He was soon to understand that the Undertaker was not as predictable as he seemed, because he did not move a finger towards him. He did not burst out in anger. He sat stiffly on a little armchair, in front of him, and stared.

"I do not need to eat."

Goldust ate another grape, a sly smile on his painted lips. "That does not mean you are incapable of doing it, or does it?"

He knew about Taker's little secret. At first, he thought he was fucking with him just like he did with his audience, making him believe he was actually dead or something like that.

That was until they had their first private moments, after months of Goldust trying to get into the other man's skin to get him close to him. He was touching his chest, adjusting his tie, his shirt, finding any excuse to feel him up, since it was basically impossible to get any clothes off of him, when he discovered that all the rumors were true. His heart was skipping beats. Too many beats… in fact, it was not beating at all.

"I came here to apologize." Goldust broke the sudden silence, looking right at the other for the first time since they had seen each other. "I should have not disrespected you. I was shocked, and that is no excuse for what i did."

He stormed off. As soon as he found out his date was really undead, he was so shocked and scared he ran away from him. Like he was some kind of monster.

"You did what everyone would do." Undertaker was not even looking at him, finding better enjoyment in checking the level of dust on the table beside him.

"Except I know you're no monster."

There was a certainty about those words that made the deadman believe them. Goldust was telling the truth, or at least he really thought what he was saying was true.

He couldn't see him as a monster, he couldn't see him as a freak, because that would mean he would be a freak himself.

They were both strange, they were both feared because they were different, in their own ways. Monsters were unknown, a vague concept of something evil and unrelatable. Undertaker was pretty much there, beating heart or not, and he was the first creature Goldust had ever related to. He was no monster, he was a misunderstood, lonely pretty little thing.

"You are forgiven. You may go, now."

"You have so many books, I never took you as a reader." Goldust was walking through the whole room, attracted by the old, dusty books filling up almost every inch of the place.

After apologizing, he did not leave, and was wandering around, talking about everything and nothing at all, his questions being left unanswered by a silent Undertaker, still sitting on that armchair like he was being held at gunpoint.

The blonde man pulled out a book with a little laugh and threw himself on the couch again. He even brought wine, and forced Taker to take a glass. It was still in his hand, left untouched.

"Oh, you've read this one! It's full of notes. You have such a delightful handwriting, by the way."

He was finding out some really interesting things about the deadman, that day. Like the fact that he had a shelf full of erotic novels like the one he was checking on the sofa.

"Come here, my darling. Come next to me." If he was someone else, he would never dare to call him like that. However, he was no stranger to what the bigger man liked. Praise was something he never expected Undertaker to enjoy, yet everytime he called him lovingly, the big, dark man would turn softer.

He heard a little grunt come from the other side, and giggled softly as he felt his weight on the sofa, right next to him.

"Good." He praised him, and he gently brought the still full glass of wine to his pale lips. "Now indulge."

Undertaker didn't need to drink. He had lost all his mortal needs after his death. He didn't even know if he was still able to get drunk or to enjoy alcohol. It was all new to him, and it was because of Goldust that he was having his first human experiences after so much time.

He had never kissed someone before Goldust. He had never been attracted to anyone before him. He made him feel for the first time, he made him experience human touch and intimacy after years of being cold.

He took a sip of wine, to the other's delight. A grape was brought on his lips by the other man, who was looking at him so lovingly under those long lashes, and he could not refuse, savoring, letting his body feel again. It tasted sweet in his mouth, filled him with a strange enjoyment he never thought he could achieve by eating some fruit and drinking wine. Yet there he was, letting another man feed him grape and sipping on wine.

It was one of those rare moments when Goldust could see the man who was hiding behind that cold, dark persona. He couldn't get enough of him trying new things, of the expressions he made when he found out he liked them.

So close to him, he could see the freckles on his nose, the red roots of his dark hair, his wine stained, glossy lips. He had those piercing green eyes that captivated him.

"You are gorgeous." He lifted up the other's chin a bit to get a good look at his face. Undertaker was everything Goldust loved in a man. He was masculine, he was strong and he was dangerous. He was mysterious, unapproachable, he was a challenge worth taking.

His adulation was left unanswered, his pale date wrapping his lips around another grape, eating it out of Goldust's fingers. It was alluring how he didn't know how much power his beauty had on others.

"No words would suffice to describe how erotic you look, right now, eating out of my hands, getting drunk on wine and vice."

"I am no hedonist." Tone darker, his words sounded like an accusation, that Goldust took with a smile. He was a vicious man, he couldn't deny that statement.

"You sure aren't, deadman. However, you do have your vices." Goldust tapped on the book he was holding on his lap. It was a well bound copy of a Marquis De Sade novel, very well kept despite the age. Undertaker's lips curved into a knowing smile. "You have gotten too comfortable snooping around my belongings."

"Oh, my darling, I'm so glad I have. Or else, how could I have known you were such a degenerate?"

"Sounds like self-projection, to me."

"So we're getting cocky, deadman?"

As much as he was enjoying that playful bickering, Goldust was starting to warm up. His date was dangerously close to him, chest pressing against his shoulder as he spoke to him, hand reaching on his lap to put away the book.

"I have learned a lot about this one, actually."

"Oh, I beg you to tell me about it." His voice was low with desire as he spoke, hoping the deadman would get the innuendo.

The book was put on the table, a now free, gloved hand having access to Goldust's thighs. He felt it make its way under his robe, caress his legs so invitingly, the man opened his thighs, leaving space for his lover to take over.

Undertaker was looking at him with piercing, green eyes as he started to stroke him in between his legs, pushing his palm on that clothed, growing erection.

He grabbed the dark man's shoulder with his hand, squeezing, his head thrown back as he felt a cold palm let itself into his pants to stroke him, the ice cold grip on his hard member making him jump out in pleasure. It was a new sensation, an addictive one, as he moaned sweet nothings, his voice echoing through the room. He was good at it, squeezing his tip enough to let Goldust see stars behind his eyes. Too distracted by his own pleasure, he barely noticed the man removing his purple glove. The thing he noticed well, though, it was that his touch became even colder on his skin as a single, thick finger entered his body, making him jump.

"You are evil." He panted, muscles tensing up, sensations too strong to stand. He wasn't given enough time to get accustomed to all of that. Another finger entered him, and he moved. He thrust them inside him, and it felt like being fucked with ice, the temperature contrast so strong it only intensified the pleasure, making it almost unbearable. "You are an evil man-" his voice broke as Undertaker found that sensitive bundle of nerves inside him. And he felt a cold breath against his neck as the rhythm increased.

"Here we go." The deadman whispered, with a gravelly voice, and he started to fuck the other without any mercy, pushing against his prostate again and again, his arm tensing, his pace rough, until Goldust was moaning messily and crying onto his own painted face. He gripped his lover's hair, to have something to hold on to, and he tried to find the other's mouth, being met with a soft pair of lips, cold as grave, kissing him tenderly as he was being fingered mercilessly, his spine curving to meet those thrusts, to receive more and more, so much he wouldn't be able to take it anymore.

He moaned loudly into Undertaker's mouth, a long tongue caressing his own, teeth biting at his lip, and he was coming hard on the other's fingers, his cock jumping as he splashed his own stomach with come. He was left trembling, those long fingers exiting his body, leaving him empty, head still fuzzy with aftershock.

"You…" he whispered, breathlessly, lips still caressing each other. "I adore you."

He was thrown on the couch, not given enough time to cool off after his orgasm, Undertaker's body casting a shadow over his own as he messily loosened his tie and basically ripped Goldust's robe off his body. He didn't undress himself, only lowering his tight pants to free his erection. Goldust instinctively licked his lips at the sight, and he thought that maybe, another time, he would have loved to feel that on his tongue. His body was turned around by strong hands, his chest pressing against the couch, and he gripped the fabric hard in his fists when Undertaker entered him, hands grabbing his hips as he pushed his cock fully into him with a deep groan. Goldust cried out, feeling himself be stretched wide by the other, and of course he was big, that man had no flaw whatsoever.

A courtain of dark hair fell on Goldust's face as Undertaker started to thrust in him, slowly, deeply, making the other feel every inch of him, filling him up so good he would remember it forever.

"You sure know what rigor mortis is." Goldust panted out, and Undertaker took it as an incentive to fuck him hard enough to shut his mouth. He was surprised with a strong thrust that hit his already abused prostate, making him writhe and cry out onto the couch. A hand grabbed his head and pushed it down, forcing Goldust still as Undertaker started to fuck him hard, making him scream, making him drool in pleasure and stain the fabric with makeup and tears. He was a mess. He lost control over things, and was enjoying every second of it. Undertaker was so big he could split him in half, and he was doing it, Goldust unable to do anything but cry until he came again, and again, the man above him not stopping for a minute. He was fucked on his back, pushed against the table, bottle of wine crashing on the floor, his legs unable to stand on their own, hips bruised by the other's grip. He was sure his makeup was now completely gone, washed out by tears and spit and Undertaker's lips. His lover's face was a mess too. He had black marks on his mouth and golden dust staining his pale face.

"I can't do this anymore." He pleaded, his body aching, his head spinning with so much pleasure he thought he was gonna die at any moment.

"Only one more. You can do it."

No, no he could not. Or so he thought, before Undertaker was fucking him again, this time deep and passionate, slower, a hand pressing Goldust's wrists above his head to keep him still. Behind blurry eyes, he saw and heard his lover moan his name low, before furrowing his brows, expression tensing, body spasming against Goldust's hips, and he felt ice shoot deep inside his body. He held the man tight in his arms, and came weakly for the fourth time, only little drops of come leaving his weakened body.

He was breathless, unable to move, and he waited for Undertaker to lift him up carefully and place his tired body on the sofa. He was caressed tenderly until he regained full consciousness, looking up at his lover, head rested against his still chest.

"You passed out. Are you okay?" He could hear worry in Undertaker's tone as he spoke, hand still stroking his back.

"I'm feeling fantastic, my darling." he smiled, trying to assure his lover. "It was just intense."

Undertaker looked over at his own living room, red wine splashed all over the carpet, a broken bottle on the floor. "Yes, it was… Sorry."

"Do not ever apologize for being intense again. I enjoy that a lot actually." Goldust chuckled, and he kissed the other softly.

"For the love of God, Undertaker! What happened here?" Paul screamed with his usual high-pitched voice, his protégé sitting quietly, back hunched as he was being scolded, hair completely covering his face. "I'm sorry."

"Since when have you started to drink alcohol?"

"I found it in the kitchen. I'm gonna clean it off, now."

"You better do! Oh, you've become unmanageable!" As Paul stormed out of the living room, face red with rage, Undertaker raised his head, and felt a little pang of excitement run through his skin, warming him up. He was lucky Paul didn't notice those lipstick stains on his face.

It would be his little secret. It would be their little secret.

[kurottsukii]

Three | One Good Mistake

What in the absolute fuck?

I didn't even realize I said that out loud until I felt another shift of movement next to me causing me to shut up quick.

Did I just get called out, on fucking twitter? Who even does that? This is a famous sports entertainment company and one of their wrestlers just insulted me on a fucking social media platform. What is he? Twelve? I don't even understand why that got to me the way it did, I deal with trolls every fucking day of the week, why is this any different?

I could just ignore him and be a grown adult about it, but why should I? He came at me unprovoked and insulted me as a fighter, as a champion and as a woman. This is war.

-------------

"What are you going to do?" Eva asked again for the hundredth time as we unload the car. She's been bugging me about the damn tweet after I showed her once we met up at the hotel. Literally after I wrote my number on the mystery boy's chest.

What? I was being romantic in a way. Plus he was attractive. Extremely attractive.

"Yovanna, You can't ignore me forever." I decieded to challange her claim by still remaining silent. Yeah, I was surprised to be called out because Vince never said anything about it. Especially about them dropping the news about me and wwe, especially since I haven't even made it final with Vince himself.

This was all poor planning and it was honestly aggravating at the least, but I'm a big girl. I can handle some shit talking.

With two bags in her hand, Eva stopped in her tracks once she realized where we are, telling from her face; she was either confused or pissed. I don't know, it's hard to tell. "Why are we here? You don't even have a match or anyone to face.."

I just simply looked at my bestfriend with a smirk on my face. "First of all baby girl, I'm a champion. I do what I want, and second we are here to talk about Mr. Ortan. Everyone who follows me seen that tweet by now so it's best to confront him and clear the air in the most major event that has nothing to do with me." I satated in a "matter of fact" tone, glancing at Eva only to see her mouth wide open for a few minutes before it closed.

"But it's Ronda-" I stopped her midsentance, yes this technically was Ronda's public press conference with another fighter but who cares? The girl stopped being relavent when she lost her winning streak and decided to throw a temper tantrum. "Eva. Do you really think I give a fuck about Ronda and her press conference right now?"

"Well, no but-"

"Exactly now let's go." I interrupted her again, wanting to end the bickering so I can confront the man baby is woman's underwear.

As we head in the building, we were greeted by the staff in the back. Like Eva, they also threw questions at me on why I was here and tried to nag me out of my decision but they couldn't stopped me. I had to loose them by dashing down the halls like a crazed fan. Luckily they weren't very fit so I lost them within the first few minutes of running, suckers.

Once finding the stage, I stood in the far back with a mic in my hand, watching Ronda and her opponent throw verbal shots at each other, the small audience was eating it up. Just as they were about to go toe to toe, I walked onto the stage.

I can feel Ronda's eyes burning in the back of my neck as I stood in front of her but just like a water on a ducks back; I brushed it off, facing the crowd who seemed happy to see me. God I love my fans.

"Sorry to interrupt ladies...well, not really. I just have something to say that involves not just me but us as women in the company we work in. Last night, a wwe champion decieded to gain some balls and throw shots at me and basically every woman in sports entertainment. Apparently I'm nothing but a dick sucking, wannabe diva in his eyes. " I smiled as the crowd reacted with boos, I glanced back at Ronda who seemed to be listening as well as her opponent.

"I just wanted to clear the air a bit. Yes WWE offered me a job there, yea if I join I'll most likely get my ass handed to me because WWE and UFC are two different things but I'll be damn to let a old man in a thong insult me. Look at who you are talking to Randy, I am a two timing champion who's been kicking both men and women's asses since I was eight-teen."

The crowd began to go wild with cheers and claps as I turn my attention to the camera that was now facing me. My smug smile disappeared within a second as my face just harden.

