#laurens just assumes

[thelaurenshippen]

open ai made a little post about how they chose their chatbot voices and two things stood out to me:

a) I am genuinely pleased and surprised that the voices come from specific real people that they hired and paid, rather than being built off of all of the data open ai has scraped. the voice for siri did one job for one company 20 years ago and now she is literally everywhere without ever being compensated by apple or even acknowledged as the voice. there's simply no way she was paid enough in that original job. whereas, open ai says "each actor receives compensation above top-of-market rates, and this will continue for as long as their voices are used in our products." this could mean literally anything (what market rate are we going above? does continue mean they get residuals or get paid for doing more sessions?) but, christ, at least the actors are doing it with full knowledge of what their voices are being used for and can decide for themselves if the compensation is enough

b) the post talks about working with "award-winning casting directors" to get the voices. first of all, yay for paying casting directors! we love to see it. but they also say the CDs received over 400 submissions in a week and they state that like a big number and it's just...not at all. and look, without knowing the intricacies of the casting process, it's hard to know what approach the CDs took - it's very possible they were selective from the jump and 400 is a lot from the pool they were tapping. 400 would be a lot if you were going to the agencies directly and asking for names, but there's just no way in hell open ai went after big stars for this. so it would've been a pool of unknowns. in which case, 400 is laughably small. even if you're not using the big casting sites like actorsaccess, I've worked on projects with CDs and their own internal systems where we've gotten over 100 submissions for a single role. I've posted roles on casting sites and received literally thousands of submissions in just a few days

look, I have a very limited perspective on this - I am not a casting director (imo, one of the most important and undervalued jobs in hollywood) and I, in fact, hate the process of casting with a passion. but 400 just seemed like such a tiny pool to pull from and, idk, it heartens me! it's heartening to think that there's very little interest from actors and agents to be doing this kind of stuff. and absolutely no shade to the actors who did--I want actors to get their bag however they want as long as it's, like, safe sane and consensual, you know? but there's something encouraging about thinking that open ai hired some big casting agency to get their foot into the voice acting door and people didn't come running

[kindahoping4forever]

Ashton performing with Joshua and the Holy Rollers in LA last night

[booasaur]

Yellowjackets - 2x04

[hipstercabbage]

friend who didn't know much about anthony ramos until rotb: I've seen so many people shipping noah with mirage! it's gotta be weird for anthony to see himself being drawn like that, right?

me, former hamilton kid: oh honey.

[blaithnne]

I can so see Lauren being the one who eats all the cream out of the Oreos and putting them back.

Ok yes but specifically at Kaisa’s house. Nowhere else

[unproduciblesmackdown]

thinking about how of course billions is about people trapped in eternal battle world, and trapped because they won't ever exit, and don't want to because that's the only way they can define their idea of themself or like move through life, to the degree they have to just create or find another battle if one ends or they don't have enough going on at once or they're unhappy about anything & can only respond to that the only way they'll respond to anything: finding someone to consider a target to Defeat & being like nice, i'm so competent & active as a person, so with any other issues in my life, i'm sure it's not my fault at least

and it's been clear that to be someone at the Center of the show means needing to be inflexible enough to never leave that life, which also probably means never engaging in genuine self-reflection besides like, fuming in distress for 5 sec & then immediately searching for blame for someone else, or calling up your designated moral supporter who'll tell you you're upset b/c you're very complex & sympathetic & maybe if you do [xyz] you'll be able to Keep Winning, so like, don't worry, we'll never get too off track here. you have someone like connerty who cares so much about playing by the rules ft. ethics, but he was also someone completely inflexible who would give a shit like "ha ha you broke the law" and be Defeated b/c like yeah damn you do got him in that situation. he may then have gained the flexibility to throw a punch when he's already imprisoned but he's still just gotta retire & pursue some completely different goals

this in contrast with like, what a coincidence (surely not) that the more flexible characters are the ones who also do introspect & reflect & genuinely think about & question themselves ever, & how even beyond that, being in this world of people who overwhelmingly are thee opposite & aiming for a static sense of self & thus strategy for navigating life & all interactions & situations, the more reflective parties also tend to accept both Blame & the fruitlessness of pushing for more/different/better from the people & relationships & situations they're amongst. those willing to take on responsibility at all surrounded by people casting all of it off, always, w/the former already primed to take blame & the latter primed to be looking to find the blame in anyone else, a powerful mismatch....which allows the flexible parties to also put up with shit for longer lol like if they got fed up that quickly or recognized the dead-end here they'd just leave the show lol. like wow can't believe taylor spent their whole life already stuck having to deal with someone who's so very much like these bullshit central men & those trying to emulate them, & perhaps also then have a lifetime of experience extending endless patience & sympathy with little to no expectations for more from people who put up with such a bullshit man & his effects on everything around him, like, what do you mean taylor's mom hasn't seen them b/c douglas didn't want to see them b/c he wasn't yet motivated enough to have to exercise begrudging shows of basic respect. whilest sure seems like taylor felt more concern & basically stated their responsibility re: trying to make their relationship with their dad work / basically take on the task of making his life work for him according to his sense of himself (genius! who deserves the recognition thusly!) and doesn't seem to take on this role re: their mom, who nevertheless is just presumed to move closer to them along w/douglas. and here's taylor never truly putting their foot down re: wendy, no matter what, able to have no real positive expectations in how wendy treats them or thinks of them, but also always able to extend sympathy / decent treatment themself

thinking of like team ben out here as the Nicer axe cap or mpc people who also happen to be people absorbing the L's, blaming themselves for being at the bottom of the hierarchy & being subjected to the always negative treatment doled out to them accordingly, and, winstonesquely, still generally like extending genuine gestures of amicability, efforts of constructive actual communication, etc, & this being shut down & likely punished by all the people around them who won't handle that kind of thing. that Of Course nobody's actually supported around here, like, at best they'll get some kind of "well you're actually talented & valuable :)...." (so why aren't they already treated in a way such that they're aware of this?) "....so just have more confidence already god!" wherein (a) again that just means it's Their Fault that they're having a miserable time at the hands of others & (b) their having "confidence" doesn't really mean like, an emotional buffer between their sense of self-esteem & the message of inferiority in how they're treated, it has to mean externally acting different in some ways, more like A Winner, more like everyone else. the limits of ben trying to sometimes be a buffer for tuk as that kind of friend/mentor role, where either it simply fails or ben's Help is more unilateral "correction." that generally only any increase in aggressive hostility gets them anywhere, and really not that far.

the way dollar bill could always act however he wanted & they could always clean up his messes / save him from himself / just flatout blame other people for what dollar bill did to them or someone else; success in being a mini axe in that way for sure. dollar bill going off the rails over his literal dollar bill & that's not a problem, he's validated b/c he's upset, & b/c rudy knew he'd be upset it's really all rudy's fault....who just so happens to be more of a loser, what with his glasses & possible masturbation ever and all. whilest even when dollar bill is like every season being shit at his job & life, well, just find a loser to trounce while everyone ignores this, cheers you on, takes on responsibility for fixing things for you, blames the person targeted probably. dollar bill couldn't even do in office transphobic hate crime physical attacks, or that but while yelling the r word at the autistic guy he's already harrassing & threatening, without it being really basically the target's fault, & hey, as long as no investors are watching. and we're still dragging dollar bill back to the office b/c uhhh yeah!!

& then of course there's winston, who, like a loser, says things in real efforts for real communication with others, that they winningly can only bring themselves to respond to as "he's not allowed to talk, that's out of line, i have to punish/deny this to reassert our respective status" except for, sometimes, taylor actually communicating in turn, or even simply receiving the information. winston in a duo with the very winning & worthy rian, being something of a quasirival for 5 seconds but even during then, and since, trying to be amicable to establish an actually positive dynamic, trying for actual communication, engaging flexibly & actively based on her feedback & her terms & etc to try to find some more success; versus rian completely inflexible, unwilling to respond to efforts to communicate, unwilling to have an actual relationship with any flexibility & genuineness in turn, or see winston as a person of course, and engage with real emotions. which is hardly an exclusive response of hers, like, everyone else is just the same, she's just also the one interacting with him more often and personally bullying him & standing next to him & immediately responding with clear contempt when he tries things like earnest expressions of "hey rian could you not do what you just did b/c it makes me feel like shit, probably b/c that's what you're trying to do" and "hey that was cool what you just did b/c it makes me feel like—" b/c like, what a loser. real winners cannot handle engaging with another person as a person. when you can just make up & stick to a narrative about "oh but i don't hate winston, who i feel is inherently beneath me. i wouldn't wanna feel bad about killing him, not when i could feel fine about administering more of a death by a thousand cuts with some other people helping out & hey maybe it was their cut that did it after all....but also if you're like 'pwease' then eh sure" or that winston's got a lesser inner existence anyways, some classic dehumanization, no complexity there, & hurting him isn't real, & it'd never be you in his position anyways! especially the more you're buying into "yeah i'm more of a person / more deserving / more real & sympathetic & correct than him :)" & being cheered on as you act that out. pretty cringe of winston to be earnest, flexible, openly trying & wanting & needing things, sounds bad & silly. unlike the winners around him who really cannot handle him or any of these things about him. of course near equivalent in loserness, tuk, is the person with the realest most amicable relationship with him. both of them too incompetent to realize their mutual failings in this, ha ha, real winners are repulsed & fleeing & can't handle a basic exchange with either of them. and the imbalance re: how little others are willing to give them in interest, consideration, time, words, etc, while they're always trying Too Much re: the disinterested others, totally proves their unworthiness

winston and tuk always having to stay at the bottom of the hierarchy, winston only able to be shitted on even as he extricates himself, ending up surrounded by people who will only act "correctly" according to their superior roles & this mf wags only processing anything as "did that reinforce my being a correct/winning person???" & only responding by trying to reassert to others how much of a winner they are, which requires establishing a loser, and crushing them. winston having recognized / gotten fed up with a bullshit scenario & had realistic expectations of those around them & spent those years being treated like shit yet never crushing an enemy to restore his ego & also spent those years trying to communicate and work with others and share actual info and make actual connections & now independently choosing to make a big shift in his life so that things can be different? is definitely the contemptible loser here while everyone else looks very good faffing around for an episode getting some temporary ego boosts & being very "correct" in every response to winston, even pointing out that rian even noticing something genuine & positive from winston in the absence of it anywhere is first & foremost incorrect, which rian will Also immediately drop in the face of that "well yeah it's more correct to prioritize Anything else. like that he's pathetic & mpc 5ever" like wuh oh rian being doomed from 5x08 "time to embrace acting more correct now" & being truly inflexible from that point on, never had a moment of conflict not resolved by [ignoring that] &/or again just getting someone more correct to declare how it'll be answered. taylor at their most flexible and Taylorest and most juxtaposed with central men & static ossified "winners" when they are also at their best in engaging with winston. taylor Like winston & vice versa in so many substantial & interesting ways, despite their relating to / sympathizing with / devoting much more effort & interest to people more like the central men. that here we are, when taylor might have to give up on Being A Winner, someone who'll walk away with status & resources & a seamless transition into some established business foundation, to really get the wins that matter, against pince, &/or to clock out of a sunk cost factory, &/or to not have strangled every part of themself that can be in conflict with this general situation into eternal dormancy. don't You dare blame latency lol, the taylor who gets to exist outside the conditional "well i guess you're a winner who's very useful to me, like dumping work on you & blaming you if it goes awry. and you can act like a Real winner in the ways that really matter (crushing people)"....is also a taylor who can be rejected & shut down & shut out & have their value denied & be treated shittily despite even knowing they'd be / are good at this shit, superlatively even, & could never feel okay just being regarded as a tool stashed away at someone's disposal. & Has been treated shittly & is liable to accept blame, unilateral responsibility for other's selves & feelings & actions & lives, & marinate in self-loathing. while people who refuse any introspection, questioning, responsibility, awareness, etc, & refuse to handle the least of genuine interactions/relationships with others as real people, are glad to scoff at them & dismiss them & imply or assert their superiority, like, wow have You got a lot to learn, or maybe you can't b/c you're inherently inferior. all just like re: winston!

tl;dr shoutout to the flexible characters who like can & do reflect & change things up actually, just so happening to always be Losing for this in the [only way to win is not to play] arena of fake winners seeing if they can consider themselves superior to everyone else & only even possibly correct always & forever, in the pyramid scheme of social hierarchy & also capitalism

[anthrofreshtodeath]

Untitled, Pt. 7

Find parts 1-6 here. This one is longer.

Once they talk a bit further and Jane leaves with a promise to check in at some point the next day (Maura guesses it will be after the sun goes down), Maura sets an alarm on her phone for five minutes before the sun is supposed to rise. She makes sure her door is locked, tidies up in the kitchen she hadn’t used since the morning, and then takes to the stairs to start her pre-bed grooming routine.