"I'm not the one to mess with little boy, I been doing hardcore shit since I was a kid. I made and broken more records than you did in your whole 20 years of kissing triple H's ass. No matter what company I go to or what ring I'm in; rather it be a squared ring or even a circle, I will dominate and I will come out as a winner. You wanna talk shit, you better be about shit because you just made an enemy out of me Randy Ortan."

Dropping my mic, I held up my championships above my head proudly, before leaving the stage, the sound of cheers began to fade as I continue making my way out with a devilish smirk plastered on my face. Was this a bad choice or was this the best decision I ever made. It could be both but who cares? I embarrassed that asshole and probably upset WWE but he came at me first. He deserved it.

Right?

My smile soon dropped once again as I came face to face with a not so happy Eva. Her face held and a unamused look like a disappointed mother. And just like a daughter, I couldn't help but held my head down in shame. Only for a second though.

"You didn't like it?" My question definitely made her more pissed, her unamused expression quickly changed to a 'Are you fucking kidding me?' Look.

"Really Yovanna? I'm not sure if that was the dumbest decision you could ever make or the best one!" She said, placing her hands on her hips. I could tell she was about to go mom mode on me so its best I shut up and listen.

"First of all this could ruin your opportunity to go to WWE. Second of all you just picked a fight you can't win because you can't wrestle! He's going to make you look like a fool and third...Yovanna, you have a 5 year winning streak what if wwe breaks it by forcing you to loose to Randy which probably why he's talking shit now. They could be setting you up for failure like they did Chyna."

Eva had some incredible good points, points that I couldn't argue against but I have a good feeling about WWE. They wouldn't do that to me especially with the contract that I'm going to sign. Maybe its arrogance or confidence but nothing can beat this good feeling I feel about my decisions. I'm confident that I'll beat Randy and then dominate WWE.

Just as Eva was about to nag me some more, my phone ranged.

Thank god.

I answered but couldn't even get a hello in before getting interrupted by a familiar voice. "Ms. Silva, I just seen your promo and its trending everywhere. You not only made Ortan pissed off but drove the WWE fans crazy with excitement. I was wondering if we could keep building up this tension between you and Ortan till your debut."

I'm surprised Vince hasn't torn me a new one but really? I just embarrassed the face of his company and he liked it? Jeez, Vince is more messy than a teenage girl.

"Uh sir..I haven't even signed the contract nor even quit my job which is something I wanted to talk to you about, I kinda want to keep doing ufc on the side. I'll drop MMA but UFC is my home since I was 18. I can't just give it up."

There was silence on the other end, I was scared that I just broke a nerve and ruined my chance but you had to understand how that this was not just a job that I'll leave behind but a whole family and friends that I grew up with.

"If it means you come to WWE and put it on the map...then, deal." I could feel my heart skipped a beat after hearing that. Did he just agreed? Oh my god I don't have to leave my family after all!

"Thank you Sir, this means so mu-"

"No need to thank me Ms. Silva. Just sign the contract that holds your request and start training asap so we can plan your debut." And with that, he hung up.

Wait..the hell he means by training?

[keicordelle]

An Arrangement of Convenience, Ch. 3

Fandom: FFXIV Rating: E Pairing: Estimeric Word Count: 4.9k Tags: Pre-Canon, Temple Knights Days, Friends with Benefits, First Time Together, Awkwardness, Relationship Discussions, Establishing Boundaries, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, POV First Person, POV Aymeric de Borel

Summary: Before they were the Lord Commander and the Azure Dragoon, they were Temple Knights. Before they were lovers, they were friends. Before their feelings grew into something more, they came together when there were no other options, in an arrangement established entirely out of convenience and mutual attraction.

Aymeric knows full well he's not the only man in the world attracted to other men, but he never expected his best friend to reveal that not only is he aware of Aymeric's preferences, but he shares them. When Estinien proposes that they might find pleasure with each other when the need arises, the offer seems to come straight out of Aymeric's fantasies. If they could maintain such an arrangement without ruining their friendship, it would be everything he'd ever dreamed of... But if they couldn't, he risked losing the only friend he'd ever had who saw him as more than a novelty. Because once he said yes, one way or another, everything was sure to change.

-

It was another three days before we chanced to be alone together again. The frustration that gnawed at me grew with every night I spent alone in my bedroll wallowing with pent-up need. I could tell Estinien felt much the same: he was surlier than usual, snapping at anyone who tried to talk to him. Barely contained hunger burned in his eyes when no one was watching, as if he'd simply been shoving down his lust until he had a target for it, and now it was uncaged and threatened to consume him. Which was a fairly accurate account of how I felt as well. Knowing he was within my grasp and I might finally find my release in the embrace of another after so many months alone and yet being denied every opportunity to do so burned me up inside and made every minute feel like hours dragging on interminably.

A hand came down on my wrist as I chewed absently on a piece of hardtack and pretended to listen to whatever Tiraneaux was saying. I jumped, too lost in my own thoughts to have noticed Estinien come up behind me. "Come with me," he said, face serious. "I need your assistance."

Tiraneaux trailed off, looking at him in concern. "Is something the matter, Ser Estinien? Have you uncovered one of those dravanian whoresons?"

"Nothing so serious as that. There's no point in mobilizing until we know more. Ser Aymeric and I can investigate and see if there is indeed a threat. Be on your guard, and remain here in the event that we need your aid."

"Understood," the older man said, despite the fact that he outranked us. The command in Estinien's voice was indomitable, and for a moment I felt like I could see the man he would be in 10 years, an implacable general and trusted leader, the vaunted Azure Dragoon who guaranteed the safety of our city. Already he was an incredible warrior; with another decade of experience and the power of the Eye at his beck and call, he would be an avatar of Halone herself. If our friendship could survive the rigors of the intervening years, together we would be able to exact great change in the Holy See.

I blinked, and he was just my friend Estinien once more, his fingers flexing on my arm. His eyes shifted from Tiraneaux to me, an invitation in their intensity. "Will you come?" he asked, voice rough.

My chin dipped, a finger of anticipation sliding down my spine to replace the tightness of frustration in my gut. "Of course."

-

Read the rest on Ao3!

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[aristocraticvision]

Chapter 43: A Leap Ahead

At this time, I will take advantage of one of the many benefits of such narratives and make only cursory mention of the events of the following three years. After all, they were relatively happy years for Cicero and his family – and nothing makes for more tedious reading than happy times.

Cicero’s aedileship, of course, was a tremendous success, even by Rome’s high standards.

Aediles, of course, had three primary responsibilities at that time. First and foremost was the care of Rome herself, including the repair and upkeep of temples, public buildings, streets and aquaducts, so Cicero could often be found working diligently at construction and repair sites across the city.

Second, aediles were charged with the public distribution of grain. Here, his defeat of Gaius Verres stood him in good stead. Well known and loved in Sicily, Cicero was able to buy grain at a discount from its grateful inhabitants, and, in fact, was even gifted a full shipment of grain at no charge. As a result, grain prices during his aedileship fell to an all-time low, increasing his popularity exponentially – much to the frustration of the other men in office.

The third of Cicero’s duties as aedile was the organization of the Roman games. Cashing in many of the gifts and legacies he had received from his Sicilian clients, Cicero spared no expense in making the games memorable.

He had never cared for gladiatorial combat himself – he’d simply never had the stomach for it. But the Roman games that year were an exception, and he stood proudly in a place of honor to accept the adoration of his people.

The highlight of the day was an Egyptian warrior, whose skill with a blade left his opponent lying dead on the arena floor. Fortunately, the crowd was too focused on the action in the arena to notice Cicero’s discomfort as the blood began flowing.

Little Tullia, Cicero’s daughter, had grown into a lovely young woman who was the apple of her father’s eye. Smart, capable and always smiling, Tullia had taken quite a liking to young Gaius Calpurnius Piso Frugi, who had remained on and was assisting Cicero with his court cases.

It seemed to Cicero that Frugi returned his daughter’s affection, and hoped to arrange a marriage between them. Tullia was amply dowered, and Cicero’s growing prestige made the girl even more attractive to suitors – even to a wealthy plebeian family like Frugi’s.

While Terentia had originally had her heart set on a patrician match for her only daughter, her focus shifted when, about a year after Cicero’s aedileship ended, she gave birth to a son – Marcus Tullius Cicero Minor – who would become the most important person in her life. Cicero, of course, was thrilled to have a son and heir, but Tullia would, until the end of his days, be his first and only love.

In celebration of his successful aedileship, and the birth of his son, Cicero purchased a villa in Tusculum, a town on the southern edge of the Alban Hills, south of Rome. While Cicero had always insisted on keeping the family’s smaller town home in Rome to support his image as a man of the people, he was not at all concerned at how luxurious the villa in Tusculum might be in comparison, saying “what the voters of Rome do not know will not hurt them.”

It was at the end of this joyous interlude, with my master basking in the radiance of his growing wealth and influence, that we shall resume our story. The arrival of tragic news would soon begin a cascade that would impact Cicero’s prospects for some time to come.

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[lente-ment]

Sorry if this is too personal, but I read on your AO3 that you went from being a fujo to a lesbian. I've heard of that happening before, and I just don't get how someone goes from being into media all about the attractiveness of males and males alone to realizing they are only attracted to females and females alone. Would you mind offering any insight into that process?

See, I'm a cis bi guy who started off straight, but women have remained just as attractive to me as I became more interested in men. I can't imagine being no longer attracted to women because they're hot for different reasons than men and vice versa.

I hope this doesn't come off weird! I just find gender/orientation stuff like this really interesting.

Oh hey, this isn't weird at all! Thank you for asking about a genuinely interesting topic, at least for me. (And sorry for the late reply, what little time I had last week I focused on editing ch13 and getting it ready for publishing... almost there...)

Relating to your question, I'm not even sure where to start, except by acknowledging that, yes, it probably is weird to go from being super into m/m and the whole culture that focuses on men, to being a lesbian who cares little for men (as objects of romantic or sexual desire, I didn't turn into a misandrist, just to clarify). It didn't happen over night, of course. And I do have to say that I had always been a little bit queer to begin with.

Fujoshi, or perhaps simply "readers of yaoi" (since fujoshi is a really derogatory term from what I gathered), are usually women. It is safe to assume that most of those women are straight, or at least attracted to real men in some way. However, men portrayed in yaoi works are rarely reflections of how real men look and behave. That's further supported by the fact that very little gay men read regular yaoi. Some read bara. In regular yaoi, male characters are very "sanitized" versions of men, made for women who only want the emotional side of the whole affair. They want to see the men show their feelings and be vulnerable. But not with them (they want strong men IRL), or other women (jealousy). But with other men? That's okay. Because those stories are always under their control (unlike real life is, for a lot of women). Most of these women also like real men (actors, guys in their school/workplace), and end up dating them/married. I'd like to point out that I haven't read any scientific research, or psychology papers. These are my personal observations and things I discussed with friends in the past regarding this topic.

Anyhow, to get back to my experience, I got into yaoi because these stories were fun. I gotta admit, I'm not sure how I found out about yaoi to begin with. I don't remember anyone around me being particularly vocal about it. I dug that stuff out from the depths of the late 2000s/early 2010s internet all by myself. Anyway, IRL, I was never particularly interested in men. Or anyone, until high school. Shows like Junjou Romantica or Ai no Kusabi were just interesting stories to me. And when I think back on yaoi anime and doujinshis that I consumed religiously in my teenage years, I mostly remember liking the themes they worked with, such as non-con sex, power play, bondage, humiliation etc. I cared little for the physical side of things. What little arousal I felt I connected with my own physiology, not with male genitalia. Meanwhile, yuri never had the same appeal. Those girls were always soft and gentle and shy. I think you know by now that that's not how I roll with my (vamp) lesbians.

After high school, during college, my love for m/m stuff waned. I guess my worldview expanded, and I mulled over being bi so I started considering women as well. The fact that I also never managed to have a relationship with a man longer than a week should've spoken louder volumes to me. As I grew as a person, I realized a lot of yaoi that I was reading was really immature, too. There are still a few works I'd recommend, but everything else doesn't do it for me anymore. Unfortunately, the same thing could be said about f/f stuff. Not just yuri (that is to say, works coming from Japan), but fanfics as well. There aren't really any f/f ships, even today, that I'd root for as hard as I did for some m/m ships. Because of that, I didn't know where I stood for the longest time.

At the end of college/beginning of my adult life, I finally started accepting some things about myself. One of them was that calling myself a lesbian was a completely valid thing to do. It felt a bit weird at the beginning. I come from a somewhat traditional surrounding so I didn't know too many queer people during that process. There was nobody to validate my feelings externally. That extended the self-realization process. Yet, slowly, I understood that I was finally doing myself a proper service by focusing on women.

To be honest, I still find some men attractive, but that's more of an exception than a rule. And it's pretty random. And I never act on it because I'm not interested in them sexually, and only like... 5% romantically. So, uh, maybe that's just like seeing someone outside on the street and thinking "huh, this guy looks cool, hope he has a nice day".

Uhh, okay, that's a wall of text. Hope it illuminates some things for you, anon? If you're comfortable sharing, I wouldn't mind hearing about your own self-discovery process. Thank you for checking out my fic and hopping into this inbox. Have a nice day! 💙

[hardynwa]

Stop premeditated injustice against Igbo –Archbishop Onuagha

Archbishop of Okigwe Archdiocese, Methodist Church Nigeria and Bishop of Okigwe Diocese, Most Rev. Biereonwu Onuagha has expressed anger over what he called premeditated injustice against the Igbo in Nigeria. The cleric expressed the fear that unless Nigeria and Nigerians stop the premeditated injustice against the Igbo, the country would never work optimally to the benefit of all citizens. He also claimed that the continued detention of the Leader of Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), Mazi Nnamdi Kanu and the result of the recently concluded presidential election were ploys to push the Igbo nation into physical combat. He, however, said the Igbo would remain law-abiding in Nigeria. Onuagha disclosed this in the presidential address presented at the 42nd annual Synod of the Methodist Church Nigeria, Diocese of Okigwe, Imo State. He tasked the judiciary to be firm in its judgement on the ongoing presidential election tribunal. He warned the judiciary against being compromised or creating the perception that they were cheap and that politicians would steal other peoples mandates and have the effrontery to tell those cheated to go to court because they have the judiciary in their pockets. He suggested that in future, any presidential election in contention, would attract the suspension of swearing in of the president-elect, until the case is determined. He also flayed the use of state resources to pursue party matters. He, however, suggested that if Nigeria would continue its premeditated injustice on the Igbo, it was better they allowed the Igbo have Biafra. “The Igbo man is the only nation builder I know in this country. Why I get more worried is the fact that Igbo man as selfless as he is, in his development of the nations, the Nigeria society hates him, do I say it again? Yes I think I should. The treatments against Ndigbo is the reason the marriage called Nigeria is simply not working and there is nothing that will make it work until they reverse the treatment meted on Igbo race… “I will, therefore, suggest that if Nigeria will continue to met its premeditated injustice on Igbo race, the best thing is to allow Biafra to go to enable the Igbo race to go and build themselves.” Read the full article

[apricotheart]

a drabble continuation of this for @shacchou​.

        𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆, blanketing the room in a soft glow of yellow light as Anzu stirred. She could have laid in bed for several more hours — the softness of the luxury sheets and what was likely the most expensive mattress in Japan, and certainly the most comfortable she’d ever slept on —  had the events from the night before not suddenly come rushing back with the full force of a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. She sat up with a jolt, clutching the sheets around her body and immediately surveying her surroundings. Thankfully, Kaiba seemed to be absent from the room for a moment, giving Anzu a much needed moment to collect her thoughts. 

        It was absurd to think about. She’d slept with Kaiba.

        She’d slept with Kaiba.

        Anzu couldn’t even begin to fathom what had led to this exact moment. Maybe, if she could admit it to herself, it could be traced back to Yuugi’s invitation. If she had been smart, she would have refused on principle. She and Kaiba were supposed to be avoiding each other, and that had failed thus far on multiple occasions. Accepting Yuugi’s invitiation had been her first mistake. More than that, not only had she agreed to be Yuugi’s plus-one, but then she proceeded to omit the detail from her casual travel updates to Kaiba. Perhaps if she had simply chosen not to go, things wouldn’t have gone the way they had. Anzu was certain Yuugi would have understood her reservations. Yuugi was always understanding, always ready to accommodate; and maybe it was for that reason that Anzu couldn’t say no to him. They’d been friends since they were kids, after all. Yuugi was her best friend. She could never have forgiven herself if she hadn’t shown up to support him in this new chapter of his life, the way he had always supported her.

        Yet for all that rationalisation, there was none to be made for her current situation. She didn’t even have the excuse of alcohol for how she had ended up here, in Kaiba’s bed, with nothing but a sheet wrapped around her. For a moment, Anzu buried her face in her hands and groaned. Maybe they didn’t hate each other, but there was certainly no “electric chemistry” or “budding romance” despite what the tabloids tried to push onto them. Kaiba had been nothing but infuriating the whole night. From the event, to the car, to the drive — they’d done nothing but bicker. At least, until Kaiba had effectively silenced any retort from her with his lips. Even now, she’s not sure why she kissed him back. Encouraged him. Encouraged any of this to happen. Anzu wasn’t stupid enough to think there was no attraction there. Kaiba was an incredibly attractive man and she would be a fool and a liar to say that he wasn’t. It would be easy to write off the night as nothing more than a culmination of a string of unfortunate events and lust. But that didn’t sit well with Anzu.

        She brought her thumb to her lip and bit at the nail, craning her neck to look out one of the large windows. Anzu wasn’t the sort of person to sleep around. She didn’t sleep with just anyone and certainly not on a whim. In fact, the only other person she’d ever slept with had been her boyfriend of three months and fellow dancer, Sumitani Haruto. They’d ended their relationship and remained friends, but the fact remained that she didn’t make a habit of sleeping with someone she wasn’t at least emotionally attached to. She had no idea of knowing Kaiba’s own exploits, but the idea of him having even the faintest opinion that she slept around made her stomach churn.

        Approaching footsteps had Anzu turning her gaze to the doorway. Not surprisingly, Kaiba was standing there and dressed for work. They did not exchange any greeting. In fact, Anzu surprised herself by asking if she should leave, and was even a little proud that her voice didn’t belie any discomfort or upset despite the tumultuous storm of her thoughts.

        “I’m sure you’re expected elsewhere, Mazaki.” 

        Though her expression remained inscrutable, his words stung. Anzu wasn’t naïve enough to think that something toeing the line of romance would come of this tryst. But the coldness of his demeanour made her feel as though this was simply another business transaction to him. She had thought that, maybe, they could have at least been on first-name basis now. But he remained distant as ever. He wasn’t wrong, though. She did have somewhere to be. Had promised her friends she’d meet up with them for lunch. In that moment, though, Anzu wished for nothing more than to be alone. 

        How could she possibly face her friends after this? How could she look any of them in the eye with a smile on her face, knowing what had happened the night before? She wasn’t ashamed of it, per se. In fact, Anzu didn’t even feel regret about it.  At least not at the moment. Distress and confusion? Certainly, but not regret. Yet it wasn’t as though she could tell them about this. Yuugi might have been the most understanding human being on the planet, but it still felt like some kind of betrayal — a boundary she shouldn’t have crossed — to sleep with his long-time duelling rival and now business partner. She definitely couldn’t confide in Jounouchi, for reasons that would have been obvious to even the most dense person in the world. Even her roommates back in New York would be no help. She couldn’t count on them to keep a secret to save their lives. Anzu simply had to accept that she was alone in this, unable to confide in anyone about what she had done. It would remain a secret between herself and Kaiba, alone.

       ❝  Right. Of course.  ❞ 

        She turned her back to him, waited to hear his departing footsteps, and then bent to pick up her clothes. A few minutes later, she was dressed again and exiting the room. Anzu had expected, and hoped, that Kaiba would already have left for work by the time she entered the living room with shoes in hand. But he was still there. Against her better judgment, she spoke to him as she made her way to the door, stopping at the threshold. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

        ❝  ... For the record, I don’t — I don’t normally do this.  ❞ Her mouth felt dry. She wanted to go home. Maybe cry a bit at how utterly stupid and ridiculous she felt.  ❝  I don’t sleep with just anyone. I just... I just wanted you to know that.  ❞

[sukirichi]

Hello! Can you write one about Nanami where the reader is oblivious and they're really close to Gojo so he gets jealous often. Sometimes Gojo does things purposely to annoy him and one day he just lost his composure and accidentally admitted his feelings for you.

I hope u accept if you're not too busy. Thank you!!!

— a little push

— sometimes all nanami needs is a little push.

nanami kento x fem! reader

thank you for the request anon! i’m not sure if reader is oblivious enough but i hope you like it! there’s some thick pining here hur hur, i hope you like it! i never knew i needed an easily flustered and awkward nanami in my life also this is unedited as usual

check my bio for masterlist and my milestone event! (◕ᴗ◕✿)

“Do you mind?”

Nanami sighs, silently praying to the heavens you wouldn’t hear the way his heart is absolutely panicking and beating wildly right now. You’d randomly pushed him inside the teachers’ office the moment he got back to the institute at work, and now he’s doomed to hide his feelings while you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes, a shaky yet excited grin painted on your face.

“Sorry, sorry,” you wave your hands in front of you, although he can tell you’re not apologetic at all. Nanami clears his throat when you step backwards to give him space, unsure if he’s happy or sad about the distance. “I was just really excited to see you back.”

Your carefree, lighthearted voice, along with that little jump in your toes combined with your statement – you’re basically asking Nanami to shrivel up already.

The stoic man remains composed, though, only shifting to adjust his tie while he stares down at you. You’re still somewhat bouncing on your feet, teeth biting your lip – a habit you had when you want to say something but contemplating whether you should. Tilting away to hide the slight flush in his cheeks, Nanami sighs again, pretending to be tired.

The last thing he wants to admit that even though he is exhausted from work, is that you’d never bother him. In fact, having you bombard him like this makes him feel like he didn’t deal with special grade curse by himself all alone just an hour ago.

“If there’s something you want to say, I suggest you get it over with. I don’t want to stay overtime and wait until the blindfolded creep comes around.”

You giggle at his insult, hiding behind your cupped palms. Crap, Nanami looks away and focuses on the birds outside instead, suddenly finding them so interesting despite never paying attention to them before. Maybe that was the curse of crushes – it had people acting differently and in complete contrast with their behavior.

“About that,” you begin almost shyly now, and Nanami practically bursts when he sees you tapping both of your pointer fingers together, gaze tilted away from him.

It makes him wonder you’re nearly on the same skill to Gojo, yet still somehow look like a small, innocent being that makes him want to protect you from everything – even if you were more than capable of handling things yourself. Well, Nanami concludes to himself, maybe you’re really just that paradoxical that it makes sense why he can never think straight around you. Maybe he’s really not supposed to understand the complexity of his feelings when you were a phenomena to begin with already.

“You see…Satoru asked me out.”

Nanami stiffens at your statement for a split second before his head whips to you so fast. You’re observant – of course you are, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer – and you easily pick up in his sudden change of demeanor. Your brow raises at his abrupt reaction, to which Nanami conceals by flexing his neck and rolling his shoulders back.

“I am simply tired from work,” he haf-lies, “So, Satoru asked you out? Will you say yes?”

His words and tone are monotonous, almost bored even, but deep inside he’s so close to beating the crap out of his co-worker. Well, not really, Nanami isn’t a man of violence, but he’s jealous. Of course he is – he’s liked you ever since Principal Yaga hired you.

He’s never told Satoru about his little crush on you. He would be stupid to do such; Satoru would tease him to no end and maybe even be as childish to go as far as pushing him to you. Typical elementary shit, Nanami cringes to himself, watching as you look down at your feet with a pout. Now that confused him. He isn’t sure what your body language means at all, but patient as ever, Nanami only waits.

“Well,” you scratch your forehead, “I’m really flattered. I want to say yes because Satoru is a nice guy—”

“He is not. I do not respect him.”

You roll your eyes at the way his eyes darkens, “—but also I’m not sure if I should. I mean, Satoru doesn’t really date, you know? He’ll be with like one girl and be with another the next week. I just don’t want to…like, fall for that, I guess. Not that I won’t, because he’s totally not my type—”

“It’s just a yes or no,” Nanami cuts you off, his words coming out a lot harsher than he intends it to be. It’s not that he’s annoyed at your rambling, he actually finds it so adorable when you get so lost in your train of thoughts that your mind just travels from one place to another, and seeing how your eyes just leave farther from reality is something he’s always find such an attractive quirk, but not now – not when his infuriating co-worker is intending to mess with your feelings. “Do you want to go or not? Yes or no? It’s as simple as that.”

You blink back at him in surprise, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Nanami was a no-bullshit man who hit things right on the head, a huge contrast to your happy-go-lucky self, but he’s right.

It is that simple – and you’re complicating things all over again.

When you give him an answer, Nanami has to muster all his energy to not deflate. He’s tired – but now his exhaustion and even the heartbreak comes crashing down all over him that he’s immediately weighed down and overwhelmed – so much so that all he wants is to go home.

“Yes, I want to go.”

It’s his day off.

Like everything else in his life, Nanami plans everything down to the last minute of his day. His day off consisted of him having the privilege to sleep in until 8am, then breakfast with coffee from that great café a five minute walk away from his apartment, then he’ll be reading books in his study for two hours. Comes after that is lunch, and he’ll brows through some TV shows, pick up his clothes from the dry cleaning, get that special limited edition dinner of his favorite sushi, read books again and call it a day.

Simple, peaceful, no hassle – it’s the perfect day to relax.

Except it isn’t.

Because it’s your day off too, and you’re out on a date with Satoru. He still remembers how happy you looked then upon accepting the white haired man’s invitation, your nimble fingers wrapped around his sleeve as you shyly asked him to come with you.

He doesn’t know why you had to bring him, but he doesn’t question it, nonetheless. Nanami wants to see how Satoru would react, if there could be any indication from the man behind his blindfold that he had ill intentions. Oddly enough, there didn’t seem to be any. Satoru only beamed and deflated into a chibi, enthusiastically nodding along with you while you planned your date together.

Nanami took it upon himself to leave.

With a silent scoff, Nanami placed his dinner down on the counter. Because it’s his day off – and mostly because he doesn’t feel like himself – Nanami went out to buy the limited edition sushi wearing a white shirt and some gray sweatpants, too forlorn and a little jealous to even bother dressing up.

It’s stupid, really. He’s been looking forward for this sushi for a long, long time, but now that he’s had it, he can’t even enjoy the taste. His mind keeps going back to you.

Were you having fun with Satoru? Were you enjoying your time? Was Satoru treating you well? What was Satoru’s intentions when it came with you? The last time Nanami checked, you and him got along really well and you’re mostly the one who whacks the taller man in the head upside down when he’s being stupid, almost like two peas in a pod, except you were the smarter one. He’d been so sure you’re nothing but friends and yet…it all lead to this.

Nanami pushes his sushi away. They no longer taste like anything, the texture like dried paper on his mouth. He wipes his lips with a napkin, staring longingly at well…nothing. His walls were plain and empty, and suddenly, Nanami can’t help but compare himself to Gojo.

You both planned to go to the local carnival. There’d be lots of foods and even parlor shops, ferris wheel rides and photo booths to create memories. Of course you and Satoru would go there; both of you enjoyed loud, bustling crowds, claiming there was something amazing about basking in the “lives of humans when ignorant of curses” while Nanami prefers his peace and silence.

Had you gone out on a date with him instead, Nanami can’t guarantee he’ll be any fun. He most definitely wouldn’t ask you to go to a carnival with him either. It was loud, cramped, crowded, and it’s too chaotic for him to ever enjoy your presence and enjoy it alone.

Nanami closes the sushi box, turns on the TV and lets is play on the background, a wet towel above his eyes to relax his tired eyes.

He hopes you’re having fun. He hopes Satoru is treating you well. Nanami just ignores the slight pain in his chest when he thinks of you, laughing and touching anyone but him, and he could picture it already. You’ve always been so open and welcoming to everyone, he knows you’ll have fun today, too.

That’s one of the things he finds most endearing about you – that your smile never fades and you never forget about the simple, little things in life to focus on to keep your sanity after facing curse after curse.

He’s fine, he tells himself. Satoru may be annoying, but he knows you could have fun with him, and you deserved to be happy more than anyone else.

Nanami is about to fall asleep on his couch when his phone vibrates on the coffee tables. Groaning, he flicks off the towel to his shoulders, grumbling about how Principal Yaga better be respecting his day off, but the last thing he expects to see is your contact name flashing on the screen. In the contact photo, you’re winking with a peace sign held above your head.