She contemplates staying up, seeing if she can hear, or even see, when Frankie arrives, but her shoulders sag with exhaustion. It is only just past 11:30, a very reasonable bedtime, and her body implores her to take advantage. So, twenty minutes of washing, teeth-brushing, and night creams later, she crawls under her covers and falls asleep to thoughts of warm lips and a cold embrace. 

___

When her phone screams from the nightstand, Maura jolts awake: she picked the most jarring alarm on purpose, lest she sleep through it. She sits upright, her satin bedclothes falling to her lap when she looks toward the window to the right of her. She turns her head quickly, but just as she calculated, the night still rules. The darkness is not as oppressive as when she laid her head down about five hours earlier, but its dominion still has time.

She tears the duvet away with a flourish, a loud whoosh, and then hurries to the front door downstairs. She has no forethought to be afraid, because her curiosity and her concern for Frankie’s well-being, though she had never met him, overtakes her. Would he die in the dawn? Would it weaken or hurt him? When her bare feet hit the hardwood of the last step and then the front hall, she supposes he would at least bang on the door. Or Jane would call her. 

She disengages the deadbolt after she turns the light on, and takes a deep breath just before pulling the knob close to her body.

She gasps. 

The doberman that had galloped past her in front of St. Paul’s less than forty-eight hours before, lies curled up at the top of her stoop. He is large. Maura thinks of Father Kelly’s story about Irish Wolfhounds bigger than had ever been seen before, and that takes her eyes to the dog’s paws: massive, a muscled web of knuckle and vein and nail bridled just so under brown fur. 

His ears perk up and he lifts his head slowly, rising to a seated position and blinking away sleepiness as he stares at her over the bridge of his snout. Maura imagines that his measured attention, his tempered arousal is for her benefit, because he honestly looks like he could eat her. 

“H-hi,” she says to him, realizing she’s never really interacted with a dog up close like this. She’s never really been a pet person. She at one time had a tortoise, Bass, right out of college, but rehomed him with a sanctuary when she got the job at BCU, which meant lots of overseas research. 

The dog lifts up his nose and sniffs in her direction. Maura shakes her head slowly when she thinks that it looks quite like a canine greeting. She does something she never thought she would and kneels so that they will be on more equal footing. In actuality, when she does, he - seated - becomes taller than her. “Jane said you would need the bathroom, unless, and I quote ‘I want to get an eyeful of something I shouldn’t see,’” Maura tells him. She smells him, notes of citrus and iron. She refuses to contemplate why he might have the latter on him. Still, the smell presses against her shoulders, presses her forward. She stops herself from embracing him, reminding herself that while she barely knows Jane, she does not know Frankie at all. 

But, without a doubt, she knows this dog is Frankie. Somehow.

He stands, apparently in acquiescence to her statement, and so Maura stands back up too, pushing on her robe-covered knees. She steps back into the hall and says, “the guest bathroom is upstairs, the second door on the left. I, um, I left some towels for you. Jane offered to bring you a change of clothes, but said you probably would have some.” He stays put, but looks at the duffle bag Maura has just noticed behind the potted plant near her door. She picks it up for him, throwing it over her shoulder. She starts up the stairs, ready to lead him to the guest chambers of her home, when she realizes that Frankie is not following.

He stands there, puts a man-sized paw on the door, and then looks up at Maura again. 

Maura gasps. “Oh, right,” she says, taking a few steps back down. “Please, come in. You’re welcome here.”

After those words, Frankie’s demeanor changes. He trots into the home, using his broad, black shoulder to shut the door, and then follows closely behind Maura, who has taken the hint and resumed her short tour.

“Here we are,” she says, showing him the open door of the small, but clean and up-to-date bathroom. She pushes the concern of dog hair on the white tile toward the back of her mind, because she has no idea if he actually sheds or if what she sees in front of her is even real. Now would not be the time to worry about tidiness. She drops the bag next to the toilet, and then smiles awkwardly at him. A dog - a big one, a deadly one, stands in her bathroom, and she doesn’t know what he is about to do. He reaches forward and hits the door, and Maura finishes the job of closing it for him.

There is a shuffle and a sniffle, a very human-sounding one, and then the light in the bathroom switches on. “Hey Maura?” a masculine voice calls, one not unlike Jane’s, followed by the starting of the shower.

“Y-yes?” Maura asks. More like squeaks, really. Is a dog speaking to her? Or a man? She shudders when she imagines the former.

“Thanks for the hot shower,” he tells her. “Janie said you uh, you both heard somethin’ close by last night.”

“We did,” Maura tells him. She goes up to the door and rests her cheek on it so that they can hear each other better. Both of her hands go up to the wood while she rests.

“Ok,” Frankie says. She hears him rustling with the bath products she’s made available on the bench across from the toilet. “Anything hinky happen after she left? Any weird noises in the house? Anything knockin’ around outside?”

Maura thinks. “No, but I fell asleep pretty quickly after she left. Nothing roused me. Nothing seems out of place.”

“Good, good,” he says. “I didn’t see anything either; got here right around midnight. Go back to bed. I got things covered from here.”

Maura pulls back and blinks. “Do you… do you need a place to sleep?”

Frankie chuckles and Maura hears Boston all over it. “Nah. I don’t really need sleep. Not every day anyway.”

“Oh god, right. I’m sorry. This is just all so…”

“New?” Frankie guesses. “Don’t worry about it. Get some rest.”

The conversation is over, because she hears Frankie step into the shower, and the spray distorts when water hits his body. But, Maura scoffs internally at the idea of sleep. There was a giant dog in her home, and now there is an unknown man, who, if like Jane says, is also a vampire, could murder her with ease. 

She doesn’t necessarily think that he will, but she’s going to need more than his word behind the door of a restroom. She takes this time to pace her bedroom floor, her hand to her forehead and pushing her hair away from it. She has nothing to protect herself: she is staunchly against guns, and she, until tonight, didn’t believe that vampires existed. She’s still not sure if she does now. 

She stops, faces the open door of her room, and remembers the silverware in the kitchen. She could, if the legends are true, wield one of the knives… but how could she possibly overpower Frankie? She groans, backing up until she can fall onto her bed back first. She lays her arms out, and wonders how the hell, on her research day, she’s hosting a vampire brother of a new vampire friend that wants to protect her from werewolves that don’t quite like that she’s studying them. 

Apparently.

She groans again.

“You ok?” asks that voice, though this time it is much closer and not separated from her by a wall. 

Maura snaps up, straightening her nightgown out of habit, crossing her legs and looking at the man - for he is a man - at her threshold. She starts at his bare feet, still a little damp, and then travel up the hair on his legs to the towel around his hips. His upper body is bare, with a layer of hair, too, clearly shaven not too long ago and most prominent on his very defined pectorals. She moves up to his shoulders and then his perfectly styled, parted, combed black hair. He is clean shaven on his face, and sports a smile. “You…”

He is handsome. Nearly as handsome as his sister.

“Me Frankie,” he teases, “You, Maura.” He looks young, too. Thirty? Maybe thirty-one or thirty-two? He’s got full lips and a smile that imbues everything he says with a little extra depth. 

Like Maura has no idea what he is actually thinking, even if it sounds like he says exactly what he thinks. She realizes Jane is like this, too. She blushes. “I was going to say you’re not a dog anymore, but that’s obvious.”

Frankie laughs, and then she does, too. “Yeah,” he says. He puts a square palm over his left breast and rubs there. “I woulda… changed sooner, but Janie’s right. I’m naked the whole way. You seemed pretty good at divinin’ what I wanted though. You a dog person?”

Maura blushes again. “Not at all. But I have recently learned that you need to be invited inside places. And like I said, Jane frontloaded me about some of the basics.”

“How do you know Jane again?” Frankie asks, folding his arms over his chest. It sends Maura’s gaze to his vaguely defined abdomen. In that way, brother and sister are different. Maura hasn’t seen Jane in this state of undress, or any, really, but she has felt her close. Frankie is sizeable and built for brute strength, she can see that - he is thick. Jane is lithe defined and built for entirely something else. Maura’s baser mind wants to say murder, but she does Jane a kindness by refraining. 

“She… she has escorted me home a few times, from St. Paul’s,” Maura explains. “The first night, we saw you running in the direction of the university. Father Kelly… do you know Father Kelly?” he nods. “Father Kelly asked Jane to walk with me, thinking I would feel more comfortable with a female companion. But I suspect she was following me for a while before that.”

Frankie smirks in that lopsided way. “Probably. That’s her MO. She likes to do her work without interruption.”

“Am I her work?”

“Apparently Father Kelly thinks so,” Frankie says. “To have her watching you. They take this kinda shit seriously, Maura. What’ve you gotten yourself into?”

“Academic pursuits only, I assure you,” Maura bites back, her features narrowed and her brow cocked. “They’re telling me that such pursuits are antagonizing werewolves, but to be honest with you, I don’t know if any of that is true. I’ve never seen one. The only reason I know you and your sister are who you are is because she showed me.”

“She shouldn’ta done that,” Frankie stops smiling, and Maura sees the danger she feels every time Jane moves. “But I see why she did. You seem like the type that doesn’t really like to be handled. You need assurances.”

The smile is back, and this time it is teasing her. She actually huffs. “You’d be right. I don’t like to be handled. But I… I trust her,” she admits.

“Hard not to,” Frankie says kindly.

“So I trust that you need to be here. And your… your presence makes me feel safe. So thank you,” says Maura, looking past her floral, sleeveless nightgown and down at her own feet.

Frankie nods. “Then I just have one more question,” he tells her.

“Yes?”

“You a coffee person? Or a tea person?”

“What?”

___

Maura had intended to rouse herself, to dress and to wait for Frankie. Once the sun had fully risen, he’d told her that he had a few things to do but that she would be safe. Werewolves don’t attack in daylight because they can only transform at night, he said. She had nodded, like it was the most logical thing she’d heard, even though she questioned her own sanity once again.

But, after he left and the house calmed, she had fallen asleep again, against her own will, on top of the covers of her bed. It’s where she is now, when she hears the key she’d given him turn in the front lock. The door opens and closes before she realizes that it is what’s woken her, but when she hears his heavy tread on the carpet in the front hall, she rises for the final time. She brushes her teeth and her hair, washes her face, and then puts on the most comfortable athleisure she owns before meeting him and whatever he’s doing on the first floor. 

When she finds him, he is sitting at her small dining table with a maple donut and a giant iced coffee from Dunkin’. She guffaws, and then covers her mouth with her hand. It’s just… Dunkin’ fucking Donuts? 

“Hey there,” he greets, laughing a little with her just because he’s confused. “I hope I got your order right.”

He points to the hot cup of coffee on the table, from a family-owned shop she knows well. She recognizes their stamp on the white cup, and suddenly, she is less flabbergasted and more touched. “I didn’t think you were actually going to go,” she tells him. “I just thought you were making small talk.”

“You must make weird small talk,” says Frankie. “Sit down. Have some breakfast.”

“I- I’m sorry,” Maura starts, but she does sit across from him. He brought her croissants. And jam and butter. She thinks he is the most thoughtful man she’s encountered, but then she remembers that he is gay and then he makes sense. “But… you can eat?”

Frankie looks down at his donut and licks sugar flakes from his lips. He’s dressed like any fashionable man would be in the present day, with brown boots, tight, dark blue jeans, and a black button up shirt tucked into them. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows like Jane likes to do. But he is a vampire and he is eating food. “Uh yeah. If it’s pretty early in the day this body functions just like a regular person’s. That’s the thing about the sun. It warms me up, makes me basically human, if I’ve… fed.”

“So the sun won’t kill you?” Maura asks when she sips her coffee. It is right. And it’s good. 

Frankie chuckles. “Nah. That’s a rumor. But it does make us weak. We don’t always like to walk around in it because if someone, or something, wants to hurt us, we become much more vulnerable in the light. It’s a lot easier to do. Right now, I’m basically a man. And food was always one of the best things about bein’ a man.” His next bite is hearty and it fills one of his cheeks. 

“I have a lot to learn,” Maura responds diplomatically. “Clearly. But it makes me happy to know that you both can eat. In case I want to invite you over for a meal.”

If Frankie thinks her statement strange, he doesn’t show it. “I won’t say no,” he tells her. “Somethin’ tells me Janie wouldn’t either.” He winks.

“What does that mean?” Maura asks with her own little smirk over the rim of her cup. 

“It means you’re pretty,” Frankie shoots back. 

“And Jane likes pretty girls?” Maura asks him, drawing him out.

“Jane likes pretty women, Maura. Pretty women who can handle themselves. I’d say that’s you,” Frankie says.

“She likes me?”

“This a check yes or no type of thing?” Frankie teases. “I don’t know. But you’re her type of lady.”

Maura shrugs. She likes these siblings, who apparently have lived almost five hundred years but strike her with their vivaciousness, expressed in each in different ways. She has no siblings. Well, none that she knew in life. The thought reminds her of Father Kelly’s tale of his village in Ireland the night before, and an idea blooms in her head. She eats with Frankie in silence for a few long minutes, watching him. 

Unlike Jane, he inhabits his body with force. He moves because he wills himself to move. He is less ghostly than Jane. He seems so very alive. Maura wonders if it is because, like he said, it is the daytime. Either way, he appears strong to her. Again, she likes him. “Frankie?”

It is his turn to call out. “Yeah?”

“Do you have any specific plans for us today?” Maura asks him.

“My job is to be your shadow, Maura. Wherever you’re goin’, that’s where I go. That is ‘til Janie can get back and relieve me of duty.”

“Ok. Today is my research and writing day. I don’t have to be at the university. Would you like to accompany me on a social outing?”

“What kinda social outing? Who are we vistin’?”

“My father,” she tells him. 

He blinks. “Oh yeah? Who’s your pop? Another professor?”

“Paddy Doyle,” she answers.

He drops the butt of his donut. “Your dad is Patrick Doyle? You kiddin’ me? Does Jane know?”

“My birth father,” she confirms. “I recently found that out - I’m adopted. Well, that part I’ve known since I was a child. But he… made himself known to me only a year or two ago. And I don’t think Jane knows, no. I haven’t mentioned him to her. I don’t really talk about him with anyone; you can imagine why.”

“I know I said wherever and I’ll be there, but I gotta ask… what business do you have with Paddy? Is it just that he’s your dad?” Frankie seems jittery all of the sudden, and his leg shakes under the table while he waves it. 

Maura feels it, but doesn’t look down. “Well, Father Kelly told me something interesting about their homeland last night. And I want to see if he knows anything about it. It may persuade me to expand the scope of my book.”

“Oh ok,” Frankie acquiesces, subdued by her scholarly pursuits. “Listen, Maura. I should say… agh. Nevermind.”

“What?” Maura prods, reading the contemplation on his face. 

“It’s just… I know your dad,” Frankie says.

“You do? How?” asks Maura.

“Me and Jane both. And I think you should let him tell you that. When the time is right.”

Maura stands abruptly. “Well, I am going to get ready, and then I am going to send him a text. He’ll meet us at The Dirty Robber. And the right time better be today.”

Frankie looks up at her and uses a Dunkin’ napkin to wipe his face. “O-ok. I know The Robber. I’ll drive us there.”

Maura nods with finality, and then spins on her heels to go upstairs. She feels remorse for leaving Frankie with her trash, but she had wanted to make a point and a swift exit seemed like the best way to do it.

She appreciates the beauty of her home in the daylight as she moves through it toward her bedroom, how much less scary it is when it isn’t eclipsed in shadow. She runs through her morning routine quickly: a shower, getting dressed, hair and makeup. As she does, she contemplates how exactly a couple of Sicilian vampires know her father. She has suspected for a while that he does business with the Italian mafia in Boston, but does that mean Jane and Frankie are also… mobsters? In addition to being vampires? That is too fantastical to imagine. 

But if not, that would increase the chances that Paddy knows they are vampires and… she doesn’t know why he would have dealings with them in that capacity. He runs drugs and weapons, for goodness’ sake. Unless, they do the same. Clandestine trades would probably keep them flush with cash while not drawing the undue attention to their age and, well, lack of it, that would come from gainful employment.

That is also just plain nuts. 

She decides to return to the social scientist in her and make no assumptions. Instead, when they go, she will ask him about Father Kelly’s stories, and then she will demand answers about everything else. So, just about thirty-five minutes after she starts, she comes back down to the kitchen. Frankie isn’t there.

He’s a few feet away, in her reading room - she has no television - examining the titles of the bookshelf against the far wall. “The philosophy section,” she tells him, and his head snaps in her direction.

“Oh yeah? I haven’t heard of half these guys,” he says. “Ok, maybe less than half.”

She laughs. “I wouldn’t have either if I didn’t go to school for a living,” she says. He turns to face her fully, disarmed by her kind comment. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?” he asks her in return.

“Yes,” she tells him. She holds up her phone. “He said he’s already there.”

“A day drinker, huh? I had no idea. I always see him at night.”

Maura leads Frankie back out the front door, locking it behind them. They walk to a black Audi A8 parked on her street just a few feet away, one that she’d noticed just before dawn but had no idea was his. He pulls the keys from his pocket and disengages the alarm, and holds open her door for her. “Thank you,” she says. 

He nods, and then shuts the door, walking around and depositing himself in the driver’s seat. “So, to South Boston, yeah?”

“Yes,” she says. The car is clean. Immaculate really. Frankie clearly needs order. Is rigid. “You are both very chivalrous, you know.” She doesn’t mean to blurt it out, but it comes out anyway.

He turns the car on and maneuvers away from the curb. “Who? Me and Paddy?”

“No. You and your sister,” Maura corrects. “She… likes to open doors. And walk on the side closest to the street, I’ve noticed.”

“She’s like that with me, too,” Frankie admits. He shifts and his seat makes that fabric-against-leather sound unique to luxury vehicles. “Which I don’t understand because technically I turned her.”

It’s the first time he has sounded like a little brother and Maura licks her lips to stifle the chuckle. “She cares for you. I’ve only known her for two days and I can already tell that.”

“Oh yeah?” He turns so that one eye looks at her.

Maura pats his hand on the console. “She smiles when she talks about you,” she tells him. “A real, genuine smile.”

___

They approach The Robber by blending into the rest of the foot traffic on the sidewalk. The bar itself is nearly empty, because it's midmorning, though Boston’s streets are already bustling. Frankie holds the outer doors for her, and then the inner, and a few employees complete their tasks while one or two patrons take their beers in silence. 

Paddy Doyle, gray-haired but still large and imposing, hulks into one of the booths at the far end of the bar, all but out of sight. He wears his signature scowl when they enter, but his green eyes light up and dance for Maura when the rest of his face stays put. 

It’s when he registers Frankie Rizzoli behind his daughter that fear clouds that dance, but only for a second or two. Maura reads all of it. “Good morning,” she tells him, taking a seat across from him. 

Frankie sits next to her. “Hey,” he gruffs, though it isn’t unfriendly.

“Good morning,” Paddy says to Maura. It is almost kind. Then he turns to Frankie. “How do you know my daughter, Rizzoli?” It’s a question that sounds like a threat, and Maura is intrigued. 

“I don’t, really,” Frankie answers honestly. “My sister does. They uh, met at church.”

Paddy stiffens. “Is that why you’re here?” he asks Maura.

Maura regards him with suspicion and curiosity alike. “Sort of. Do you know the priest over at St. Paul’s in Cambridge?”

“Do you think all us catholics know each other?” Paddy retorts.

“You two do,” she points between him and Frankie. Frankie snorts.

“Funny,” Paddy says. The corner of his mouth quirks up in mirth. “You’re more like your old man than you think, you know.”

“I don’t know. But you didn’t answer the question,” Maura says. “He’s from a town in Northern Ireland that is very close to yours.” 

“I do know him,” Paddy admits. “Why?”

“You know what I’m working on?” Maura inquires.

“Only because he’s mentioned it,” Paddy says. “You don’t really talk to me about anything.”

“Because-!” Maura is about to lose it on him, she feels the anger bubbling around her throat, but she stops, breathes. Something Frankie next to her is not doing regularly. It’s weird. “He told me a very interesting tale yesterday,” she restarts, pulling out her notebook. “He said that in Coleraine, the villagers somehow came about a new breed of wolfhound that helped them to ward off the wolves that were disturbing them and their flocks.”

“Well, wolfhounds have served our people for centuries, Maura. That’s not surprising,” Paddy says. “There are lots of stories like that all over the island.”

The island. The word sticks in her head and she looks at Frankie - another islander of sorts, though they both find themselves here in Boston’s rough climate. “He was insinuating that the people were being terrorized by werewolves, and that they struck an alliance with vampires - the dogs- to run them out of town.”

“He said that?” Paddy leans back against the booth and scratches his chin.

“No, he dropped hints based on the context of the conversation, and conversations previous,” Maura says. “Is that a story, the one I’ve just described, that you’ve heard before?”

Paddy then comes forward again and rests his elbows on the table, studying her face. She sees the respect for her in him. It’s not the first time. “We have stories like that, too, yeah. From the old country, obviously. But listen, men have had to do a lot of unsavory things to keep their families safe. They even, you know, sometimes, dance with the devil to make that happen. The Anglos, their oppression took a lot of forms, Maura. We had to get creative in fighting back.”

Frankie snorts. 

Maura looks between them, and takes her chance. “I want you to tell me how you know him,” she says as she points to Frankie next to her. Frankie straightens up and so does her father. 

“We’re in business together,” Paddy tells her. 

Maura knows he hopes that is enough. It is not. “What kind of business? Drugs? Weapons? Sex?”

“The dancing kind,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “Enough with the obfuscation. When you came to me, I wanted nothing to do with you. I had a father. But with the promise that you would be forthcoming with me, that you would tell me about my mother, about your relationship, I came to the table. Because I expected honesty. This is not honesty. Suddenly, everyone in my life is telling me that monsters are real and not only that, but they’ve always existed and are a part of normal life, like I’m the fool for not believing in them! Be honest with me.”

Paddy sighs, his shoulders deflating along with his holdouts. He crosses her arms, and Frankie nods to him. “He’s my wolfhound, sweetheart. He’s one of my wolfhounds.”

[megandzane]

I think it’s kinda funny the way that was the first pic of Meghan that Harry saw and what caught his attention 😭

[deathgripsgravemoth]

Dreamed i talked to lauren in a kitchen n kene was there and she brought home a bunch of blueberru desserts and somehow the kitchen table got covered in whipped cream

[etherealstar-writes]

I WANNA BE YOURS | LIONESSES X READER | PT 8

pairings: lionesses x reader

summary: in which you're accidentally added to a random group chat, not knowing they're all actually famous footballers, and obliviously end up having many of them competing for your love and attention.

part: eight

part one here

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

THE NATIONAL DIVING TEAM

stairway y/n, i gotta tell you something very important

the imposter okay? what is it?

stairway

the imposter when and where?

stairway i was thinking a beach wedding this weekend

willybum WOAH WOAH WOAH hell nah gimme a chance

the REAL karate kid i can be a way better girlfriend than all of them y/n

neev no meee!

the imposter as much as i love all these offers you guys don't even know what i look like

elton wdym? we all know what you look like

the imposter well that's not creepy at all i never sent you guys a photo of me wait a second so you guys are stalkers! OMG I KNEW IT!!

elton NO NO NO WE ARE NOT your friend sent us that one time she was on your phone we assumed you knew that

the imposter WAIT WHAT NO I HAD NO CLUE OMG WHAT PHOTO WAS IT?? SHE DELETED IT ON THE CHAT

stairway wait a sec

the imposter WHATT I DONT EVEN REMEMBER THAT THAT IS SO UNFAIR OMG hang on how do you even have that?

earpsy half of them have it saved on their camera roll in favourites

lauren 1 exposed haha

the REAL karate kid shut up

the imposter ..... um okay then that's not scary at all it isn't even a good photo

neev iSnT eVEn a GoOd PhOTo GURLLL shut upppp you're gorgeous i'll marry you instantly

the imposter aw tyyy ily <33

neev

the REAL karate kid NAHH BACK UP RN

stairway

i'm coming for you charles

neev

elton hold on you guys i just realised

the REAL karate kid oh hell no

lotte what could she have possibly thought of now

maya everyone prepare yourselves

elton if pregnant women were to go swimming would they be classified as human submarines bcuz you know they're pregnant

the imposter

earpsy you really have outdone yourself this time

willybum

neev toone how the hell did you even think of that 😭😭

stairway no but she lowkey has a point tho ... they technically are if you think about it

lotte not you too 😭

the imposter ella bae ily but .....

the REAL karate kid i second that

elton

honestly you guys are just jealous jealous of my

meado

lord save me

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

THE NATIONAL DIVING TEAM

the imposter how are my favourite stalkers doing? y'all have been quiet lately and i haven't been spammed with notifications from this chat it's kinda concerning hope y'all are doing well

lotte i would say enjoy the silence while it lasts lol but i'm doing well thanks! hope you're having a good day too <3

the imposter that's great to hear, and thank you!! xxx

stairway i'm doing good too!

neev i'm doing alright too thanks

elton oi we don't stalk you .... all the time

the imposter hold on okay i'm back

willybum WE'RE NOT STALKING YOU 😭

the imposter

guess this is goodbye my stalkers this has to end 🤝😔

stairway Y/N NOOO

the imposter

just booked myself some karate lessons see you guys on the streets ✌️

neev oh my god 😭

elton that's it i'm never going outside or leaving my house again

willybum nahhh this isn't fair Y/N come backkk

the REAL karate kid y/n my lovee plsss 🥺 i blame ella for all this

elton oi it's not my fault!

stairway it's okay we'll just wait here .... y/n?

neev okay its been half an hour y/n and still not an answer pls answer

the imposter a bit desperate are we, guys? what if i was just peeing?

stairway no of course not

willybum pfft we're not desperate

lotte um if you were peeing for about 30 mins then i would be seriously concerned and would be booking you a doctor's appointment

the imposter yeah yeah whatever you say, my stalkers :)

part nine here

[yoon-kooks]

on mute | jjk

🦈pairing: fuckboy!gamer!jjk x reader

🦈genre: friends to lovers, office!au, coworker!au, smut, fluff

🦈summary: You always assumed your handsome coworker was down to fuck anyone in the office except for you. He always assumed you weren’t interested in a guy like him. And both of you were content with never admitting your feelings… until he unknowingly confides in you in the realms of a certain tactical FPS game.