You look so utterly adorable Nanami just wants to kiss you. He remembers this photo was taken when Yuuji got bored and asked to play games on his phone. Upon finding that there was none – of course there was none – the strawberry-haired student opted for taking pictures of everyone instead. There’s one with Nobara growling, Megumi sipping his boba-tea with dead eyes as if he’s so done with the world, more than twenty pictures of Satoru flexing his muscles and posing like an idiot, and then there’s yours.

Nanami remembers staring at his phone for a solid minute, his gallery actually blessed with your face in it. The sun shines behind you on that photo and you’re absolutely shining. He thinks that’s when he truly fell in love.

And it just so happened the love of his life is calling, making his heart skip a beat because shouldn’t you be with Gojo? Why were you calling him? Did something wrong happen?

Nanami doesn’t waste another second before swiping the green icon, already standing up from the couch as he grabs his jacket. He had this weird inkling something is wrong, why else would you call him?

His theories are proven true when your voice comes out shaky. “H-hello?”

“Good evening,” he greets stiffly, brows furrowed as he listens in on the way you seem to be shuffling around. “Is there something wrong?”

“I, uhm,” he hears you sniffle through the other line, “Yeah, I guess there is…Satoru just texted he can’t come because Principal Yaga suddenly sent him to a mission overseas…and then I just realized that Satoru’s been summoned by the elders and he’s just refusing to show up, so now they cornered him, I guess… anyways, I’m talking too much and I don’t want to be a bother, but would you maybe…like to hang out with me?”

Nanami’s hand freezes on the doorknob. “Hang out…professionally?”

He immediately wants to smack himself in the forehead for that. Out of all things he could’ve said, he just had to utter something unintelligent. He hears you snicker in the background and Nanami’s ears redden. 

He quickly regains his composure with a clear of his throat, suddenly remembering that Satoru’s ditched you, so now you’re asking him instead. It kind of feels like he’s just a replacement, but Nanami buries this feeling down before it consumes him, wondering if he’s already regretting changing into better clothes because he actually agreed to go to a carnival with you.

Upon hearing your happy, “Okay! I’ll wait for you then!”, Nanami realizes that he doesn’t actually mind. Especially not with you.

The carnival is loud.

Nanami dreads the moment he steps out of his car, his body swallowed by the bustling crowd and defeaning music of banging drums and clashing instruments. There’s a hundred scents everywhere – smoke, fish, glazed apples – he doesn’t know where to begin or how to focus.

He nearly turns back to his hair, about to shoot you a text that maybe this is beyond him after all. His head begins to spin when he’s only pushed deeper into the crowd, people bumping into him with every single second and it’s so suffocating. It doesn’t make sense to him how anyone could possibly go on a date like this and enjoy it. He knows for sure this chaos won’t let him enjoy his date’s presence because he’s too busy trying to get away from it all.

Nanami staggers for a bit when a strong hand tugs him to the side. Soon, he finds himself pressed flush against you in a tight corner, your hips warm on his. “Hi,” you breathe out airily, lashes fanning and fluttering in that same manner that always made his heart do complete flips.

“Hello,” he greets back with a small bow out of faux respect, but really, he’s just keeping his head down because you look so beautiful in that moment he doesn’t even know where to look. You’re warm and soft next to his hard and stiff muscles, the scent of roses and vanilla mixing in with the street smoke and Nanami’s head grows dizzy, his hand around yours tightening for comfort. “Y/N…I do not prefer this crowd. Can I take you back home instead? You must be tired – I’ll prepare dinner for you.”

Nanami blinks back in surprise when he sees you nod, a slight grimace on your face, and you practically bury your face in his bicep as you groan, “It’s too noisy for me too. Let’s just hang out at your place.”

So you end up in his immaculately clean apartment, admiring and staring at the boring furniture. Nanami changes into more comfortable clothes and whips out something to cook, not wanting to feed you measly take out when you’re probably famished. He watches with side glances as you pick up a photo of him with his parents when he was younger, cooing and giggling at the baby version of him.

“Nanamin, you’re so cute!”

Nanami scoffs and turns back to the heated water in the bowl, arms hard as they cross against his chest covered with an apron. “Please do not call me cute. I am anything but.”

“No, you’re really cute,” you insist, but after seeing Nanami’s flustered frown, you eventually give up and give the poor man a break. Later, you wobble next to him, watching with curious eyes and a small smile as he adds the vegetables into the soup, moving expertly as he diced up the onions to the side. The sheer focus and attention on his daily tasks makes him falter, and he suddenly finds it so hard to function now.

“Why are you staring at me? Is there something so interesting about slicing up onions?”

“No, not really,” you say absentmindedly, the slight plop of the ingredients echoing. “It’s just – I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this way. Domestic, I mean, but it looks good on you,” you nod to yourself, and Nanami finds himself struggling to act as if your presence wasn’t making him go crazy while he proceeds to cook. “In fact, everything looks good on you, and I find you really interesting!”

“Y-you do?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, assisting him silently with mixing the bowl even when he didn’t ask you to. Unaware that he’s now focused on you, watching you cook with him with you pressed up against his side, almost as if it’s right where you belong, Nanami feels the same with you. You also look good being this domestic with him, and he suddenly blurts out, “Would you like to stay with me? Like this?”

Your eyes slide over his in a slow fashion, slow enough that his brain hotwires at the fear maybe he’s said something wrong. But Nanami immediately swallows it down, huffing and turning away from you with that stoic expression again. “Forgive me. That was weird—”

“Why would it be weird?” you laughed to yourself before bumping your hips with his, “You’re the one who invited me here. Of course I want to stay.”

That’s…that’s not what he means.

Nanami is left staring openly at you while you help him set the table and you proceed to talk about how you didn’t really want to go to the carnival but Satoru insisted you’d have fun, so you went anyway even if you’d much prefer to be somewhere else. He’s barely listening, too distracted by the way your lips move and how you swing the house slippers on your big toe, your legs crossed on top of another and your figure slightly hunched across from him.

You look so comfortable and welcomed in his home that it puts him at ease too, not worried that he has to impress you anything because it’s you, and Nanami could actually be vulnerable enough to laugh with you over a bowl of vegetable soup.

It’s fine, he lies to himself again, it’s fine that you don’t know he likes you even if he tends to slip and be obvious sometimes. Because at least you’re with him in that moment, and he lies to himself again that it’s fine, that maybe next time he’ll tell you, but he doesn’t worry about. How could he worry about it when you’re snorting so loud over a lame joke he said that rice nearly came out your nose, and he’s so drunk over the sound of your bubbly laughter that something flutters deep within his belly?

When you help him wash the dishes and bask in the silence instead, comfortable over the lack of words and nothing but the sound of his faucet running and the slight rubbing of towels against dishes heard in the background, Nanami is unsure whether he’s glad that Satoru ditched you on your first date.

It doesn’t stop there.

Nanami only keeps falling in love with you more. He’s been doing a good job of keeping his feelings to himself because the last thing he wants is to have you stay away from him, but Satoru was really getting on his nerves.

He’s just come back from exorcising a curse when he sees you and Satoru play-wrestling in the field with the other students. Megumi is grumbling to himself in the corner, Yuuji is laughing and cheering on you to tackle down his sensei who’s currently going down in high-pitched laughter, Toge pumping his fists and screaming, “Salmon, salmon!”

It’s a chaotic sight – one that he usually doesn’t mind – until you finally pin Satoru down on the ground, your ass above his crotch. Satoru’s hands then come up to squeeze your ass and hips under the false pretense he’s struggling to push you off him, but Nanami knows better.

“Give up already!” you tease the other sorcerer who’s still wriggling underneath you, and Nanami sees it before it happens.

Satoru’s legs bend beneath you and he tries to pin you under him in quick movements, but Nanami is faster, his reflexes taking over. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Nanami tugs you and pulls you forward until you collide on his chest. He’s breathing hard, eyes narrowed at the arrogant smirk painted on Satoru’s features. Meanwhile, you’ve softened in Nanami’s grip, hands fisting his shirt that has him hardening up out of sheer protectiveness.

“Oh, Nanamin!” Satoru beams while wiping the dirt on his hands across his uniform, “Glad to see you here. You wanna join training too?”

“This is hardly training,” he retorts with a clenched jaw, “You’re harassing and disrespecting your fellow sorcerer because you can never keep your dirty hands to yourself,” before Satoru could defend himself, he’s already all over you, his hand tilting your chin side to side to check for any injuries. “Are you hurt anywhere? Did this bastard do anything else?”

“No, not really—”

“Why do you care so much, Nanamin?” Satoru teases, and the students all huddle to watch the commotion. Everyone can feel the tension rising, and Nanami only stiffens up further when he feels you lean closer to his warmth almost absentmindedly. “She and I were just playing around, no hard feelings, no foul play. We’re just having fun, right, Y/N?”

“She is not someone you can just have fun with, Satoru. You’ve already crossed the line when you ditched her on your first date, and you didn’t even bother texting or calling back when I drove her home. It’s disrespectful, and she deserves better than that.”

“Nanami—”

“I was busy,” Satoru sighs dramatically, “And if she deserves better than me, then who would it be? I can take care her of her, you know, she and I have been besties for like what, a year now? I’ll be good to her,” he smirks, and Nanami wants nothing more than to punch him square in the jaw. “Besides, it’s not like she’s dating anyone else. She’s single and ready to mingle—”

“Maybe she is, but I’m not,” Nanami deadpans, his harsh tone shocking everyone.

“Wh-what do you mean?” you squeak under him, and Nanami falls silent. He’s never thought of confessing to you, especially not this way, and Nobara is biting Yuuji’s jacket behind them to muffle her squeals. Panda is clapping his hands and whispers oh, here we go, followed by Toge’s salmon salmon.

It dawns on him now that everyone knows he likes you after all, and now that he’s confronted with the situation, he can’t run away from it. Not that Nanami plans on running away, for he is a man and his pride doesn’t allow him to evade situations like this.

He just wishes it could’ve gone out better.

“Forgive me if this makes you uncomfortable,” Nanami releases his grip on you, loosening his tie that makes him feel like he’s choking both on air and his words. Through his cool stature, he’s actually sweating inside his clothes, and it doesn’t help you’re patient with him too, head tilted to the side curiously and so horribly cutely he might combust. “But I have always been, and I still am, utterly in love with you.”

Nobara and Yuuji no longer hold back as they scream to themselves, the former slapping the latter in his back while Megumi only shakes his head, muttering “about time,” under his breath. Maki snickers to herself and Satoru is stunned, but it’s nothing compared to the way you shrink under his gaze for a moment.

He believes you’re going to run away from him because of his blatant confession; it wasn’t romantic at all, and the kids are still screaming too loudly for him to form coherent thoughts.

Nanami begins to form a deep bow, ready to apologize wholeheartedly and to politely ask you to forget this if you wish – he would respect your decision. But just as his gaze met the ground, he’s thrown off balance as you jump on him, soft glossy lips crashing into his.

The screams and cheers of everyone are suddenly drowned out when he feels your lips molding onto his, and he can feel you smiling happily, giggling while his hands tentatively run down your hips to hold you close. It’s unprofessional, displeasing, and downright horrendous to be kissing someone during work hours while the students are watching, especially because his clothes are crumpled from your eager touch and you’re on top of his chest, but Nanami absolutely doesn’t give a single fuck because he’s kissing you back fervently.

It’s what he’s always wanted – you’re the one he’s always wanted, and now that he has you in his hold, he’s not easily letting you go.

“See? I told you guys,” Satoru proudly puffs his chest up in the background, “All Nanamin needs is a little push.”

[ricciardostoast]

GR63;;Throw a fit [one]

you planned to get what you wanted, and make him work for it along the way

[a/n: mini series. been saying i was going to write for george for ages and here i am]

wc: 4k

warning: mild;; language

masterlist | next

“George Russell.” He smiled exposing his perfectly white teeth. The posh accent draws your eyes, unable resist the proper drawl amongst the cruder advances you’d received tonight. Noting glint of interest in your posture, he laughed lightly, extending his hand.

Offering your name, you couldn’t help but want him. Already wanting him.

The media view of him did his real image no justice. He was even better up close. His hair always looked so put together on screen, but tonight it looked a little unruly, like he’d taken a firm hand through it just before stepping out. And that smile, it was enough to kill any self control you’d had built up to this point. Mr. Put-Together obviously came here with a plan in mind and you decide you would be his first and only.

You’d have this man, preferably before day break.

“You’re already everything I want in a woman, and I’ve just learned your name.”

“You’re already everything I want in a woman, and I’ve just learned your name.”

“You’re already everything I want in a woman, and I’ve just learned your name.”

Names were just learned to be polite. You hated being on the end of a one night stand being called anything and everything but your own name.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Now, it was your turn to smirk. George chuckled, raising his eyebrow slightly.

“Really now? Just not too bad? Cause the way you’re looking at me now makes me believe otherwise.”

You bit back a curse. His eyes were like a freaking whirlpool sucking you in. You couldn’t look at him without at some point meeting his gaze. This one would be a tricky one. But frankly that just made it more of a challenge.

You softened your stare, letting your eyes glance lazily over the club before returning back to him “That’s all.” you smiled innocently through your lies.

In honesty, George Russell was far from ‘not bad’. In fact, you were sure you had never been more attracted to someone in a long time, maybe ever. Whatever it was, he had it, and you wanted it.

“Well I think I can say with support from the majority of the female population that I am more than ‘not bad’ ” Again, he smiled. A subtle curl of the lips that wasn’t smug or challenging. As if he’d already paced the future and was just riding the script. It was effective and you couldn’t deny the fact your body tingled when he did that.

“Cocky.”

He shook his head and reached out a hand; you noticed his tanned skin and strong, veiny arms. “Confident.” He replied simply, his fingers pushing a loose lock of hair behind your ear. You swallowed, hard, noticing the definiteness of his abs through his shirt every time he made a slight movement.

This was definitely more than a challenge.

“Told you I was better than ‘not bad’.” His voice interrupted you as you turned your gaze back up to him. He was back to that bright smile, one that said ‘Me? I could never.’ “I can see you checking me out. Again.”

Running out of options, you knew you needed to hook him quick before he entanged you.

You shifted your eyes immediately, mirroring the smile he’d presented to you thus far.

“So, you might look good. That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re probably still a cocky little, self loving, obnoxious sports star.” You smirked, satisfied with your own response, while your eyes managed to remain serious.

He laughed lightly again, shaking his head. “Let me prove you wrong.” He said, edging slightly closer to you. “Let me take you out sometime.” He smiled.

Those were the words that would normally send you packing. A guy that asked for a date normally would request another and another and string a girl along into a sense of comfort until he could get in your pants.

Whether George was that guy or not didn’t matter. You didn’t need the frivolity of propriety in order to get what you both wanted.

You just didn’t date.

You shook your head immediately knowing that it was out of the question. “I don’t do dates.”

“You don’t?” He asked, an eyebrow rose. You reasserted with a shake of your head. He was silent for a moment, almost waiting for the ‘just kidding’. That ‘just kidding’ was never going to come, you was serious, and eventually – he realized that. “Why not?”

She turned to face him more, their bodies even closer than before. The height difference between you is even more evident now, despite your heels. “You and I both know dates are only used to get on a girl’s good side so a guy can take her to bed and fuck her senseless. Guys don’t really want to go to that restaurant, they really aren’t interested in the terrible day you had, and they really don’t want to be paying all that money for a dinner that their ‘fucking’ conquest probably didn’t even finish.” you stated diplomatically.

You watched George, unable to read his expression – his eyebrows were furrowed but there was still that smile playing on his lips. “I can’t change your mind, can I?” she shook her head.

He couldn’t. No one could.

“But, I think you’re wrong.” You felt your own eyebrows furrow then, you didn’t like being wrong.

George judged your reaction in an instant and continued to talk. “I love to eat and especially love a girl with an appetite, and my friends tell me I’m a good listener and I bet I could make you laugh so hard you’d forget about your bad day and, honestly? I couldn’t care if you finished your meal or not, ladies don’t pay.”

You were speechless.

You couldn’t help it; you didn’t even try to fight it.

The boy was good. No denying that.

You let a sarcastic laugh leave your lips. “Smooth George, I’ll give you that much.”

“So, you wouldn’t like to go on a date with me?” He asked moments later, his face the image of pure seriousness.

“I don’t do dates,” you repeated, “With anyone.”

You weren’t used to that reaction. Normally guys would kill to get one night with a girl without any drama or emotions. George on the other-hand was questioning it, defying it.

“You can’t really be serious’ There was a hint of humor speckled disbelief, though you didn’t seem to find it funny. “I mean, what do you do if you like a guy?”

“Cut out the chase.” you smiled, batting your eyelashes slightly more than before – hoping he’d get it. Hoping he’d be quiet shut-up and get with the program. Your program.

“What about boyfriends? You can’t date someone just because they’re a good lay.”

“I’ve dealt with boys,” you told him truthfully, “I don’t like their definition of relationships.” you shrugged. You could feel his critical eyes watching you suspiciously again, as if he still didn’t believe you, still didn’t get it, and still didn’t understand.

“So what now? You just don’t bother trying. I have to tell you, you’re missing out.” He was intrigued, but meant every word he said.

You could feel your facade falling. It was then that you realized that George Russell wasn’t just some guy. George wanted to ask questions. He wanted to know more. And, for the most part – from the way things looked right now, he really did want to date.

It was then that you normally would have given up, smiled and retreated back to the bar and waited for another one to come along. But, with George – there was something. There more you listened to his voice got mesmerized by his eyes, his body – even his damn mannerisms got you. Licking his lips before he began a sentence, you didn’t just want George then. She needed him. Her body almost craved him.

And you needed him to feel the same way. Preferably without the commitment.

“So, you’re telling me that if I asked you to come home with me right now you wouldn’t?” you smirked playfully, gauging his expression carefully. He was hard to read, you noticed that immediately. He would laugh warmly, not awkwardly, not because he thought the comment was hilarious –Just because. He would smile, then trace his tongue across his lips, his expression more serious.

“I can’t answer that.” He stated.

“Why?” you almost sighed, sick of him playing the game that seemed to go nowhere. Sick of him being a ‘good guy’. ’ nice guy’. No guy was like this in real life. They all had their secret motives.

“You haven’t asked me.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

You hated this. You were the smug one, mostly. You sighed audibly, visibly annoyed with him. He only smiled in response, happy with that reaction.

“You know, I’m unsure if you’re even going to be worth all of this shit.” you stated simply, cocking your head to one side as you glared at him. But you silently prayed he would come around and see things your way. God, it would be sinning if a man like that was to go to waste.

“Oh I definitely am, that I can promise.” He spoke seductively, biting his bottom lip as he finished his sentence. You knew it was put on, but, you didn’t care –it was working, he was making you want him more than you had anticipated.

“You know, I still think you’re a cocky self-loving, obnoxious sports star.” you told herself it was still true, yet in those brief few moments he already slightly swayed your judgment. Slightly. He was still a man, men still lie.

“And I’m pretty sure you still want me despite that. Plus, I’m starting to think you’re a stuck up, man hating sex maniac.” He almost choked on his words with laughter.

“But I’m pretty sure you still want me.” you stated, yet it came out like a question. Honestly, now you weren’t sure if he did.

“ Maybe. But-” He smiled playfully; he knew what he was doing. “But not in the way you apparently want me too.”

“Why are you so damn adamant?” you asked genuinely wondering.

He reached forward, closing the small gap between then his strong hand clasping at your side – pulling you closer to him. “Because a girl like you doesn’t come around everyday. And you’re worth more than I one night stand.” He whispered gruffly.

You watched his eyes reconnect with yours, before they fell to your lips.

They were softer than you imagined. They way they moved against your in such a passion it was unreal. It was different than those sloppy drunken kisses you shared in the past. It was unlike anything you ever experienced. You felt almost felt like there was something else. Something more meaningful.

You pulled away quickly suppressing a gasp. Your fingers brushed against your lips; your mind clouded. This boy was dangerous. Maybe you were a little too in over your head.

“Let’s make a deal” He said the second your lips parted. You looked up at him, he paused for a moment a thoughtful look on his face, before returning his attention back to you. “But first, let me point out that I’m not going home with you tonight.” He stated, and, you felt your stomach drop. The excitement, lust, anticipation disappearing in an instant.

You looked at him, now looking for the ‘I’m kidding’.

That ‘I’m kidding’, never came either.

Nothing should be a surprise at this point.

“But tomorrow night I will” he spoke up suddenly gaining your attention.“If you promise to go on a date with me the morning before.” He finished, watching you expectantly.

Now you were really looking for some guys to come out informing you that you just got pranked. Because this guy wasn’t serious, he couldn’t be. Did he not hear what you had been saying this whole conversation?

You. did.not.date. What was so hard about that to comprehend?

Yet here this guy was blatantly asking you out after you just explained to him.

“You know you’re dumber than you look,” you muttered disappointedly. Here you were thinking you were going to take an athlete home. What a waste.

George suddenly reached for your waist forcing you to meet his gaze. The same gaze that got you in this mess in the first place.

“Would you just hear me out, love?” There was a new edge to his voice, something that made spoke volumes about how adamant he was about swaying the night.

You instantly recoiled at the sound of the pet name. Jerking your head to the side, you avoided his gaze before it sucked you in.“No I won’t. What don’t you understand? I don’t date!”

There was a silence between you.

George looked up after a moment,“ Eleven o'clock sounds reasonable for a breakfast date. Meet me at Seaside for brunch.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. This man was ridiculous.

Wrenching out of your hold you didn’t bother to respond, hoping your abruptness would get you answer across. You didn’t date. That was your final answer and you was sticking with it.

Even though you didn’t look over your shoulder to confirm, you were hoping he would reconsider and look at things your way. You prayed that your little player would come pawing behind you like a lost puppy.

Finally noticing his loss before it got away.

But he didn’t. That night, you went home alone.

. . .

“Sara! Will you turn your damn keypad tones off? My head is throbbing!” You moaned, pulling back the door of the restaurant. That mixed with the sound of your friends fingers clicking audibly against her keys was enough to make you want to lie out, then and there.

“Are you still pissed off about that athlete dude? The car driver?” She asked as the male waiter led you to the table. You closed your eyes tight briefly, throwing your head to the ceiling in annoyance. You couldn’t care less about George.

You couldn’t care less about the fact that he turned you down. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

“I don’t care about him, in the slightest!” You spoke more defensively than anticipated as the waiter pulled out your seat. You smiled, sitting and taking the menu as he disappeared.

You turned your attention to the menu, hoping Sara would stop, give up, shut up.

“You’ve been a bitch all day,” Sara stated, causing you to look above your menu. You dropped your eyes towards her. Sara was like you in that sense. She said what she really meant, she didn’t hold back – and, even though you shared that trait you hated her for it.

“So don’t try tell me something, namely some athlete isn’t bothering you.”

“He isn’t.” You snapped, “Now just order some damn food and drop it, okay?” You could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t going to drop it. The way she stared right back at you, trying to read you. Read you like you’d had tried to read George the previous night.

She cocked her head slightly as she stared at you across the table. “What ? Have you developed a girl crush or something?” you hissed.

“It’s because he rejected you, isn’t it? Because he didn’t actually come home with you?” You felt yourself swallow, hard.

“Sara if you don’t drop this, I’m leaving. Seriously, drop it!” You retorted defensively.

George did reject you, but that was nobody’s business. No one but yours and his. There was a long pause as her warm eyes continued to look at you, she stared before they widened slightly, almost in shock.

“Oh, my god.” She said slowly, a half smile appearing on her face. You wrinkled your face up in confusion waiting for her to continue. As much as you loved your best friend, occasionally this she could grate your nerves. “He’s the first person to reject you, isn’t he?”

She said almost triumphantly. You felt your breath hinge in my throat. You cleared it before turning back to the menu.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sara.” You scoffed, your eyes not even focusing on the list of choices offered.

“Oh come on, even the damn waiter is smitten on your ass!” She nodded to her right. You lifted my eyes from the menu, noticing the university aged waiter staring right back at you.

Smiling awkwardly, you returned your gaze to Sara. “You cannot tell me you’ve given any other guys the option of having fun, no strings attached sex with you and they’ve declined it?” You scoffed again, causing her to smile widely. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

She was right. You didn’t answer. You wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“I am.” She said smugly, leaning back into her chair.

“George’s the first person to ever say no to you.” You hated her smugness.

“And? So what?” You scoffed, turning your attention back to the menu, as if it didn’t matter. As if you didn’t care. But, the more Sara pushed it. The more you thought about it, the more you thought of him, of his rejection you did care. It did matter.

“And now you’re pissed.”

“No, I’m not.”

“So, you want him more because he rejected you.” She pushed, smirking from across the table.

Fuck.

“Why do you care so much Sara, really? What satisfaction are you getting from this?” you wondered genuinely, as she smiled.

“I just want to know if you’d try again.” She said almost slyly.

“Why?” You huffed louder than before, your frustrations growing. It was over, it was done. It was none of her business.

“Because, he’s right over there.” She almost laughed as she finished her sentence. You furrowed your eyebrows, following the direction of her eyes. You felt your stomach drop, she was right. You watched as he walked towards his seat, his loose jeans still cut fitting, exposing his tall posture. His hair was better kept today, matching the persona you’d known from newsfeeds.

You hadn’t even put two and two together when you’d taken Sara up on her offer for brunch. The idea of citrusy mimosa blinding you past anything other than the refreshing drink.

‘Eleven o'clock sounds reasonable for a breakfast date. Meet me at Seaside for brunch.’

Jesus Christ.

Before he could take his seat you snap your attention back to your friend. You propped an elbow on the table, covering your face slightly with your hand as you stared at the menu. “Are you trying to hide?” Sara snickered, almost choking on her words. You didn’t answer; you just narrowed your eyes towards her.

She was right. You didn’t know how to deal with rejection.

“Good morning’ ladies.” Your eyes widened as you looked at the menu. That rich, sexy voice.

He remained a gentleman, guestering to the empty seat politely to which Sara nodded exuberantly.

You swallowed, forgetting last night’s events as you smiled back towards him. Nobody won against you, no one. “Good morning, stalker ” He laughed lightly, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

“What are you doing?” He asked innocently. Because that’s what he was, innocent…

You looked at him, gesturing to the menus. “What does it look like?” You snapped without a thought. You realized then that you were more affected by his rejection than what you had previously thought.

Looking at his wide smile, his full lips, his blue eyes.

Jerk.

“Looks like someone is a bit eager, early bird,” He grinned playfully as the food was placed between yourself and Sara. You waited for him to get the hint, to politely leave you to eat. He didn’t. He joked with Sara as you stuck your fork loudly, annoyingly into your meal. “What’s wrong?”

He asked minutes later, turning his attention back to you. You ignored him, surprisingly getting good at that as focused on your food, continuing to eat.

You didn’t get it. You didn’t get him. He didn’t want you; 24 hours ago he rejected you. You knew from the moment you met George he was hard to read, but now? Now, he had you down right confused.

“You know,” George began, leaning forward towards you, his voice lower than before. “Is this what you consider a date? No wonder you gave up. .” Across the table, Sara muffled a squeak of glee.

“No, this was called ‘I’m trying to eat and you won’t go away’”. You replied snort, watching his smile never falter, like what you said didn’t matter –didn’t affect him.

That was new. He wasn’t offended easily. Sara sensed the tension, as she excused herself. You watched as George nodded, licking his lips slightly.

“Ok, fine. This wasn’t a date.” He said simply. You smiled, you had won. “Kind of a shame though.” He said simply, his lips turning into a smile just slightly.

Sneakily.

“Why?” You questioned confused.

“Date’s end with a kiss, right?” His gruff voice asked, you nodded. “Kissing can lead to anything.” He smirked, biting his lip as he finished his sentence, his eyes burning through you. You felt it again, that energy.

That tingle. Sexual chemistry. You swallowed, before shrugging.

“And here’s me thinking you were a good guy.”

“I am,” He grinned again, exposing his white teeth. “I’m just wondering whether this was a date or not.”

“Not.” You confirmed, wondering inwardly if you said ‘yes’ would you get what you wanted, him. George continued to look at you, waiting. Waiting for you to say it. You wouldn’t give in, not to him, not to anyone.

“Anyway,” you continued, pushing your chair back, brushing against his jeans purposely. You watched his reaction closely, the way he looked down as you did so, the way his lip disappeared between his teeth. You knew at that moment, he wanted it just as much.

“I better get going.” You lied; you had nowhere to be.

You felt his eyes burn into you as you stood up, reaching for my bag.

He sighed your name. As you turned to him, his smile faded. His tongue traced his lips again, sending shivers through your spine. You wouldn’t let him see.