🦈word count: 10.7k

🦈warnings: mutual pining, shooter game references, soft fuckboy vibes, fingering, doggy style, protected sex bc bro aint taking no chances🤠

a/n: i wasnt planning on including smut so thats a bonus✨

You press a hand to your mouth to suppress a yawn as the department meeting finally comes to an end. Your boss had gone over the schedule for next quarter, alluded to a few new projects, and gave a few shoutouts to people on your team who apparently “went the extra mile” this week. You couldn’t care less about being acknowledged for your work, but it does kind of irk you that Jeon Jungkook got a shoutout when you’ve never seen him do extra work in the office. All he’s done this week is take your pretty lady boss out to lunch. If that’s considered extra work, you suppose Jungkook works the hardest. After all, he’s the type to make time for anyone he wants to sleep with aka everyone in the office except for you.

As you scoot your chair out, you back into something very solid. Surely no one is dumb enough to stand right behind your chair when they know how eager everyone is to get out of here for the weekend. But when you turn around, you know exactly who it is without even seeing his face—Employee of the Week Jeon Jungkook. 

You stare at the back of his shoulders in that mustard button-down, and it occurs to you that it was his nice ass that you’d bumped into. He didn’t even stumble forward from the impact or at least step aside so you can leave like everyone else. You just want to get home, soak in a nice hot bubble bath, and play a few games with your calico all curled up in your lap—that’s the ideal Friday night that Jeon Jungkook is keeping you from.

“Excuse me, kind sir,” you say as your nude acrylics tap the armrest.

The boy turns around with fake astonishment. And a handsome smile. “Oh, Y/N, I didn’t know you were still here.”

“I mean, yeah, I’d be gone too if someone wasn’t blocking my way out.” In the year that you’ve been on the same team as Jungkook, the two of you somehow developed this sarcastic and aggressive way of speaking without actually being mad at each other. Some call it banter, but you dislike the possible romantic implications of that.

“What’s the rush? Got plans tonight?” He still doesn’t move out of the way. You didn’t expect him pinning you against a table in the office to be so underwhelming. You imagine a fuck boy like him could try a little harder, be a little rougher. Not that you’ve ever fantasized about it.

“Yeah, I just bought some cute new lingerie for when I hop into bed with Christina Lauren and my cat.” You leave out the gaming part of your Friday night plans. If he knew you played the same game as him, he’d probably use it against you somehow.

“Who’s Christina Lauren?” he asks. You love the thought of him imagining you in lingerie with some mystery woman. Or maybe that’d just encourage a threesome.

“My cat’s favorite romance writer?” You say it like it should be common sense to know that your cat purrs himself to sleep when you read to him.

“And you’re going to waste your cute new lingerie on reading a Lauren Christina bedtime story to your cat?”

“It’s Christina Lauren, not Lauren Christina.”

“Christina Lauren doesn’t care about your lingerie.” It amuses you how he keeps bringing up the lingerie. You wonder what he’d think if he saw you in that skimpy mesh fabric. It’d probably come as a shock to him considering he’s only ever seen you in your preppy office attire. He has no idea what you’re capable of beneath those cream blouses and mocha mini skirts.

If only he knew.

“Tldr, yes I have very urgent plans tonight.” That reminds you, you need to check your in-game shop to see if any pretty skins are on sale this time around. You’ve been eyeing the one with the cute whale shark design.

“What a coincidence, Lauren Christina is my favorite writer too. I really liked that one book she wrote.” You don’t hate that he’s prolonging the conversation, but if he says “Lauren Christina” one more time, you’re gonna report him to HR.

“Same,” you chuckle. “Now please move so I can leave.”

He finally steps aside. Before he can pull a fast one and trap you again, you throw your tiny bag over your shoulder and scurry for the exit. You stop just outside the conference room and spin around. The boy’s eyes quickly shift up from your skirt.

“Coming or not?” you ask with a head tilt. If there’s one good thing about having a local fuck boy in the office, it’s that you always have someone who’ll walk you to your car when it’s dark out. That’s one of the things you know he does just for you.

On the elevator ride down, it’s just you and him because everyone else has already vacated the building. You sneak a peek at your handsome colleague. It’s a shame that he spends more time in your coworkers’ beds than in actual relationships. If not for that, you’d—

“You should recommend a book for me,” he says, catching you mindlessly staring at him. Oops.

“You don’t look like a reader.” You doubt he’d ever pick up a book over girls.

“I’ll read a book if you say it’s good.” Now he’s just sweet talking you, and you’re not going to fall for it. Except, you would love someone to gush to about your favorite books.

“Dating You/Hating You.” The book title just sort of slips out of your mouth. Though you can’t exactly vouch for how good it is since it’s the one you’re currently reading.

“Give me your best elevator pitch for it.” Haha, he thinks he’s so funny. (You laugh anyway.)

Persuasion is your thing, but you can’t give a proper elevator pitch for a book you haven’t actually finished yet. Moreover, you don’t know what kinds of genres he’d be into or if this book would be a good fit for him. You don’t even know any of his interests outside of sex and video games. 

When you really think about it, there’s not much you know about Jeon Jungkook. He’s a mystery, but a charming one.

“It’ll give us something to talk about,” you say softly as the loud ding interrupts. “That’s my elevator pitch to you.”

“Not bad,” he nods as you both exit the elevator. That was way easier than expected. “Is it by your cat’s favorite romance author?”

“It is,” you smile. It’s hard not to smile when you’re with him. “I can lend you my copy next week after I fin—”

“Jungkook!” The new recruiting coordinator blocks your way out of the building with eager eyes and a smile brighter than your own. “Still down for drinks later at that place we talked about?”

You try not to roll your eyes as you step around yet another coworker who ignores you standing right next to the boy they want to ask out. You and Jungkook aren’t a thing, but it does hurt to know that not a single person thinks of you as worthy competition. He’s probably made it very clear to everyone in the office that you and him are just friends and that your nightly walks to the parking lot are for safety purposes only.

Thankfully, you get out of the building before you can hear Jungkook accept the invitation into someone else’s bed. The last thing you want is to be jealous of the people he’d rather be spending time with. You and your silly little book recommendations mean nothing to him.

Nothing at all.

“Sorry about that.” He catches up to you a minute later in the dimly lit parking lot.

You shake your head. “It’s alright. That’s what happens when you’re the popular guy.” And you mean it, too. You’re not the type to fault people for being who they are, nor would you ever ask them to change for you. Besides, there’s really nothing between you and him. There’s nothing he should feel sorry for.

“Hey, why do you always park in the furthest corner of the parking lot?” he teases, probably as a way to change the subject. You see his car parked just a few spots down from you, so he doesn’t really have a right to criticize your decisions. Looks like your habit has rubbed off on him. “It’d be safer if you parked closer to the building.”

You shrug even though the parking placement and slightly longer walks are intentional. He doesn’t need to know it’s your subtle way of prolonging the time you spend with him. You always look forward to those few extra minutes where he’s all yours.

“It doesn’t feel dangerous here at all.” Not when you’re with him. You unlock your car and hop into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, totally not dangerous.” Jungkook holds your door as he scans the dark and empty lot for anything suspicious. He listens as a few sirens screech in the distance and does a double-take at the lone soda can rolling around in the wind. When the coast is clear, he turns back to you. “I look forward to reading the Lauren Christina book when your cat’s done with it.”

He waits for your seatbelt to click before closing the door. You roll the window down and glare. “It’s Christina Lauren! And have fun on your date.”

With a wave of your manicure, you’re off to your “urgent” Friday night plans.

When you return home, you get what you want. You strip off your work clothes and soak in a lavender bubble bath for a good 30 minutes before admiring the new lingerie Jungkook wouldn’t stop mentioning earlier. 

It’s tempting to try it on now, but you wish someone else could see it on you. Jungkook is right. Christina Lauren doesn’t care about your lingerie. If the boy were here to see it for himself, you want to know what he’d think, what he’d say, and what he’d do to your body. It’d probably be incredible—for one night—but that’d be the end of it. That’s how all of his flings go, and a hypothetical one with you would be no different. With a sigh, you set the lingerie aside, throw on an oversized sweatshirt that just barely covers your ass, and load into your game.

The first thing you do is check the shop for the cute gun skin with the whale shark design. The RNG gods give you a couple of good knives, an awful pistol, a subpar rifle, and no shark. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You didn’t want to spend real money on pretty pixels anyway.

As soon as your first match starts, your four teammates are quick to use their mics. Apparently, they all know each other. Can’t relate.

“So… How’d the date go?” asks the healer. The two duelists place their bets on whether the date went incredibly well or horribly wrong. You silently cast your vote for horribly wrong since you lean toward pessimism.

“I didn’t end up going,” says the initiator. He sounds a lot like a certain Jeon Jungkook, but you shouldn’t assume. As far as you know, he doesn’t have a reason to cancel the date with that recruiting coordinator. In fact, he should be having drunk sex with her right about now. Not that it’s any of your business to know what your handsome coworker does after hours. None of that involves you.

“Is it because of You-know-who?” asks the duelist who voted with you. You-know-who? Like a jealous ex-lover? Sounds like drama to you.

“Yep…” Nah, it can’t be the Jeon Jungkook you know. This guy’s voice is giving you more lovesick puppy than confident fuck boy. He dies from a grenade and goes silent for the next few rounds while his buddies keep providing intel to the team. You pick up the whale shark gun over his dead body.

“Hey, CL,” the healer calls out your username. “Do you have a mic?”

Yes, you do have a mic. No, you’re not going to use it. These guys seem harmless so far, but it’s not always fun when people realize you’re the only female on the team. Men in this game try to hit on you just like the ones you pass in the short distance from the office to your car. And they’ll only stop pestering you if you’re walking next to a guy like Jungkook, which you clearly don’t have in this game with your empty friend list. So you’d rather stay on mute for now.

“my mic is broken,” you type, “cat knocked it over.”

“Ah, that’s okay.” He heals you up and saves you from an otherwise fatal headshot. “We were just wondering if you could help our buddy out.”

You? You’re not sure how you’re supposed to be of any help to a lovesick puppy when you haven’t had much luck in the love department either. But you are a curious kitten when it comes to other people’s love lives.

“maybe… can i get more context?”

Apparently, this lovesick puppy (or “Jklmnop” according to his username) has a little more in common with Jungkook than you’d originally thought. Turns out both of them are the designated fuck boys at their workplaces. Except this one has a massive crush on his “super hot” colleague. Jeon Jungkook would never.

The issue is that Jklmnop caught feelings for the one person who doesn’t seem interested in him. Worse, it feels like he’s being friendzoned. And he’s been going on dates with other people in an attempt to squash those unrequited feelings, but it’s just not doing the trick.

“i know a fuck boy too.” You are by no means an expert in the fuck boy archetype, but perhaps your time spent with Jungkook has prepared you for this opportunity to help a friend in need. And you do have some advice. “im not saying fucking all your coworkers is a bad thing but if you really want this girl you need to go all in on her and show her that you’re willing to commit to something more serious.”

Because if you knew this to be true about your own local fuck boy, you’d give him a chance, too. But as far as you know, Jungkook has never shown any romantic interest in you (or anyone else for that matter). He’s just a platonic buddy to you and a fuck buddy to everyone else.

“and it’s very possible she doesnt even realize youre interested in her,” you type, “this is a dumb question but have you tried asking her out yet?”

Your dumb question gets a few laughs from the boys. You feel like an IT person asking their client if they’ve tried turning their computer off and on again.

“Oh, our guy here doesn’t ask people out. He’s the one getting asked out all the time,” Duelist #1 explains.

“It’s been a year and You-know-who hasn’t made a move on him, so that must mean she doesn’t like him,” Duelist #2 adds in a sarcastic tone. You imagine him rolling his eyes on the other side of his screen.