George laughed lightly, running his hands through his hair almost in annoyance. “You’re so frustrating.” He said simply, honestly. You ignored him, knowing he was right. It was true.

You turned on your heel, hearing him follow behind. You reached inside your bag as he pushed slightly past. Looking up, you caught as he handed the waiter the payment, pointing to our table- your table. He paid, before pressing his hands against the glass, pushing it open and leaving.

You stood there for what felt like minutes, but in reality it was only seconds.

He had paid. He wasn’t lying when he said he always would. You sighed, shoving the money deep within your bag, simultaneously shoving your pride deep within your stomach. Your shoes smacking loudly against the floor as you followed him out the door.

“George,” you called his name quietly seeing him a few steps ahead, he turned around as your breath hinged in your throat. There was an awkward silence as he waited for you to speak, as you waited for you to speak.

“- Thanks.” you barely mumbled.

“No problem, darling.” He said again simply. How he said everything, he wasn’t fazed at all. He turned again; you felt my stomach drop in disappointment. You groaned quietly, staring at the sky.

If you were to get what you wanted, you had to swallow your pride.

You followed his steps, reaching him and tapping his shoulder. You didn’t take in his reaction, you didn’t care. In an instant, you pressed your lips against his.

Within seconds you could feel him smile against the kiss. His strong hands holding your waist, his strong assured grip that you longed to feel elsewhere.

“So, I can count this as the first of many?” He almost groaned against your lips. You opened your eyes, staring into the honey pools staring back.

You were most definitely ready to count as many as you could.

[comfortscripts]

Do Your Job, No Matter What ¬ Draco M.

Plot - Following your boss's orders was part of the job but you never realised how far he'd take it.

Genre - Smut ♧ {16+ Only}

Pairing - CEO!Draco Malfoy x Fem!reader

Notes/Warnings - Power play plot with porn, harsh names, Dom/Sub, penetrative, choking, unprotected sex with creampie (dont be stupid like them irl). Astoria is the ex-wife in this as I couldn't bring myself to write about a cheater and I apologise in advance if this is terrible, I haven't written smut in years.

Word Count - 2.3k

The day had bled into night and as the gentle rays of sun disappeared, so did your co-workers. Mutters of goodbyes and heels clacking faded till all that remained was the muffled sound of Mr. Malfoy on his conference call.

You were used to being the last one to leave, often deep into the night. A common requirement for a personal assistant was to be there till the boss leaves but unfortunately, Mr Malfoy wasn't exactly rushing home most nights.

The simple hardwood desk was more familiar to you than your own bed nowadays. Nights got later as business got busier and Mr Malfoy became more involved with potential investors, but you never complained. You were always the best and you were planning on staying that way.

"Y/N, get in here!"

Being so involved in the setup for the next morning, you didn't listen out for the conference call or how it ended but from thunderous and rude tone of your boss, you could imagine.

Shuffling to your feet before straightening out your skirt, you made hastily made your way through the large oak doors that housed the king, as you co-workers often joked. You understood their distaste, a powerful and attractive man was already intimidating but Draco always found a way to rub people up the wrong way, except you. You always had a certain affection towards the man, not that you would ever admit it.

Entering the darkened office, you felt your breath catch in your throat as you faced your boss. His once tamed hair, now wisps of silvery blond streaking across his forehead. Veins prominent on pale arms where he had rolled up his sleeves. He stood behind his desk, with one hand leaning on the dark oak table whilst the other nursed a crystal glass of whiskey. Even in his frustration, he still looked like the most powerful man in the country.

Draco lifted his eyes to yours and you felt yourself squirm under his gaze, you'd be lying to say that the man wasn't gracing the thoughts you had in your more intimate moments. This simple act made you think that this could be more than a fantasy with how his eyes traced over you.

"Well that meeting was a total disaster." The man sighed before manoeuvring to sit on what could almost be described as a leather throne. "I told my father that trying to work with Potter Industries was useless but the stupid git wouldn't listen so I had to deal with them bastards for nothing!"

Whilst you tried to focus on his words, your thoughts were more taken with his hands. Strong, thick fingers graced with three solid silver rings and the way they wrapped around the crystal tumbler was so sinful, you let yourself imagine what they would feel like around your neck.

Snapping yourself out of your sinful thoughts, you notice the silence as if Draco had expected a reply to his rant. Whilst he valued your opinion, you weren't sure what to offer.

"I'm sorry they wasted your time sir. Is there anything I can do?" Whilst it sounded innocent enough, part of you couldn’t help but mean it in a suggestive manner.

Draco debated your offer for a moment. He always knew what you thought of him, how your thighs would clench together during car rides where he was just slightly closer than normal or how you would blush at the simplest praise. You were wrapped around his finger.

He knew you wanted him sexually, he too held this secret but he wondered if you were harbouring more than sinful thoughts towards him. He needed to know, to see if he was just seeing what he wanted to see or if there was something between the two of you. Draco knew that by tonight, he would have his answer.

"Come over here" He beckoned.

Obeying before thought, you carefully manoeuvred so you were standing behind the desk and in front of your boss.

Mr Malfoy patted his right thigh in a non-verbal demand for her to sit on his lap. Once again, you were obeying before thought or reason, you gently placed yourself on his muscular thigh, allowing your skirt to ride up.

Draco rested his hand on your exposed thigh, toying with the edge of your tight skirt. With the other hand he gripped your chin in a gentle but firm manner, turning your face to meet his, only centimetres away.

"You know exactly how you can help me"

"I'm not sure what you mean Mr Malfoy"

"Don't play dumb my dear. I see how you look at me, how you respond to me. Would bet money on the fact that you are getting wetter by the second just from being this close to me." His hand inched up closer and if on instinct, your legs moved apart to allow him. The tips of his fingers graced the edge of your panties before pulling them to the side, allowing his fingers to feel your wetness. "Just as I thought, always knew you were my little slut".

He slowly pushed a digit inside, allowing the warmth to coat his pale finger. The action caused a small whimper to leave your lips involuntarily and as you felt the cold metal of his ring graze your folds, you could barely stop the moan from escaping. Draco kept a slow pace, almost teasingly slow. Your body was begging for more but Draco wanted to hear it, needed to hear it. He could see you getting restless at the gentle pace but he needed more from you so he delicately removed his finger, which was met with an annoyed groan from you. Sliding his digit up your soaking slit, he brought his finger to your sense bud. Rubbing in careful circles, you felt your need for Draco grow even stronger.

"Please, I need more"

"Tell me what you want baby"

"I want your fingers. Want to cum. Please make me cum"

This was what he needed, you falling apart for him. Begging for something as simple as him to finger fuck you, and god the sound of you was better than he imagined. A cocky smirk grace his whiskey coated lips before colliding his lips with yours, a collision of tongues and teeth but it was exactly what you both craved. The messy kiss resembled the messy dynamic you were both about to enter.

Placing his attention back on your weeping hole, he broke away from the kiss. You felt your eyes flutter shut as he entered two of his thick digits into you, this time at a harsh speed. Moans were escaping your body as your orgasm built but Draco was quick to drink them up. The combination of the anticipation and how he was perfectly hitting every spot whilst massaging your clit was getting you there quicker than ever before.

Draco could feel your body getting closer to release, clenching and tensing against his fingers. "Cum for me, show me what a little slut you are."

His words were what pushed you over the edge as you came hard all over your boss's hand. You connected your mouths again in a brief moment of ecstasy. Breaking away from the kiss, you rested your head on his shoulder attempting to catch your breath.

You could feel his harden length through his trousers and the feeling alone was enough to make you need more. Carefully grazing your hand over the evident bulge, you felt the man tense under you.

Before you could do or say anything more, the phone rang.

The sharp sounds were enough to remind both of you that you were still in the office and technically still on the clock. Breaking your stare from the phone, you turned to Draco who simply stated "Better answer it sweetie, it is your job after all".

Rolls of frustration filled your body as you wished he would have simply thrown the phone out the window and taken you on the desk but no, here you were. Standing up from his lap, you picked up the phone.

"Hello, Mr Malfoy's Office. Y/N Speaking."

"Oh, Y/N, hello. I was hoping you would answer" You knew that buttery voice, Astoria Greengrass. Ex-wife of the man who just made you cum, of the man you were hoping to fuck.

"Hi Ms. Greengrass, how are you?" As you said her name, you spotted Draco rise from his chair.

Astoria started on a small rant about how hard dating is as a single mum but you could barely focus on her. The blond haired man had made his way behind your figure, and was slowly undressing you. Button after button until your bra-covered chest was exposed, a quick zip of your skirt left you standing in only your panties and finally, Draco decided to rid you of your panties as well with a quick rip of the fabric.

Whilst Astoria talked your ear off, Draco leaned down towards the other and whispered "Be a good girl and do your job, okay".

You shakily nodded whilst attempting to focus on the words the woman was speaking but you were rendered incapable when you felt his enlarged tip tease your folds. You couldn't help but intake a sharp breath.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Astoria paused, she was always a thoughtful woman who made sure Y/N was leaving enough time for herself between work but now here Y/N was, fucking Astoria's ex-husband whilst on the phone to the woman herself.

"Yep, I'm sorry. I jus-" Her sentence interrupted by Draco fully entering her tight pussy. His cock stretching her out in ways she had never experienced, she couldn't help but whimper in an attempt to hold back a moan. "I stubbed my toe really hard. It's all okay truly."

"Always hurts more than it should." You attempted a chuckle at the woman's remark but it became a strangled moan as Draco picked up the pace. Astoria continued "Anyways, sorry for ranting but I was calling to remind Draco about Scorpius' play on Tuesday, can you please make sure his schedule is clear".

"Yes, of course I will." You manage to respond, trying to focus on being professional rather than focusing on your boss pounding you into oblivion.

"Great, I won't keep you any longer. Thank you dear, have a good night."

You replied a quick 'You too' before slamming the phone down. A plethora of pent up moans rushed from your throat as you felt Draco's full size threaten to split you open, you had never felt this full and god, you loved it.

His slender hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer to his chest and gaining more force. "What a good little whore you are! Taking my cock like you were built for me". His words made you clench around him which caused an guttural moan to escape the dominant man.

"Please sir, I need more. I need to cum, please." You were close to seeing stars but you needed more, you craved more.

Draco had never felt more powerful than he did at that moment. Slipping out of you before lifting your body as if you were a ragdoll for his amusement, you were now seated against his desk and face to face with him as he re-entered your soaking pussy dangerously slow. The new angles were enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head, moaning strings of swears as you approached your peak.

The pale businessman pounded you with such force you thought his desk might break under the pressure, holding your hips so tightly that you were sure to have bruises the following morning. Moans of your name graced the man's lips as he approached his orgasm, as his pace faltered and became uneven.

Grabbing your throat with force, Draco brought his face down to yours. "Cum for me."

His words were all you needed as you felt your climax hit you like a freight train. Moaning his name so loudly that you suspected anyone left in the building would have heard. Your vision darkened as the pleasure rolled over you in waves, feeling the release of all the late nights with your hands between your legs whilst fantasies of Draco fuelled you. The reality was better than the fantasy.

Your climax had left you clenching Draco, milking him dry as he released inside of your warm welcoming pussy. All frustration from work was gone, all the desire he felt for you was enhanced, just everything was right in this moment. He felt his cock soften and carefully slipped himself out, watching as his seed slowly trailed down your plump pussy.

Catching your breath, you slipped off the desk before finding yourself in Draco's arms once again. "That was incredible but I am still mad you fucked me whilst I spoke to your ex-wife"

"Very bold aren't I, kitten?. You have to do your job, no matter what" He chuckled. "What did she want anyways?"

"Wanted me to remind you about Scorpius' play on Tuesday." Answering in a nonchalant tone, which is never how you spoke to him but you were now feeling the repercussions of what just happened and were feeling insecurity, causing you to use attempted nonchalance to hide it. "So I guess I will see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, technically. I will see you tomorrow as well but for now, we are heading to back to my house. Have some dinner and see what happens from there." His gaze was often fierce and stubborn but now it was gentle and almost hopeful, showing that he was also scared of what this meant for your relationship, but hoped that you wouldn't reject his offer of something more romantic.

Even with already flushed cheeks, his words caused light blush to appear "That sounds like a perfect plan to me, Draco."

Draco's fears were put to rest as soon as he heard his name roll of your tongue. You may be wrapped around his finger but he was wholly wrapped around yours. Just took a bold move to release the truth.

[mountswhore]

𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 — mason mount

summary: chelsea’s massage therapist, and mason’s long term crush, had moved to a different club. but after reuniting at nationals, you realise just how much you missed him.

notes: requests are open, just ask! this is so fucking long, please read when you have time.

“I will take care of you.” + “I could never get tired of you.”

for @masterclassbaby

“she’s pretty,” mason hummed, chin in the palm of his hands and eyes gazing at you. chelsea’s newest sports massage therapist. he watched as you conversed with a few of the injured teammates, the boys on either side of him laughing at his blushed cheeks.

“mounty’s in love.” chilly sang, pushing mason gently. the three of them were laying on the turf, waiting for their trainer to arrive and being introduced to the pretty lady who would be massaging their injured limbs from now on. “go on, make a move before kai does. you know he will.”

“i’m not making any moves,” mason huffed and pushed himself to his feet, ben following suit and pulling a ball towards him with his foot, “can i appreciate her beauty without wanting to make a move?” ben rolled his eyes at his friend, eyes now focused on the ball for the first time in twenty minutes.

“so you’re just going to stare at her, like a creep.” ben stated, stopping the ball with the side of his foot and kicked it back to mason. “noted.” mason was barely focused, looking over to you every time you laughed or your voice echoed. he’d laugh with you, crinkling his nose when you did, it was sickening.

ben had kicked the ball to mason’s feet, where is stilled and hadn’t even broken his stare. he had ‘regained control of the ball’ by kicking mason’s ankles, which had definitely caught his attention and caused him to hiss in pain. “you fucker, what did you do that for?”

“i just gave you a reason to talk to her, you clown.” ben revealed sarcastically, mason limping over to you as you held a look of concern.

“everything okay, mount?” you politely asked, the slight touch on his back as well as hearing his name fall from your mouth was sending him into a frenzy. he just nodded, and followed you inside to where your new office resided. “what the hell happened? last time i looked, you were kicking a ball about with chilly.”

your voice was as silky as he’d imagined. “yeah, he’s a bit slow. so he thought kicking me in the ankles would be a wise idea.” you couldn’t help but giggle at the man’s joke, avoiding his gaze as you were sure to blush. this man was attractive, but it was your first day, you had to remain professional.