“well @Jklmnop if you dont normally ask ppl out, itll hold more weight when you do.” Your fingers pause for a second. Maybe you’re just soft, but it’d mean a lot to you if you were asked out by the Jeon Jungkook. You’re sure this fuck boy could pull it off too. “you should ask her out. maybe shes waiting for you to make the move.”

You don’t get an immediate response, but he trades his pretty shark gun for your plain one. He must have seen you steal the one over his dead body a few rounds ago. What a thoughtful guy.

Then a friend request pops up. Fine. Jklmnop can be the one username on your otherwise empty friend list.

“I’ll ask her if the opportunity arises,” Jklmnop says after clutching a 1v4. “Thanks bro.”

On Monday, you’re a lot sleepier than you should be at the beginning of the work week because you practically spent the entire weekend gaming with your new fuck boy friend and finishing the book you recommended to your office fuck boy friend.

Your dark circles must be pretty bad because Jungkook feels the need to stop by your desk and say, “Up all night reading Lauren Christina?” He taps the book on your mousepad, so he can clearly see that it’s Christina Lauren and not Lauren Christina. He’s just teasing you at this point.

“It’s Christina Lauren, you shithead. And yes, I finished it, so you can read it now,” you say, handing the book to the boy. He holds it with a soft grip as if to avoid creasing the pages. If library books were treated with the same care, they wouldn’t feel so crusty all the time. You can respect guys with gentle hands. “I expect a full book report by Friday.”

“At least give me the weekend,” he frowns. It’s the most attractive frown you’ve ever seen.

“Sure, if that’s how you want to spend your weekend,” you yawn. Wouldn’t he rather be doing anything else on his days off than read your book?

“That’s how you spent your weekend, Sleepyhead.” He makes a good point. His chuckle is quite cute too. 

As he flips through the book, you see something shimmery wedged between the pages toward the end of the story. You told yourself a million times to take your silly little bookmark out before lending him the book, but of course you forgot. Maybe he won’t notice.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook pulls the metallic blue bookmark out to examine it. His lips curve upward when he sees it’s shaped like a whale shark. Oh great. He’s definitely gonna tease you about it. You knew you should’ve gone with one of the more sophisticated leather bookmarks.

“You really like these guys, huh.” He holds it up by the chain to let some light shine through the tiny holes mimicking the shark’s gorgeous spotty pattern. Not the reaction you were expecting, but you’ll take it.

“What makes you say that?” You don’t ever recall confiding in him about your whale shark obsession. Last time you checked, all of your nerdy and kiddish quirks were kept far away from your office. It’s just not on-brand for the professional image you’ve established here.

“Didn’t you have a cute whale shark phone case when you first started working here? Before you switched it to that cream-colored one?” He wrinkles his face, deep in thought as he tucks the bookmark back where he found it. He’s right, though. You just assumed no one had ever noticed it. As soon as you got your new work phone, you switched to something more neutral to fit your minimalist aesthetic.

“Oh, right.” You’d forgotten about the case just like you forgot about the bookmark. But Jungkook somehow notices and remembers those kinds of details about you. It’s almost endearing in a way.

You shouldn’t let yourself think like that, though. Those are dangerous thoughts.

“By the way, how was your date?” As much as you hate to admit it, you’re curious about his date with the recruiting coordinator. Besides, if he says it went well, you’ll have yet another reason to stop holding onto the tiny feelings you have for him.

“I didn’t go.”

“Oh,” you press a finger to your parted lips. That’s unheard of for Jeon Jungkook. “Did her cat die or something?”

“Why does someone’s cat need to die for the date to be canceled?”

“There must’ve been a pretty big emergency for you to forgo a date, no?”

“Is that what you really think of me, Y/N?” He cocks his head to the side because he’s a fuck boy and that’s what fuck boys do.

“That’s not what I think of you.” Another yawn slips from your mouth. “It’s just facts. You have a 99% attendance rate when it comes to dates, don’t you?”

He nods because he can’t argue with the credible gossip that goes on in your office.

“Anyway, I’m going to run to that coffee shop you won’t shut up about,” he says as he glances at the time on his phone and then at the dark abyss under your eyes. “Need anything?”

“Hmm…” You pretend to think deeply about your order. Usually when other people go on coffee runs, you request something easy to remember like an oat latte. But for Jeon Jungkook, the boy who keeps fucking up Christina Lauren’s name, you won’t go so easy. “How about an iced birthday cake latte with oat milk, an extra shot of espresso, two pumps of toffee syrup, and the crème brûlée topping? Please.”

“So… birthday cake frappuccino with oat milk?” He snickers in your sleepy face before walking off. “You’re gonna have to come with if you want all that extra stuff.”

It’s a latte, not a frappuccino. But you suppose it doesn’t matter if he knows the difference because you’re scurrying to catch up with him as he heads for the elevator.

The “coffee shop you won’t shut up about” has been open for a few months now, and you’ve stopped by at least two times a week since the grand opening for your usual dose of caffeine. Should you be proud or embarrassed that the baristas all know your name and order? How about when they raise their eyebrows at the sight of you walking in with your handsome coworker?

“She’ll have a birthday cake frapp—”

“Don’t listen to him. I’ll get a birthday cake latte, please,” you tell the barista at the register. Jungkook chuckles as you give his arm a light shove. “With oat milk and crème brûlée today.”

“Sure thing, Y/N,” she smiles at you and then turns to the boy next to you. “Anything for you?”

“Just plain coffee, thanks,” he says after a quick glance at the menu. You hate that he orders plain coffee when the menu has all these fun options like pink donut lattes or cookies n cream cappuccinos. If he wanted black coffee, he could’ve saved time and money by brewing some in the office. He didn’t have to go all the way to the coffee shop you wouldn’t shut up about. But he did. And he invited you along for the ride.

As the two of you wait for your drinks, you pick the booth in the corner next to the window. You’ve always had this vision of sitting inside a cozy cafe to work from your laptop or read a book. It just hasn’t happened yet because you get scared off when all the other customers bring their friends or lovers to share that experience with. Your laptop and books can’t compare to that. 

You’ve always been envious. Until today.

“That doesn’t look nearly as complex as it sounded,” Jungkook says when he sees your latte with the fancy crème brûlée on it. He slides his boring coffee across the table to you. “I’ll let you try mine if you let me try yours.”

Only a weirdo would accept a pathetic offer like that.

“Deal.” You take a sip of your sugary treat before passing it off to the boy. He winces from how sweet yours is compared to the bitterness of his black coffee. You make a face for the opposite reason.

“I’m surprised you agreed to it,” he hums with a tiny bit of crème brûlée around his mouth. You want to kiss it off. He must notice you eyeing his lips because he wipes it off with his thumb a second later.

“I wanted you to try my special drink,” you say. It’s for the same reason you lent him your book—to let him know another tiny piece of you without explicitly saying it.

“I’ll have to get it myself next time we come.” He pulls up the notes app on his phone and types as he speaks. You wonder if “next time” and “we” imply that this coffee outing is going to become another routine thing between you and him, just like your walks to the parking lot. Hopefully it does. No, it definitely will. Because you’ll be the one to ask him next time. “What’s it called again? Birthday cake frappuccino… with crème brûlée?”

“Exactly,” you lie. Who knows. His mistake might taste even better. You’ll have to find a way to sneak a taste when he isn’t looking. It’s something sweet to look forward to.

As you sip your latte, the barista who took your order catches your eye from across the store, points at Jungkook, and mouths something to you. You don’t quite catch it, so she repeats it again just as your coworker turns to see what you’re staring at.

“Boyfriend?” she mouths, clear as day, before spinning around to use the espresso machine. 

When the boy turns back to you, he has such a goofy grin on his face. He points to himself and repeats, “Boyfriend?”

“Stop,” you laugh at his antics but totally dodge the question. “Anyway… may I ask why you didn’t go on that date with the recruiting coordinator?” 

His eyes are wide. Probably because it’s not like you to pry. But you just want to make sense of why he’s sitting here with you, acting all sweet and boyfriend-like, after bailing on someone else a few days ago. He’s not his usual self either.

“It was faster to reject her,” he shrugs. You didn’t realize he was in such a hurry on Friday. It certainly didn’t seem like it with how he’d blocked your way out of the conference room.

“What were you in such a hurry for?”

“Isn’t it our unspoken thing to walk to the parking lot together?” He says it like you’re silly. Like the fate of the world depends on him being able to fulfill his duty of walking you to your car each and every day. Like he’d forgo hours of good sex for a five-minute walk with you.

“It’s not unspoken if we talk about it,” you say softly. You’ve always adored the short walks with Jungkook, but maybe you weren’t the only one who felt that way. What kind of guy rejects a date just so he can keep up this year-old tradition between you and him? No guy has ever done anything close to that for you. “But yeah, it is our thing.”

The boy nods with a gentle smile as he sips his coffee. For just a split second, he gives you Jklmnop vibes. You don’t know how else to explain it. He’s a fuck boy, but there’s something so delicate about him that you want to touch without breaking.

You wonder if he’d ever let you in.

On the way out, your favorite friendly barista waves you over to the counter with a huge grin. As much as you love the girl, you’re scared of what might come out of her mouth next. She leans in as if to whisper but ends up shouting over the grinder in the background.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about him.” Her eyes flick to somewhere beyond your shoulders. “He’s such a hottie, by the way. Y’all are kinda cute together.”

A snort comes from right behind you. “Thank you,” says the hottie. Your hottie, apparently. It would’ve been perfectly fine for him to clarify that the two of you aren’t actually together, but you suppose his ego was too busy soaking in the compliment from the pretty barista.

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow at Jungkook as soon as you’re both out the door.

“What?” What’s with that playful smile of his?

“You didn’t deny what she said.”

“A compliment’s a compliment, Y/N.”

“I didn’t mean the part about you being a hottie.” You shudder at that last word. Yes, Jungkook is the hottest guy you’ve ever seen, but he doesn’t need to hear that from your mouth. “I meant the part about you being my boyfriend.”

“You didn’t deny it earlier, either,” he shrugs. True. “Besides, isn’t that also a compliment?”

Now that he’s mentioned it, it does feel pretty nice to be seen as a couple with someone as attractive as Jungkook—to give the illusion that it’s you who’s got him wrapped around your finger, you who he chose above everyone else, and you who gets to fall asleep in his arms every night. And it feels especially good considering how often other people dismiss you as someone not good enough for him. In fact, this is the first time anyone has ever acknowledged that the two of you go well together.

“Hey man, mind if I steal that fine little lady for a sec?” a sleazy voice calls out in your direction. You don’t bother turning your head to acknowledge the presence of yet another ignorant hooligan on the street, but you do step a little closer to Jungkook. You don’t know what pisses you off more: the fact that this stranger is another nonbeliever that you could be dating a guy like Jungkook or the fact that he asked for another male’s permission to talk to you instead of asking you directly. Most catcallers keep their mouths shut when you’re walking with your handsome coworker, but this one clearly can’t take a hint.

A warm hand pulls you in at the waist. It’s the same soft grip Jungkook held your book with. And you kind of never want him to let go. Because when he holds you close like that, all the shitty people become irrelevant. That doesn’t, however, stop you from getting a kick out of the death stare he gives the catcaller who finally backs off.

“You really showed him,” you tease. His face loosens up after you let out a tiny snicker. Still, he studies your every expression to make sure you’re alright.

“Does that happen to you wherever you go?” he asks as he moves his arm up from your waist to your shoulder, something slightly more appropriate for two friendly colleagues. Suddenly your waist feels cold.

“Usually when I’m out by myself.” Whether it’s the supermarket, the park, the office, you’ve felt objectified pretty much everywhere. Even online. The sad thing about it is that you know you’re not the only one. ”But I’m used to it at this point.”

“Well, men are kind of shitty,” he huffs, looking rather frustrated on your behalf. You’ve never seen him so irritated. For the most part, he knows how to keep a calm composure, even during busy season. It’s oddly satisfying that an inconvenience for you is what brought that emotion out of him.

“I used to think that,” you admit as the two of you enter the office building. “But all it takes is one good guy to outweigh the shitty ones.”

For you, Jungkook has always been that one good guy.

“True. I suppose that hottie boyfriend of yours isn’t that bad, huh.” He gives you a soft shoulder squeeze in the elevator before dropping his arm back to his side. It’s a subtle taste of what he could be doing to other places on your body if he were actually your boyfriend. He’d handle you with so much care.

“You won’t let that go, will you?” you pout, pointing your thumb back in the general direction of the coffee shop. “Those baristas really think we’re dating now, you know.”

He pinches your pouty cheek and leaves you at your desk with a not-so-innocent remark. 

“I wonder why they think that about us.”

The second half of your day feels painfully long. It’s kind of hard to focus on designing wholesome character models when you’ve got Jeon Jungkook stuck in your head. At this rate, your cute little characters are going to turn into bad boys who steal your books and lattes along with your heart. You can’t help it when he’s been extra sweet to you lately. Sweeter than a birthday cake frappuccino could ever be. And just like your favorite sugary beverages, there’s something so addicting about his company.

As you’re finishing up some designs, you spot the boy chatting with his buddies from the other departments. It’s unfair that an entire friend group can be so goodlooking. And it’s even more unfair that Jungkook is still the one you can’t take your eyes off of in the handsome bunch. Great, now you’re even more distracted.

“Hey, I saw you were online again last night,” says the guy from accounting. He has long pretty eyelashes. “Where was my invite?”

“Ah, yeah. Remember that girl on our team the other night?” Jungkook has a cheeky grin. Why does he have such a cheeky grin while talking about some e-girl, and why does your tummy hurt all of a sudden? “She helped me climb out of plat. She’s diamond.”

So what? That’s the same rank as you. Nothing special. Hmph. You hope she gets demoted before the act ends. You’re not a jealous person, but you are petty.

“How do you know she’s a she?” asks the engineer with plump lips.

“That’s what she told me,” Jungkook continues. “And it fits with the fact that she doesn’t use a mic. You guys know how fucked up people can be in that game.”

You nod along to that.

“What’s her username again? I wanna add her now,” the other engineer jumps in. This one has broad shoulders. Very broad.

“You just want to hit on her,” Engineer #1 shakes his head at Engineer #2. You agree with that too.

“Is she single? Or at least around our age?” asks the accountant.

“You guys are monsters,” Jungkook laughs. “I’ll give you her username only if you promise not to simp.”

“Fine,” they all agree reluctantly.

You convince yourself that you’re only eavesdropping because they’re talking too loud, but you’re actually just curious to search up the username and see how this e-girl’s game stats stack up against yours. You’re quite confident your headshot percentage will outrank hers.

“It’s CL, remember?”

“Oh right.”

No, not right. That’s definitely not the username you picked as a subtle nod to your favorite author, and Jungkook is definitely not the lovesick fuck boy you’ve been giving advice to through some wack ass shooter game. Definitely not.

Because if it were true, that would mean Jungkook has a crush on somebody in your office. And who the heck would that be?

“Ready to head out?” Jungkook pops out of nowhere and scares the shit out of you. You nearly leap out of your seat with a tight fist around your tablet pen like you’re about to knife the boy in-game. He holds your book up as a shield. “Whoa there.”

“My bad, I thought you were the enemy.” You snap the pen back onto your tablet and say it with a straight face as if he knows you play the same violent game as him.

He plays along, scanning the office for anyone suspicious. “Who’s the enemy?”

“Marketing?” You only say that because everyone in the office knows the marketing director Kim Namjoon was your college nemesis back when you were even pettier than you are now.

“Ah,” he nods as you pack up and roll your chair in. You’ve always wondered why he just accepts the weird things you do without question. “Glad I’m not your enemy. Wouldn’t want to be stabbed by your tablet pen. Or your nails.”

He points to your pretty manicure. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s subtly asking to hold your hand. But you do know better. He has an intense crush on someone else in the building, so there’s really no reason why he’d want to hold your hand.

So instead of misreading the situation and making a fool of yourself by entwining your fingers with his, you poke your favorite of his tattoos (the silly face on his middle finger) with your acrylic. “Consider yourself stabbed.”

You try not to look at the boy’s wrinkly smile. But it’s incredibly hard. Instead, you redirect your eyes anywhere else. Of course they fall on the “it couple” of the office passing by. They don’t do a whole lot of PDA, but the way they look at each other says it all, and they have this glow about them that seems so unobtainable. You feel the envy creeping up again.

On the elevator ride down, you try not to think about the happy couple or Jungkook’s wrinkly smile. It’s making you sad.

“Can I ask you something?” he turns to you. Maybe his question will take your mind off everything bringing your mood down. You nod for him to proceed. “How do you feel about dating a coworker?”

Shitty. You feel shitty. He could probably sense that from your silence upon seeing the couple.

“You mean like Hyuna and Dawn?” You don’t have a problem with it, or with them. If you could pull off a perfect office romance like them, you’d do it too. But it doesn’t seem likely for you, and that’s what sucks.

“Just in general. Like, do you think it’s fine, or is it crossing the line?” he asks. Aha, you get it now. He’s asking for your opinion because he doesn’t want to make you, his totally platonic friend, feel uncomfortable when he starts dating whoever he has a crush on here.

“HR allows it, so I don’t really see a problem with it,” you answer honestly. Sure, you’d be hurt if you had to work in an environment where Jungkook is doing lovey-dovey things with someone else, but you’re not going to be the one to ruin it for him.

“I’ve never seen you date anyone here, though.”

“Well I don’t get asked out all the time like you, Jungkook.”

“What about Mark from accounting? Or my guy Jooheon before he moved overseas? And don’t get me started on Kim Namjoon.” He has his fingers out and ready to list all the other guys in the office who’ve expressed some sort of interest in you, but he decides against it when he sees you glaring back at him. Wise man.

You’d love to know why he’s so familiar with your nonexistent office dating history.

“Okay, I get it. I’ve been asked out a fair amount,” you sigh. “But it doesn’t really count if they aren’t the right person.”

That earns you a soft head tilt from the boy. You swear he’s a puppy. “Oh? Miss Y/N has a type?”

When you think about it, a few of the guys who’ve asked out were your type—smart, funny, hardworking—and yet you still said no. They’ve never hand-delivered meeting notes and chamomile tea when you were out sick, never walked you to your car, never given you something to look forward to at work, and never known your favorite animal. They’ve never made you want them the way you want a certain someone else.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a type.” It’s a person. The person who makes you feel so safe and cared for. The person who has feelings for another girl. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

You don’t like being vague, but saying any more than that would only set you up for heartbreak. He can’t hurt you if you stay silent.

As the elevator continues to count down, Jungkook leans against the railing, arms crossed and head down. He’s awfully quiet for someone who always feels the need to say something silly until you laugh.

“What if I told you there’s one more person in the office who’s interested in you?” he asks just before the elevator arrives on the first floor.

The door slides open but neither of you steps out, so it closes back up.

You blink at the boy. First you learn Jungkook has a crush on someone, and now someone suddenly has a crush on you? Your brain genuinely doesn’t know what to do with all this information.

You’d ask who your secret admirer is, but it doesn’t matter. You’d only say yes to one person in this office, and his feelings lie elsewhere. Maybe he’s just trying to set you up with another guy who can walk you to your car. It’s not like the two of you would be able to keep up that tradition once he’s committed to someone else.

You’d rather walk alone at that point.

“A workplace romance sounds cool and all.” You point at the book in Jungkook’s hand while trying to keep a light tone. “But it’s just not for me. You know what I mean?”

He nods with a chuckle as the two of you finally clear out of the elevator. “Based on my history here, it’s probably not for me either.”

You know he’s poking fun at himself, but you hope he doesn’t actually feel that way about himself. He still needs to ask his girl out, and he can’t chicken out now. As the person he’s confided in about his feelings, it’s your job to shower him with encouragement and support. You’ll have to wait until you’re back online, though.

On the way to your car, the office romance conversation has been completely dropped. You ramble on about your sudden craving for tacos, and he claims he makes a “mean taco salad” before sending you a screenshot of the recipe no one asked for. You’ll try it when you get home.

Like always, he leans against your car door as you buckle yourself in. This time, he even tugs on the seatbelt like amusement park workers do before sending you off on a roller coaster. As gentle as he is, it stings where the tips of his fingers graze your shoulder. That feeling lingers even after the door closes.

Jungkook wasn’t lying, you think to yourself as you munch away at his definition of a “mean taco salad.” Your first instinct is to text him about it, but your second one is to silence your phone and cozy up for the night. After your shower, you have another staredown with the pretty lingerie set. At this rate, no one’s going to see you in it, so you might as well wear it and look cute for yourself. 

It’s a little more see-through than you’re normally comfortable with, but the soft silky champagne accents make your body glow. To complete the look, you throw on a short skimpy robe with a baby pink floral pattern. Perhaps you’re being extra for a quiet night in with your cat and a cup of chamomile tea. But it’s what you need right now because you’re desperately searching for something to comfort and distract you from that dang feeling Jungkook left you with. 

It also couldn’t hurt to play a few games without Jklmnop. Maybe you’ll get lucky with the whale shark gun today.

Unfortunately, there’s still no whale shark gun in your shop, but at least Jungkook isn’t online yet. The four games you play without him go really well stat-wise. You’re the team MVP for half those games—something you hadn’t achieved all weekend with Jklmnop on your team. He’s a great friend but the kind of ally who will intentionally blind you so he can make you quake in your boots and steal your kill in the process. He’s lucky he hasn’t let you die while fucking around like that. Still, you can’t remember the last time you had that much fun in your matches.

As you review the summary of game #4, a notification pops up in the top corner of your screen.

[Jklmnop is online!]

“wanna carry me to radiant?” he DMs you right away and sends you an invite.

“no,” you type as you join his party.

“what if i trade you my whale shark gun?”

“fine”

The first thing you do when you spawn into the match is demand the whale shark gun. You put your baseball bat to his head, waiting for him to keep his end of the bargain. The boy drops the gun in front of you and backs away slowly.

“It’s cute that you like that skin so much,” he chuckles into his mic. When you hear his voice, you feel like an idiot for convincing yourself that Jklmnop and Jeon Jungkook weren’t the same person. There’s no mistaking that that’s the calm and flirty voice that has haunted you every day at work for the past year. Does it make you an asshole for wholeheartedly believing your local fuck boy friend wasn’t capable of developing real feelings for someone in the office? Probably, but you intend on redeeming yourself by sending him your full support in the love department. You’re just waiting for him to bring it up.

Twenty kills and one stolen ace later, Jungkook still hasn’t said anything about the mysterious You-know-who—which is weird, considering he wouldn’t shut up all weekend about how she’s “soft like a kitten” but “one that won’t hesitate to bring the claws out.” Who is this girl, and what has she done to Jungkook? He’s become a total cheeseball. And you can’t think of a single person in the office who fits his cheesy description.

“any update on youknowwho about youknowwhat?” you type between rounds.

Jungkook’s character paces back and forth in the snow even after the round begins. The three other members of your team starts following him like ducklings without knowing the context. You watch from afar as they get sniped down one by one until you’re the last one alive.

Usually in 1v5 situations like this, you’re great at keeping your cool and isolating your duels so you aren’t overwhelmed by an ambush. But instead of listening for footsteps and directional cues, you’re listening hard for the boy’s response to your question.

“Clutch this and I’ll give you an update on You-know-who,” he says after you cut the enemy team’s numbers down to one. All you have to do now is plant the bomb and wait for the last person to come out to start defusing. That’s when you’ll swoop in and—

Your character falls face first into the snow. You’ve been knifed from behind, which loses you the round but earns you an evil snicker from Jungkook.

At the start of the next round, you wait once more for the boy to trade his gun with you. But instead, he just stands there, clutching onto the weapon while the rest of the team rushes onto the site to plant the bomb.

“I’ve decided not to ask her out,” he says out of nowhere. “We have this wholesome thing between us, and it’s best if we keep it that way.”

“what makes you say that?” you type before joining up with the others on site. As far as you know, Jungkook isn’t wholesome with any coworker. Except you, maybe. He must have some other strange definition of wholesome.

“Let’s just say I read a whole ass book tonight about a workplace romance and realized I’m not cut out for it.” He really read your book. No. He devoured it. Why does that mean the absolute world to you? “She’s seen me going on date after date, and now I’m pretty sure I’ve scared her away from wanting any part of that.”

He’s not wrong. You used to feel the same way about him, so you understand why he has his reservations. But if that girl knew how much he’d cherish their relationship the way he cherishes your friendship with him, you know she’d fall for him too. There’s no doubt in your mind about that. It’s just a matter of him vocalizing it.

“i still think you should be upfront with her about your feelings,” you type away as you get headshot from who knows where. 

“She can’t hurt me if I stay silent,” Jungkook hums as he runs toward the ticking bomb and crouches in front of it. It looks like he’s trying to defuse the bomb that your own team planted, but it explodes in his face before you have time to correct him.

“gj,” one of your teammates puts in the chat even though everyone watching knows it was not a “good job.” The only silver lining is that he secured the win for your team. You don’t feel like playing anymore, anyway.

Before you log off for the night, you start typing out some long motivational speech along with your top ten reasons as to why Jungkook would make an excellent boyfriend. He’d try new things with you, share some of his favorite things with you, make sure you’re safe, and tease you until the end of time while making you feel so so loved. You know this because it’s what he’s done with you for the past year. But the more you think about it, the more you realize it’s not your place to say all of that from behind a screen with your mic on mute.