“i better get to work,” you huffed, rubbing some hand sanitiser onto your hands and pulling his socks down. “we can’t have chelsea’s best player injured a few days before the game,” you’d finally met eyes and stared at each other for a brief second, before bashful looking away.

“you think that?” mason almost sounded unsure of himself.

“of course,” you grinned and applied some pressure to the side of his ankle, “i’d say you’re one of the best.” mason hummed almost silently, resting his head back on the table. it didn’t hurt, and if anything, he’d have to thank chilly for kicking his ankles, as it got you two talking.

weeks had passed, mason visiting your office most days with random excuses.

“my legs are fine. but maybe a shoulder rub for good luck?”

“i bought you a smoothie.”

“it’s cold outside, and i told the boys my thighs were sore.”

“now i’m just bored.”

every time he’d appear, you’d just pull up a chair instead of prepping the table. he’d talk to you about the most random of things, the pair of you having an intense debate on whether or not ross and rachel were on a break. he’d quickly become your favourite visitor.

“mr. mount, to what do i owe the pleasure?” you questioned, knowing it was him just by the way he fiddled with the handle before opening the door. he grinned at the nickname, sitting in the desk chair beside you.

“i actually came to ask if you wanted to go for a drink tonight. the boys were meant to, but now it looks like i’m all alone.” mason explained, a white lie thrown into the mix. he wasn’t being left by the boys, he asked them to cancel, so he could spend some with you. “so, you fancy it?”

“sure.” you smiled, accepting his invitation before you could overthink your way into cancelling. “i’ll text you my address.” he nodded his head, resting his head on his hands as you got on with paperwork. you could see out of the corner of your eye, he was staring at you as you worked. he had no training to be getting on with, and saw a better pastime in watching you work.

when you’d finally finished work and gotten yourself dressed up, mason was even more in awe of you. you looked adorable at work, and now he’d seen you in a new light. it’s like seeing your crush outside of school, it’s weird not seeing them in uniform, but seeing a new layer of them was good. he’d picked you up and taken you to the nicest pub he could find, it was a quiet one. it was a pub you had to pay extra for to sit on the terrace with a table to yourself. but he was willing to go the distance.

“it’s weird not seeing you in your kit.” you mentioned, staring at his impeccable sense of fashion. like he’d been ripped from the front page of asos. mason chuckled loudly and sipped on his beer, after doing a brief ‘cheers’ with you. it was british tradition, after all.

“i know. i’m used to seeing you in leggings and a chelsea top.” mason observed, his cheeks blushing at the way you looked at him. he felt the butterflies begin to swarm in his stomach, like they did on the way here. “now you’re in a dress, i can see your legs.” his eyes widened at the weird statement that just fell from his lips, face burning with embarrassment. “sorry, that sounded so creepy.”

you burst into laughter, feeling anything but disturbed. in fact, you felt more comfortable with him. “don’t worry about it, you’re easy to feel comfortable with.” mason took this chance to hide his rosy cheeks by sipping on his beer. the pair of you conversed for well over an hour, your conversations from work spilling into the mix too. and soon enough you were laughing on the walk back to your home.

“that’s hilarious. i can’t believe we could’ve almost met years ago.” you exclaimed, mason proud of recalling that memory. the pair of you remembered an awful christmas concert that happened in a town near central london, and were almost inches apart unknowingly covering your ears at the screeches made by the backup singers.

you’d ended up at your door, mason standing just centimetres away from your face. you knew what he wanted, and you wanted it to. so, with the confidence given to you by the mixer you’d just downed a while ago, you closed the gap between you and engaged in a sweet kiss with him. it was well overdue, mason’s teammates would say as he told them the following day.

you’d settled in really nicely with the team, enjoying every day you spent at the training grounds. you’d only been on that one drink date with mason, always planning to reschedule another but you’d both be too busy to do so. it didn’t stop you from texting nonstop and have some late night facetime calls. you were really beginning to like each other. it was as if nothing could ruin your happiness you felt with your life at this moment.

until you’d been pulled aside and told by chelsea’s own manager that a man united massage therapist had quit, offering you the job. it would mean your whole life would shift, you’d have to move, you’d have to make friends with a team all over again, and leave mason. you couldn’t bear telling him, which you’d also been told to do. you’d have to break the news to your beloved team, who would come and cheer with you after a win, and always pester you with random requests. you were each of their’s personal assistant almost, loving your relationship with them all. and mason, you knew he’d be crushed, the girl he was so deeply falling for, being told to move to another club.

you were on edge since that very morning, not being your usual joking self with your boys as they came in for their sessions. you’d weakly smile at them and make small talk whilst tending to their stiff joints, then let them leave. all the boys carried on with their day, assuming you were just having a bad day. but mason could see through you, he could tell something was playing on your mind.

as you were putting pressure on mason’s ankle, which he’d been take off the pitch for last week, he grabbed your arm gently. sitting up, he pulled you close to him and held you how he usually did. his hands grazing your sides and his eyes almost burning holes into your own. “talk to me, pretty. what’s on your mind?”

you shook your head. “i’d go easy on the foot today, mount. i don’t want to see you benched next game.” would you even be able to see their next game? it brought you close to tears throughout the day, but being trapped in a room with mason, you were bound to cry and tell him everything.

his grip didn’t leave your arm, instead he pulled you closer to him and held you close to his chest, now standing and towering over you. you felt a sob erupt through your chest, opening the flood gates as you cried into him. he’d never seen you like this, you were always his smiling ball of sunshine. “talk to me, y/n.”

“they’re moving me.” you simply stated, hoping not to say another word and him just understand completely. but it didn’t work like that, none of the team knew. mason would be the first to know, and you had to tell the rest of the team before the day was up. as this weekend you’d be arranging accommodation in manchester whilst you looked for permanent residence, as well as meeting the team and staff you’d be working for.

“what?”

“they’re moving me to united, mase. a therapist quit over there and they asked for me, your manager signed me over a few days ago. and i’m gonna be leaving you boys.” you explained, mason’s grip on you loosening as he tried to come to terms with what you were saying. he’d had his fair share of bad news in his life, but this was the biggest blow he’d felt in a while.

“they can’t do that,” mason stuttered over his tears, a frown cast upon his face, “they can’t just expect you to pack up and leave.” you placed your hands over his cheeks, forcing him to look down at you. that’s when his tears began to fall, looking so vulnerably at each other in this time of sadness.

“they can, mason. and they have, i need to go this weekend to meet the team and look to move up there.” you admitted, your hands refused to leave his face. you were soaking up every bit of mason you could before you left. long-distance didn’t work for either of you, especially with how busy you both were. the only time you’d see each other would be if chelsea were to play united.

“i can’t lose you, y/n.” he confessed, pulling you into him and resting his head above yours. it wasn’t just losing a girl he was seeing, it was losing someone he loved. he’d fallen deeply in love with you — but telling you would just hinder your movement. he couldn’t make it any harder than it was, it would ruin you. he just had to let you go.

that afternoon, you’d thought about what you were going to say and met the boys on the pitch. the second mason saw you, it took everything in him to not cry into his hands. but he managed to stay strong. you stood weakly beside the team manager, avoiding everyone’s eyes and fiddling with your jumper sleeves.

“afternoon boys,” you greeted them, hearing a few cheers and whistles, they loved you, “i have some news. today will be my last day working with you. i’ve been transferred to united, which will take full effect this weekend. you guys have my number if you just want to talk rubbish, or have any questions for me.” it was a long while of hugging them all, laughing with them and repeating little inside jokes with them.

“what are you going to do without me, huh?” you asked reece, who just chuckled and gave you a squeeze. “i’ll miss you all, you know who i’ll be cheering on if you ever go against united.”

you’d settled in at united perfectly, but something was missing. it was always going to feel this way, nothing would ever break the bond you shared with the chelsea boys. even when they went head to head, and you’d catch mason’s eyes on the pitch, you’d have to hide your smile when they scored, and try even harder if mason was the one putting it in the back of the net. you got on well with the boys here, but you found yourself missing the boys back at chelsea, and most of all, mason.

months had passed since your move to manchester, and you were heading out of your office on a particular tiring friday afternoon, walking past united’s manager, who always seemed to be on his way to something.

“ah, y/n, just who i needed to see.” he commented, stopping you as you were headed out to find a late rashford for his session. “keep an eye on your emails tonight, please. you’ve been included in an international offer.” you nodded, not hearing anything past the word ‘email’. and when you’d gotten home that evening, waiting for your takeaway to arrive, you mindlessly scrolled your emails.

something about the upcoming world cup, saying you’d been selected as the teams massage therapist. it burned your eyes as you danced around your tiny living room; so happy to have a chance at seeing any of the chelsea boys again. you’d thought that after all these months of just seeing mason’s face in his instagram posts, he’d have forgotten about you and moved on. but it was the furthest from the truth.

mason watched over your socials for months, seeing your various pictures with the likes of rashford, shaw, and lingard. he made sure you had friends and was having a good time up north. but every night he’d go to bed, yearning for you and the time you both spent together. missing your first kiss, missing hearing the sound of your laugh in real life, not just through another footballers videos. he missed spending hours on the phone. and although he had a chance to reconnect with you, it would be too much for the both of you to handle. he’d miss you so much more, knowing you were simply unobtainable.

after signing all of the correct documents to show you could in fact work for the national team, you were on your way to the training grounds and coping with living in the camp alongside the boys and other members of staff. it was better than your tiny manchester apartment, that was for sure. you weren’t really needed outside for training, so you set up your office and began on your paperwork. time passed a lot quicker here than it did when you worked at united, it was nearing your lunch break already. a knock was placed at your door, bringing your out of your work daze.

“hello, stranger.” you heard from behind you, heart overjoyed that it was actually him. it was your mason. you turned round to greet him, standing up and immediately pulling him into a hug. it felt familiar, the only bit of familiarity you had in this place. “god, i missed you.” he even smelt the same, as creepy as it was to say.

“i knew you’d be called up,” you admitted to him, looking up at his red face. it was just like the first time, he was so nervous to talk to you, “you’re still my best player.” his hands found your cheeks, taking advantage of the affection not feeling awkward. it was as if you never left.

“you don’t understand how much i’ve missed you all these months, y/n,” he whispered, face centimetres away from yours. “how much i’ve wanted to kiss you again.” you wanted it too, you finally felt like you found your missing piece. but you had to remain professional, this was national level now, not just club level.

“trust me,” you whispered back at him, holding your hands above his own, “i’ve wanted to kiss this pretty face, too. but we have to be professional.” he nodded, understanding that if they were caught, you’d be the one facing repercussions, not him. so he respected your choice and stood back.

“what about when the day’s over, and we go back to the camp,” he suggested, a hand on your shoulder to stop you from turning around, “what would you say to me then?” you just shrugged, sitting back down in your chair and continuing your work. the remainder of your day was quiet, just talking about a few people tomorrow that have stiff joints that need loosening. you’d made your way back to camp, opening your door and sighing as you took your shoes off.

what room are you in? mason texted, waiting outside his door.

you’re eager, i just finished work. but i’m on the floor above you, room 39. you texted him back, speedily changing your attire for something more comfortable and freshening up. mason would be up here within seconds. and whilst there were no rules stating that the squad shouldn’t be in staff members rooms, it felt wrong.

“you’re gonna have to leave when nobody can see you.” you sighed, opening your door to an eager mason. he wormed past you and sat on your bed, semi annoyed that your bed was comfortable than his.

“so not only do you get a room to yourself, you get a bed that doesn’t feel like a plank of wood.” mason stated, clearly getting comfortable on your bed. “i just might have to stay here.” you rolled your eyes and sat beside him, resting your head on the pillow. “you tired?”

instead of saying anything, you nodded and inched closer to him. his right hand was drawing delicate patterns on your exposed arm, whilst the other was wrapped around you. this was the moment he wanted with you, even when you were working at chelsea. but it’s happening now and that’s all he cared about. holding the girl he still deeply loved in his arms.

“i’ll go down to dinner soon,” he mentioned, even if you could hear him or not, “maybe i’ll bring you something up.” a small kiss was placed on your temple, mason snuggling into you a bit more.

the next day, you knew you had some sessions. so you were up early, a text from mason on your phone.

i left late last night, i fell asleep once i came back from dinner. i hope you had a good night.

you blushed at his text, getting yourself prepared for the day. the boys had a match coming up soon and you wanted to be on top of your game, making sure they were all stretched and ready. you sat in your office, prepping your table and your paper work for the first person to enter.

you’d worked with grealish, bellingham, and lingard today. and they only had a few more hours training until they were done for the day. you sighed in your seat and rested your head against your desk, arms and hands sore. your handle was violently shoved down, your door opening in the process. startled, you watched declan carry his best mate in.

“he rolled his ankle taking a kick,” declan explained, helping his friend onto the table. you quickly sanitised your hands and pulled his sock down to observe his ankle. “will he be okay for the game in a few days?”

“yes, dec. he’ll be out in no time.” you reassured his friend, mason smiling through the sharp pain shooting through his ankle. declan had left shortly afterwards, leaving you to giggle at mason.

“what you giggling at, hm?” mason questioned, a finger tickling your side. you squirmed and brushed a hand over his head, his features relaxing under your touch.

“it’s always the ankles, hm?” you retorted, mason rolling his eyes before letting out a laugh of his own. “let’s get you back on your feet in time for this game.” you had taken his boot and sock off, applying gentle pressure to the sides of his ankle and seeing how badly he reacted to the pain.

after the next few days of training, it was finally time for the match. you stood nervously on the side of the pitch, watching the ball being passed around. you watched as it had gone to mason, someone from the opposing team sliding into mason, and knocking his ankles together. he fell and began to yell in pain, the medics rushing over to him and assessing the pain. after realising it was not too serious, but he still had to be taken off, they’d given the job to you.

mason sat on one of the chairs beside you, head leaned back as you pulled his socks down. he winced as your small, cold fingers had pressed different parts of his ankle, but it didn’t feel bad. in fact, it was quite relieving. “it really is always the ankles,” mason finally agreed, making you chuckle and sit on the floor opposite him, “god, it fucking hurts.”