You end up deleting your whole spiel and settle for a simple “good night😴” to the boy from your gaming account. Then you get back on your phone.

Y/N🦈 [11:47PM] “It was indeed a mean taco salad”

Y/N🦈 [11:47PM] “Btw did you finish the book?👀”

Jungkook🥴 [11:48PM] “Finished it in 4 hours😌”

Y/N🦈 [11:49PM] “Wanna drop it off to me now?”

Jungkook🥴 [11:49PM] “Now?”

Jungkook🥴 [11:50PM] “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Y/N🦈 [11:51PM] “Yes but my cat can’t fall asleep without his bedtime story”

Y/N🦈 [11:51PM] “🥺”

Y/N🦈 [11:51PM] “^^^My cat”

Jungkook🥴 [11:54PM] “omw”

The boy knocks on your door a few minutes later and does a horrible job of keeping his eyes above shoulder level. It doesn’t occur to you that your chest and ass are hanging out of your robe until the chilly air hits those spots.

“All dressed up for your night with Lauren Christina?” he says casually, handing the book back to you in mint condition.

“I thought you said Christina Lauren doesn’t care about my lingerie.” You cross your arms over your chest like it was totally intentional to answer the door in the bare minimum. Jungkook’s sleepwear, on the other hand, looks super cozy. And of fucking course he’s hot as hell in something as simple as sweats and a hoodie. A boy like him doesn’t have to put in any thought or effort to look cute.

“I stand by what I said.” He stares at your exposed skin in an almost lustful manner. Almost. “It’s cold out. You should go crawl back in bed and read your cat his bedtime story. Or do you need me to tuck him in, too?”

“He is quite needy,” you play along. Too bad he’s already fast asleep, all curled up on the couch. You wouldn’t mind if Jungkook tucked you in, though.

“Well tell your needy cat I said goodnight.” He takes a step back toward his car, but you know he must realize you didn’t call him all the way over here just for your cat’s sake.

“Jungkook,” you call out while flipping through the book. Once you find the bookmark wedged in the middle, you extend it to him like a peace offering.

He accepts the bookmark albeit with a puzzled expression. “Is this gratuity for delivering your book at this late hour?”

You shake your head. “It’s gratuity for lending me your whale shark gun all the time.”

“Whale shark gun?” He grips the bookmark by the dorsal fin and holds it like a pistol. It’s aimed at your left breast (or heart) (but breast sounds more accurate).

“The one from the Gentle Giants collection,” you say softly as you rub your arms because holy shit is it cold out. “In Valoranch.”

The wheels in his head start to turn as you pull him inside and toward your “work from home” setup in the living room. Your desk is pretty empty aside from the pastel headset, the cute dolphin Pokémon on your desktop wallpaper, and a cold cup of tea. 

Then he spots the little Valoranch shortcut on the far left corner of your screen. “Wait, you really play Valoranch? What’s your username?”

Instead of telling him, you show him with the help of your book. Your index finger slides across the bookcover from the C in Christina to the L in Lauren.

His eyes widen like a naughty cat caught doing something it shouldn’t be doing.

“Then that means you know about…” He pauses because he dare not repeat his feelings for another coworker in front of you.

You nod. “But I didn’t realize it was you until I overheard you talking about it with the guys earlier today.”

“My voice and backstory didn’t give it away?” 

“It definitely sounded like you.” You plop into your chair and start spinning around so he can’t get a clear view of your face. “But how was I supposed to know you had feelings for someone in our office? I still don’t know who she is, by the way.”

“You don’t?” Your childlike spins are interrupted by a steady hand. From the corner of your eye, you can see the boy’s face transition from doomed to amused. Good. He shouldn’t beat himself up over the bizarre situation.

“Nope.” At least you don’t have a specific face to imagine being next to Jungkook’s on those corny holiday cards that couples and families love to hand out around the office this time of year. “Regardless, you need to stop chickening out and just tell her how you feel already. If she knows you the way I know you, I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

The thing is, you don’t know if anyone else has been on the receiving end of the kinds of things Jungkook does for you. Does he show that side to anyone else but you?

“Fine, you’ve convinced me. I’ll do it.” He sits himself down beside the cat on the couch. “But only if you can figure out who it is.”

You give him a tiny nod for him to drop some hints. Of course you’ll lend an ear and play along if that’s what it takes for him to be more open about his feelings. Besides, you can’t say no when his voice is so soft and fragile like that. 

“She’s on the design team.” Your team is fairly small, so that narrows it down to names and faces you’d actually recognize.

“She has the most complex coffee order I’ve ever seen.” More complex than yours?

“I impulse-bought that whale shark gun because it reminds me of her.” Someone else has good taste in endangered marine life.

“My second job includes walking her to her car after work and pretending to be her hottie boyfriend.” Wait.

“And lastly, in case all of those other hints weren’t obvious enough, she has a needy cat who’s obsessed with Christina Lauren.” He strokes between your needy kitty’s ears and tucks the little guy in under a blanket. What a lucky cat. 

Jungkook only stops with the wholesome shit when you climb into his lap and press your lips into his jawline. On instinct, he slips beneath your robe and grabs you at the waist with those gentle hands of his. He smells of cardamom and cedarwood, like the candle you burn on cold nights when fluffy blankets aren’t enough. And like a moth, you’re attracted to the light and warmth he radiates in the dimness of your home. Even if it means you might get burned.

“Congratulations, you finally got the name right.” You stick your tongue out while your nails comb their way through the locks of hair at the back of his neck. He locks eyes with you, leaning ever so slightly into the massage the way cats do when they need more attention.

And then your lips meet his. You expect the guy who’s locked lips with everyone in the office to get straight to the point and not hold back, but that isn’t the case. What he gives you instead is a soft graze, an affectionate tease. When you try to go in for another taste, he pulls back and lets you chase him. You’d love nothing more than to wipe that smirk off his face with another kiss.

“I thought you said you weren’t down to date a coworker?” Smartass. You wouldn’t be sitting on top of his cock if you weren’t down to be more intimate with him.

“That only applies to everyone except you.” Your robe slides off your shoulder as you poke him in the chest. Funny how you aren’t cold anymore.

“What makes me so special?” he asks while getting a sneak peek of the pretty lingerie you’d secretly hoped he’d see on you.

You think about all the little things he does—he walks with you, reads your book recommendations, takes note of your favorite animals and coffee shops. And he never expects anything in return, including your feelings apparently. He just wants to make sure you feel seen and know he always has your back. When he’s too chicken to be upfront about his feelings, you’ve come to realize this is his love language. 

“You might be open about all the sleeping around you do with other people, but the subtle thoughtful things you do just for me don’t go unnoticed.” You run your fingers along his cheek and bring your lips within striking distance from his. This time, he doesn’t initiate another chase and allows you to press your words into his mouth. “Plus I think it’s really cute that you use the whale shark skin in-game because of me.”

“That’s when I knew I was down bad.” The sound he makes is somewhere between a chuckle and an embarrassed sigh. “I didn’t even know you played that game and yet my mind was still finding ways to connect everything back to you and your little quirks.”

“I knew I was down bad when I installed that game after hearing you raging about it with the boys,” you blurt out of nowhere.

“You did what, Y/N?”

“I started playing that headache of a game because of you, okay? I wholeheartedly believed I was taking that secret to the grave, but now it stays between you and me. Got it?” Your face feels hot, but you aren’t complaining.

“Yes, ma’am.” His teasing grin will never get old, and you love that about him.

In the heat of another kiss, you feel Jungkook tug on the silky sash at your waist. Your robe opens up like curtains being drawn for a grand reveal. Exposed as you are, there’s no need to hide anymore. In fact, you’d be more than down to have sex out in the open on the couch, but you also have to consider the innocent kitten sleeping next to you.

Like the considerate boy he is, Jungkook scoops you up without disturbing the cat and makes his way to your bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and eyes your body from head to toe. If he wasn’t giving you horny eyes when you greeted him at the door, he definitely is now.

“Am I gonna get you in trouble for keeping you up past your bedtime?” He saves time by tearing his hoodie and t-shirt off in one go. Based on those abs, you suppose working out is another one of his favorite pastimes alongside sex, gaming, and fucking around with you.

“No.” You reach for his body and pull him on top of you. The large bulge tucked away in his sweatpants catches your attention. “But I might be a little sore for tomorrow.”

“Oh? Is that how you like it?” He rubs two fingers against the thin fabric between your legs to test the waters. Your body shudders and tenses up from the tiniest of touches. Given the dry spell you’ve suffered through this year, you know it won’t take much for you to lose it. “Sure you can handle it?”

“Try me.” You push back with your tongue in his mouth and help him out of his sweats. You’re one swipe away from clawing his boxers off, but he grabs ahold of your wrists and pins you against the pillows.

“Someone’s awfully eager,” he says as he leaves a trail of kisses from your neck to your breasts. You squirm under his hot breath, asking for more contact—anywhere on your body will do.

“Yeah, well, we do have another meeting bright and early tomorrow morning, and it’d look bad if we both fell asleep during it because we were up all night having—” Your rambling is interrupted by the boy’s cock staring you down. He tears open a square packet, but you swipe it away and slide it down his length. You don’t mind a bit of rubber if it gives you an excuse to get your paws on him.

In return, he helps you wiggle out of your teeny tiny thong and bra. His hands waste no time in squeezing your breasts and fingering you down below to make sure you’re wet enough. (Spoiler alert: You most definitely are.)

As big as he is, he slides in with relative ease thanks to how desperately you need him inside you. He fills you in perfectly, too, reaffirming the fact that you and him are perfect for one another. Fuck everyone who thinks otherwise.

You dig your long nails into his arms as he moves in and out of you. If he keeps going harder with every thrust, you’re gonna have a difficult time holding on.

“I swear your nails are like cat claws,” he grunts into your ear but makes no actual effort to extract your nails from his arms.

“If I recall correctly, you did refer to me as a soft kitten who isn’t afraid to bring her claws out,” you hum up at him.

“Hey, let’s not talk about all the sappy things I said in-game right now.” There’s a hint of poutiness in his otherwise raspy bedroom voice. As punishment for teasing him, he flips you over onto your knees to give him the best view of your ass. “You weren’t supposed to hear that stuff.”

“Tell me something I’m supposed to hear,” you challenge him as he gives your ass a good squeeze. His fingers dip back between your legs and circle your clit a few times. You body rubs back on instinct like a horny pup against a toy.

“I would like to formally ask you out,” he says with his hands at your hips and his cock back inside you. "Will you go out with me?"

“You're a little late, buddy, but yes, I’ll go out with you,” you chuckle until your orgasm sneaks up on you and hits you like a truck. The moans you let out are probably loud enough to wake the cat, but that just means the two of you will have to relocate the next time you have sex. Perhaps his place or the office breakroom might be worth considering. 

Your arms give out as you tighten around him, so you lower your face to the pillow and let the boy do as he pleases to your body to get his release. After a few more strong thrusts, he gasps your name out in pleasure and pulls out of you. You give him a good ten seconds to catch his breath before you smother him with a million kisses.

You take a glance at the time on your phone. It’s getting awfully late, and you do have that meeting in the morning, but the two of you have a few options:

A) Cuddle in bed and go to sleep like normal 9-5ers.

B) Hop online and play a few games together because your computer’s still on.

C) Go another round and make a special coffee run before the meeting.

None of those options sound like a bad idea when you’ve got Jeon Jungkook to do them with. All he has to do is say the word and you're down.

[codeinecraz]

JACOB ELORDI- New Year

summary- you and Jacob are celebrating the new year at the club when you get jealous of all the female attention he is getting.

Warning- use of alcohol, cursing, mentions of sex, use of y/n

December 31- 10:49 pm

y/n bent over the cool marble of the table, placing her elbows down on each side of her. She stared at the nearly empty cup of alcohol infront of her. For the past hour, she has been wondering around, filling her cup with every alcoholic beverage she could find. Her and her friends had come to a club that most celebrities attended at to celebrate the new year.

She also had to keep watch of how intoxicated she really got, because too much to drink could lead to one wrong move from her, which could ruin her entire career as an actress. Almost happened one too many times. Plus, she didn’t want to make a fool out of herself. So she continued to stare at the cup infront of her and play with her rings

It wasn’t necessarily boring, but she had been ticked off about something the whole time she’s been here. Her first few minutes at the club, she had spotted Jacob, one of her close friends. Then she looked at all of the woman around him. The worst part was watching him entertain them, buy them drinks, dance with them, or flirtatiously touch the strap of their dress.

Whatever he was doing, it irked her to her core. Her and Jacob weren’t dating, but they were those type of friends that had everyone questioning what went on between them in private. The upsetting part was, not much happened. They met, became close quick, both would flirt and talk for hours on end, and she fell in love. That’s about it. Who knew how he felt about her, he was difficult. There were countless time’s where Jacob would lay with her, or hold her, or hug her, but the kiss that she expected never came.