“i will take care of you,” you mentioned, your hand sliding into his. he smiled at the contact, his free hands gently tickling your side. this small amount of public affection felt scary, but good. you knew someone would pick up on it, but you didn’t care in the slightest. you had been away from mason for far too long. months and months apart, yearning for each other every second you were awake.

when the match was over, england scoring a whopping 4-0, mason was by your side for the rest of the evening. even getting onto the coach to go home, he sat beside you the whole way; his hand in yours and his head gently resting against your shoulders. when heading back to camp, knowing you had a day’s break before the boys were back on for training again in time for the next match, mason followed you to your room. you didn’t mind, neither did anybody else really.

you’d gotten into bed beside him that night, eyes heavy from the amount of work you’d both put in today, and the buzzed feeling from declaring victory had awoken something in him. he had the urge to kiss you, like he has every moment he’s spent with you recently, but more than that. he wanted to tell you he loved you, but decided to keep quiet. he wanted to save it for another day, maybe someday more special, when you weren’t trying to catch up on sleep between games.

“are you tired of me?” mason asked, releasing his voice into the darkness. he had no idea whether you were awake or asleep, as half an hour had passed of you both enjoying each other’s presence. you were wide awake, although your eyes told a different story.

“i’m tired in general,” you admitted, rolling over to face him, barely catching his pearly whites in the dark, “but i could never get tired of you.” mason’s heart was beating through his chest, reaching out for your hand to place onto it. it was a special moment — feeling his heart rapidly paced from your words, you’d barely noticed mason’s arm around you as he pulled you into him.

“good, because i’m not letting you go again,” he spoke quietly, your hand now replaced with your head, feeling his pulses on your cheekbone. you smiled for the millionth time that day, happy you had your mason back.

[queenshelby]

My Friend’s Father (Part Three)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut

Words: 2,947

Notes:

I have decided to make this into a series.

Alright, no judgment. This was a dream of mine and I felt like I had to write it down. Everyone in this Fic is over the age of 18 and this Fic is in no way based on Cillian’s real family life. It’s pure filth.

 *************************

Cillian’s POV

Shortly after Denise got home from her rather miserable date with Jeremy, Cillian went to bed. It was only 9 o’clock but he thought that he would spend some time finishing reading the book he had started to read two nights ago.

The problem was that, even when he tried hard to focus on the content of the book, he couldn’t.

His mind was overrun with guilt about what had happened between you all so suddenly and unexpectedly and he still wasn’t so sure why he had given into you so easily. It was almost like he had lost all of his self-control in that moment.

This kind of behaviour was unusual for him. Usually, he would have been more sensible than this. After all, he was 45 and never had a one-night stand in his entire life.

Would you share this with anyone?

Probably not, he thought. He had known you for a while and you weren’t the type of woman who was actively seeking attention. You were always somewhat nerdy and a bit of loner. For years, he had known you to be sensible and he always liked that you were looking out for his daughter Denise. You were more mature than her and were always somewhat shy and reserved.

With this in mind, he was even more surprised by your actions. You seducing him the way you did seemed out of character for you which made him nervous.

Did you have feelings for him?

He certainly hoped that you didn’t. For him, this was nothing but sex and he would hate to give you the feeling that it was something more. He didn’t want to hurt you.

He should never have given into you. He knew that it was wrong and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he acted so selfishly because, in his mind, this was exactly what it was. An act of selfishness.

You were young and clearly inexperienced which made this whole thing even worse. It was obvious to Cillian that you hadn’t been with many men before and he felt as though he took advantage of you even despite the fact that you were the one who made a move on him. He should have stopped you.

The fact that he is seeing someone else in Manchester didn’t help either and, whilst it wasn’t anything serious or exclusive, it felt wrong to him to be intimate with you which, in his own mind, brought him to another dilemma all together.

Why didn’t he use protection when he slept with you?

He knew that he could have simply walked into his son’s bedroom and find what he needed. But he didn’t. Instead, he was so consumed by lust that he forgot all about the need to be play it safe. Of course, he always reminded his adult children about the importance of protection and yet, he failed to adhere to his own rules.

Whilst he knew that you didn’t have many sexual partners and any risk associated with contracting STDs was somewhat low, he worried that you weren’t on birth control.

Why on earth didn’t he at least ask you about it? Was it too late to ask you now? Why did you make him pull out?

WHAT THE FUCK HAD HE DONE???

He panicked and he knew he had to talk to you in order to ease his mind.

YOUR POV

After you listened to Denise about her date gone wrong and what an asshole Jeremy actually was, you also made your way to bed. You felt terrible for her but knew that she would meet someone else who would make her happy and treat her well.

But her date with Jeremy wasn’t the only thing you felt terrible about. Even more so, you felt terrible about sleeping with her father which you knew was wrong and yet, you tried to justify it in your head.

Why did you act so selfishly and gave into your sexual needs?

This was something you had never done before. You were rather careful when it came to getting yourself involved with guys.

You had taken a liking in your friend’s father several years ago when you were 19. But then, it was just a silly crush you thought.

When you heard about his divorce however, you began to fantasise about him in your sleep and this was simply a fantasy you had finally acted upon.

This, however, didn’t change the fact that he was your friend’s father.

Would she mind if she knew?

Maybe she wouldn’t. She might just think that you are disgusting for sleeping with her dad but, in the end of the day, you are two consenting adults.

Why couldn’t you stop even when you realised that what you were doing was wrong?

When you made the first move it was almost like you were in a trance. You were overwhelmed. You wanted every bit of it but you never experienced sex quite like this. It was intense and he certainly knew what he was doing.

Whilst Cillian was much older than you, you were extremely attracted to him. Everything about him was perfect in your mind and he felt incredible when he was inside you.

You wanted so much more and thought that, perhaps, if it was just sex, it wasn’t wrong after all.

Together Again

Just as those thoughts raced through your mind, you heard a quite knock on the door.

Thinking that it was Denise, you didn’t bother to cover up as you were sitting on the guest bed in black cotton panties and a tight cotton singlet.

To your surprise, however, it wasn’t Denise who walked into the guestroom when you called out ‘come in’. It was Cillian.

His chin dropped as soon as he saw you. For some reason, he took a liking in your rather simple but yet revealing outfit, your messy hair and your black framed reading glasses.

‘Hey’ you simply said shyly as he was standing there speechless.

‘Hey’ he responded, swallowing harshly before telling you that he needed to talk to you.

‘Sure’ you said, putting the magazine down which you were reading along with your reading glasses. Then, you scooted over on the bed and indicated to him to sit down next to you.

His scent was intoxicating. He was freshly showered and his hair was still wet but you could still smell a hint of his aftershave on him.

‘So, what do you want to talk about?’ you asked without bothering to cover up your naked skin and you could see Cillian’s mind working overtime while the tension was building.

‘About what happened between us’ he then stammered while he observed your eyes wandering towards where they shouldn’t. But, you couldn’t help it and, when you noticed that he was reacting to your presence, you bit your lips seductively.

‘What happened between us was just sex. It’s not a big deal. People have sex all the time and you can trust me Cillian. It will remain our little secret’ you said in a seductive voice while moving your hand over Cillian’s upper thigh, through the hairs on his exposed skin and then all the way towards the rim of his boxers.

‘Y/N’ he barely managed to stammer, swallowing harshly.

‘Yes Cillian?’ you then smirked, noticing the effect you were having on him and moving your hand farther up his legs and beneath his boxers where you began to stroke his cock.

‘You are so hard’ you then whispered as you received no response from him other than a groan and, just as you did, Cillian took hold of you and pushed you beneath him in one swift movement.

Without words, Cillian’s warm lips met yours in a passionate kiss. The kiss was more urgent than before and you loved the way he asserted his dominance as his tongue circled around yours.

He felt such desire for you that he thought he would explode and, whilst he was normally quite vocal, every word he tried to say and every question he was going to ask you, were caught in his throat.

Wrapping your arms round him you ran your hands up and down his firm back as your mouths ground together. Sucking on each other's lips and plunging your tongues into each other’s mouth.

You couldn’t believe how wonderful it was to be kissed in such an experienced, almost sophisticated way and Cillian was marvelling at how someone so young could have learned to kiss so well.

Within split seconds and in between heated kisses, Cillian’s t-shirt and your singlet landed on the floor.

It wasn’t long until Cillian’s mouth left yours and began to wander over your firm breasts and then all the way down to your stomach which is where they came to a halt.

He interlocked his fingers with your panties and pulled them down, letting them join the other clothes on the floor before his head gracefully disappeared in between your legs.

‘It goes without saying, but you need to be quiet’ Cillian chuckled and you barely managed to nod before you covered your own mouth with the palm of your hand as Cillian dipped his tongue straight into your wetness.

‘Oh god yes’ you whimpered quietly as the rasping roughness of his tongue slid along your velvety wetness and sent enormous tremors through you.

You had little experience of either, receiving or, giving oral sex. In your world of mainly inexperienced boys, it was hardly on the agenda as they were generally too keen to get their rocks off to worry overly about your pleasure. In any case in the usually rushed episodes in the back of cars or downstairs with parents in bed there was hardly the time let alone the opportunity for languid pussy licking or sensual cock sucking. In the world of the forty-five year-old man lying between your opened legs, however, it very much was on the agenda and he seemed to enjoy it just as much as you did.

You moaned loudly as you were holding Cillian’s head in both hands as he licked the length of your pussy. He did it slowly with just the right amount of pressure making sure that the tip of his tongue fully anointed both lips and licked just inside them on that especially sensitive area.

When you moaned a little too loudly again, he reminded you to be quiet just before he sucked and kissed you again, covering every inch of the outside of your pussy before pushing the straightened tip of his tongue inside and probing upwards licking the insides as he started to tongue fuck you.

‘This feels so fucking good’ you stammered, legs shaking and quivering while Cillian held you tightly and it wasn’t long until you reached an orgasm which sent convulsions through your body.

You moaned a little too loud again as your whole body tingled and felt tender to the touch and tears of pleasure and relief, with a tinge of guilt, poured down your cheeks.

‘That was amazing’ you eventually huffed out as you slowly came down from your high and Cillian kissed his way back up your body until his lips reached yours.

‘You taste so fucking good’ he then whispered into your ear after your lips drifted apart and, just as he did, you reached in between his legs and began stroking his cock which was still rock hard.

‘I want to feel you inside me again…please…just once more’ you begged and the sound of you begging alone made Cillian groan.

‘Fuck Y/N…I want you so much’ he whispered as he pulled down his boxers and his wiggling body urged your legs to open so that his cock lay between your thighs with the bulbous end of it pressed against your lips.

‘Then take me’ you groaned marvelling at the fact your friend's dad was about to fuck you.

With the tip of his cock just slightly parting the lips of your pussy and his arms round your body with his hands gripping your taught bum he muttered something you couldn’t understand. It was obvious to you that his mind was hardly able to accept what was happening. Nonetheless, he wanted it so badly and, with a shrug of his hips, he sank his cock deep into your gorgeously tight and wonderfully welcoming pussy.

‘Oh god yes, Cillian’ you groaned as your fingernails were digging into his back.

He pushed himself in as far as it would go, eliciting more groans from you which he had to quickly silence with his lips.

You felt light-headed and deliriously happy. You also felt very filled. Cillian was bigger than the other guys you had been with and you loved the feeling of being stretched. The folds of skin that guard your clit seemed to be open and that so sensitive place felt to be exposed, so as Cillian started moving slowly up and down it was as though his cock was rubbing on it. You had never felt anything like it before. Just as you had never felt like cumming when a man's cock had only been inside you for a few moments.

Somehow, however, you managed to delay your release just a little bit longer, enjoying as Cillian thrusted into you hard and deep until, eventually, the inevitable happened.

‘Let go, there is no need to hold back’ Cillian reassured you and, just as he did, you allowed your orgasm to wash over you.

‘Oh god Cillian, fuck’ you shouted out and he quickly covered your mouth with his hand as he continued to thrust into and watched you lose control.

Your legs were shaking once again as you gave in and, when you finally came down, Cillian pulled out of you.

Thinking that he was done and that he wanted you to proceed as before, you scooted up but, to your surprise, Cillian pulled you on top of him instead.

‘Your turn to take what you need Y/N’ Cillian whispered and you couldn’t help but shiver at his words. He wanted you on top and that was yet another first for you.

‘You can cum again’ he then said but you couldn’t help but shake your head.

‘I don’t think I can, but I am willing to try’ you smirked. He had already given you four orgasms that day which were four more orgasms than anyone else before him had given you.

‘I bet you can’ he then winked and you nodded shyly before taking his hard cock into your hand and lining it up with your entrance.

‘I will be sore tomorrow I think’ you whispered as, with a moan, you sank down on his hard cock.

‘Yes, you will be’ Cillian chuckled as, all of a sudden, he thrusted upwards and deep into your mound, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

Once again, he covered your mouth with his hand as you began to ride him.

‘You feel so fucking good, you know that?’ Cillian groaned as you began to move up and down on his hard shaft. He certainly had become vocal now and you loved it.

‘So tight around my cock’ he then groaned as he met your thrusts and he could hear you starting to whimper.

‘Oh god…yes, fuck my pussy’ you moaned quietly, holding his hand and keeping it near your mouth while sucking on his fingers.

‘Cum inside me Cillian. I want to feel it. Fill me with your cum’ you then demanded as you began to ride his cock harder and faster and, by this point, Cillian had lost all self-control.

The dirty talk, the tightness of your pussy and the way your lips played with his fingers was too much for him.

‘Cum with me Cillian’ you then moaned as you let go and so did he.

‘Oh god Cillian, yes…fuck’ you groaned as such amazing feelings flooded your body and you felt him push into you as far as he could go.

‘Fuck Y/N’ grunted as you both climaxed simultaneously and you soared to a height of pleasure you had never previously experienced when Cillian’s cock exploded sending streams of his cum into you.

‘Oh god that was amazing’ you eventually huffed out when you both stopped moving.

‘Jesus Y/N’ Cillian grunted almost at the same time before his eyes shot open and he saw your satisfied smile.

Carefully, you climbed off him, releasing his cock from your tight pussy before you sat down on the bed next to him.

You spread your legs and, with curious eyes, you looked down on yourself and watched some of Cillian’s cum leak from your core.

‘That feels so fucking good…so warm and wet’ you observed as you collected some of his cum with your finger and brought it to your mouth while Cillian cocked an eyebrow, wondering what you were doing.

‘Uhm…?’ Cillian chuckled, watching you almost speechlessly but yet somewhat turned on.

‘I never had a guy cum inside me but this is so fucking sexy’ you observed with a laugh before reshuffling yourself and collapsing into his arms.

‘Yeah, about that…’ Cillian went on to say…

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