What she didn’t know was that Jacob felt the same way about her, maybe even more than she did. That night, he was doing everything in his power to get his attention from the second he saw her walk in. He didn’t want to go to her, he wanted her to come to him, to prove to him that she feels the same way about him, but she never came. He watched as she moved around with her friends, and laughed at whatever some guy was telling her, and poured relentless cups of alcohol.

He could have five woman infront of him, flirting and touching or whatever they were doing, but she was the only thing he could focus on. He loved the way her warm brown hair complemented her warm, toned skin. He loved the way her dress fell perfectly over her curves. He loved the way she smiled, even if it was fake. It was never fake around him, he knew that much.

Both were too scared to admit it to one another, so they waited for the other. She hadn’t moved from her spot, zoning out as her friends continued their conversation. When she looked back at the spot Jacob was just at, he was gone. Assuming he had snuck off with some broad he found, she picked up the glass in front of her and finished the last swig almost immediately. She slammed the glass down and ran her fingers through her hair.

Suddenly, she felt a light tap on her ass and spun around quickly, confused but not surprised that some random man would have the nerve to do that. Though, when she turned she was met with no other than the Jacob Elordi looking down at her, a half-drunken smile plastered on his face. He grabbed her hips and pulled her against his body. She pulled away and smiled, taking a minute to observe him. He was wearing a white Ralph Lauren polo, with the first couple of buttons undone, a pair of dress pants, and a random cowboy hat he must have found earlier. His hair was wet with sweat, same with his chest.

It was an attractive sweat, If that makes sense. She thought it made him look hot.. or just hotter than usual. She was brought back to her senses when he tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear and lowered his face into the crook of her neck.

“where’ve you been?” He mumbled against her. She sighed and ran her fingers through his hair. “around, you just get here?” She asked. Obviously she knew the answer to that but she wasn’t sure what else to say. You know when you’re mad at someone but you can’t even tell them why without embarrassing yourself? That’s how she felt. He ignored her question and looked up at her, “are you ignoring me?” he blurts. She furrows her eyebrows. She wasn’t ignoring him, he just wasn’t acknowledging her. “no.. why would you think that?” She laughs.

He half smiles and holds the side of her face in his palm. “I don’t know, just felt like it. Forget I asked.” He said as he lifted her up onto the counter. “Bored?” He tilted his head. She shook her head yes and giggled. He continued a conversation for a few minutes while he stood between her legs, covering underneath her dress while she pressed her dangling legs on either side of him.

While he talked, she stared into his eyes, thinking about what it would be like if they were together. She kept giggling and swaying as he talked, the alcohol really getting to her now. At some point, they had both gotten up to dance. The song “Sex on the Beach” by PARTYNEXTDOOR blaring through the speakers.

He stood behind her and held her against him as they danced and watched as people joked around on the poles. He grinded on her as she pushed against him, one hand against her back and the other holding his drink. She moved away and leaned against the wall, laughing as he started swaying around the pole. He laughed loudly and then closed his lips in to a puckered form as he continued around the pole. She laughed harder, holding her stomache and slowly sliding down the wall. He laughed and moved away from the pole, holding his hand out towards her.

She gladly took it, not even caring to look at all the girls around her staring her down with jealous looks. He pulled her to him so they were chest to chest. He pressed his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I was waiting for you.” He spoke. “hmm?” You mumbled. “Before. I was waiting for u to come over but you didn’t.” He was hardly drunk, but she thought he was so he wasn’t worried about saying anything embarrassing, as she was drunk too.

“You seemed busy.” She almost scoffed. He stayed silent but made a confused face. “which one you gonna pick?” She motioned her head towards the woman around him, watching as they purposely bump into him and apologize just so they could get his attention, which failed every time. When he realized what she meant he laughed and shook his head. “There’s only one girl, you know that.” He yelled over the loud music, still holding his head against hers.

She giggled and took his glass out of his hand, taking a large sip. “yeah but..” she paused, taking another sip “do you really want her, or are you just drunk?” She asked while she held her other hand against the back of his neck. Their hips swayed in sync as they moved against the beat, the speakers now blasting the song “never be like you” by Flume.

He breathed deeply and smiled “I’ll always want her, drunk or not drunk.” She believed him, she’d believe anything he’d say, but she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. She laughed and pushed off his chest. “Yeah whatever” she giggled as she walked away from him. He made a fake ‘offended’ face before laughing and following quick behind her. She sat on the short pedestal that the pole came out of. He stood infront of her and she held his hands, playing with his wrings. “Come here” he rolled his eyes after she ignored him trying to pull her up. She pushed her arms higher up in a way to say “get me up”

He lifted her up by the arms, picking her up. her legs wrapped around his body. He used one hand to stop her dress from riding up and the other hand rubbed up and down her back. Their heads were so close that their noses were pushing against each other. Still, she giggled and rotated her head slightly, making their lips come even closer. He pushed his lips against hers, gripping the side of her body. Her hands flew to his hair and lightly tugged. She smiled into the kiss, as he did the same. He pulled away, pulling her bottom lip in his teeth before releasing it and pressing his forehead back against hers.

both stood there, staring into each others eyes and giggling, not paying attention to anyone around them. She hoped that this wasn’t a one time thing, or only happened because he was drunk. She hoped it was forever.

[goldenroutledge]

par for the course

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x fem!kook!reader

word count ⤜ 3.2k

summary ⤜ in which you forgive your childhood nemesis, rafe cameron.

a/n ⤜ season one reminiscent? i’ve had a draft of this piece forever so i decided to finish it!

rafe cameron masterlist

© goldenroutledge || do not plagiarize, repost, or translate my work in any way

The slam of your bedroom door echoes through your house and the fall onto your bed is cushioned by the decorative throw pillows on top of it, drowning out your exasperation for the moment. A deep exhale fell past your lips as reality sunk in. The nags of your parents reached an all time high so far this summer, as they went on and on about how you were going to be stuck in the house with nothing to do.

Unfortunately, your explanation didn’t cut it. In the back of your mind, you were well aware that your friends would be busy doing their own things. You just chose not to believe it until it came true. John B and JJ became camp counselors for some group of kids over the summer, those poor kids. Pope decided to fill his free time with summer classes, and Kiara was tied up at The Wreck. And with John B going away, Sarah didn’t have a reason to stick around either, much to your displeasure. She’d decided to visit her cousins overseas. Not that you really blamed her, or any of your friends for that matter.

But it was slightly embarrassing to have nothing to say when it was your turn to reveal your plans for the next few months. Any other time, you’d always assumed your plans would be with any one of them.

And now, your problems were a whole lot bigger. Judging by your lack of plans, your parents went ahead and made some for you. And with the last person you would’ve wanted to spend your summer days— or any days at all— with, Rafe Cameron.

Both of your fathers had worked together in the past, and they still kept a friendship because of it. If that’s what you call two middle-aged businessmen drowning in drinks and making small talk at the occasional kook event.

To put it simply, Rafe had it out for you. Just the mention of his name made you shudder; your horrific childhood experiences with the boy forever carved in your memory.

His bratty behavior towards you began at about age 9 or 10. For instance, when you wouldn’t budge off of his favorite swing at the park. It would be impossible to forget how he popped one last bubble from his piece of bubblegum, faded pink and chewed thin, before wading it up and planting it right in your hair.

You lunged off the swing towards him immediately, screams of terror piercing the serene island air. He ran in circles, cackling mischievously as you chased him. All for Rafe to ‘take back’ his spot on the swing while he had you distracted.

As years went on, the memory became less and less vivid— except for that moment when he popped in another piece of gum, one bigger than all his teeth combined, before shouting: “Thanks for keeping’ it warm for me.”

And without an inkling of remorse, he began swinging gleefully while you ran to find your mother, hot tears cascading down your cheeks. The tear stains remained for another day or so. The sadness and frustration was simply too much for your nine year old self to handle. Not to mention the wad of gum that had to be cut out of your hair later that day. And it was all Rafe’s fault.

So it couldn’t be chalked up to anything less than betrayal, really. For your parents to coordinate summer golf lessons with your childhood nemesis. It was pure treachery. Especially after your strong argument of course, not failing to mention the dreaded gum incident. Only to be told off by your mother, as she assumed any child of Ward’s would mature into nothing short of an upstanding citizen. If she only knew.

Days later, you were throwing on a Ralph Lauren polo and a tennis skirt to match, hating every minute of it as you knew what was to come. You couldn’t deny how the material hugged your body just right; and a shred of your subconscious hoped that Rafe would notice too.

For no reason other than revenge, of course. How dare he terrorize you as a child and not be consumed with regret years later? His unforgivable acts couldn’t go unpunished.

Grabbing your keys and phone, you sped off in your car without so much as a goodbye to your mom before leaving. No amount of time could help you process what you were in for, and no amount of forethought would make this reunion any more bearable.

-

Scanning the cream colored walls of the Island Club, it didn’t take long to spot the tall Cameron leaning up against one of its pillars, scrolling on his phone with an expression of pure boredom. His foot tapped the floor occasionally, his eyes lifting every minute or so in search of you.

Just two taps on his shoulder was all it took to grab his attention. Rafe’s lips spread into a smirk just as quickly as he turned around to meet your irritated gaze. That stupid smirk, one you knew all too well.

“Long time no see, Y/n. Missed me?”

“Not a chance in hell. I’m here against my will.”

“Yeah, right. I bet you were just begging for a chance to see me again.” Rafe whines dramatically.

“Delusional as ever, huh, Rafe? I guess some things never change.”

“Childish as ever, huh, Y/n? Good to know we agree about something. And to think I had hope that you’d leave the hostility at home.”

“Didn’t you get suspended from the Academy for fighting? Twice?”

His expression shifts from smug to scowl.

“That was a long time ago. You ready to get started or what?”

You smile at him with faux innocence, glad to have landed a punch in this endless match between you two.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

—

The silence remained as thick as molasses, tension lingering that not even the sharpest of machetes could slash through.

Rafe steered the golf cart in silence, movements hasty and abrupt as an expression of his frustration. Your memory wasn’t as short as he’d expected; and now he was subjected to a summer of what he anticipated to be vengeful torture.

Lost in thought, he came to a stop at your destination. And by the looks of it, you were more than ready, willing and able to carry on without him as you began teeing up.

“Aren’t I supposed to be teaching you how? Isn’t that the whole reason why we’re here?”

With a sigh, your eyes darted to the clear blue sky, silently praying to a higher power to keep you sane. “I’ll ask for your help when I need it.”

You resume lining up your footing and the club with the ball, envisioning your swing before Rafe interrupts once again.

“Why bother showing up here if you’re gonna act like a bitch?”

“I was sent here against my will, remember?”

“So you say.”

“And I’m not a bitch. Not to those who don’t deserve it.”

“I couldn’t tell the difference.” Rafe scoffs. “And I never said you are a bitch, I said you’re acting like one.”

A cold chuckle makes its way out of your throat at his blatant contradiction. “You do not wanna go there with me, Cameron.”

After the mumble fell from your lips, you were set on taking a swing at the golf ball. Until Rafe opened his mouth once again, as if he was just waiting for you to swing, to piss you off even further. Provoking you at this point.

“Actually, let’s go there. I’d love to go there. Please enlighten me as to why you feel entitled to be so rude to me. Especially since I am the one doing you this little favor, aren’t I? Giving you a break from those losers on the Cut you love so much.”

“Isn’t it disrespectful to talk when I’m trying to hit a ball?” You query, quoting his very own words during an encounter with the notorious blond pogue. “Learn some etiquette, my friend.”

“Pathetic. So it’s Maybank? He’s been whispering in your ear? What, is he your boyfriend?”

“As if I haven’t experienced enough of your obnoxiousness firsthand. Trust me, I hate you plenty on my own. And he’s not my boyfriend, idiot.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning at your defensiveness. “Though from what I hear you have some ‘losers’ of your own these days. Barry, isn’t it? Would be a shame if Uncle Ward found out.”

Rafe rolls his eyes at your disingenuous mention of his father. Sure, your fathers were somewhat close friends, but for some reason, it made his blood boil. “What’s it to you? Don’t tell me this is your attempt at blackmail.”

You shrug, grip still firm on the golf club. “Not necessarily. Have to admit it does feel good to get under your skin, though.”

“Touché.”

—

You moved through the golf course rather quickly, nearing its end. Both of your intentions were evident that you were eager to get home, and best of all, away from each other. Rafe slides into the driver's side of the cart, but doesn’t pull off immediately.

“You never actually answered my question, by the way. About why you’re being such a pain in the ass to me.”

You stop scrolling on your phone to look at him, trying to understand his purpose for bringing this up again. “You don’t happen to have some sort of short-term memory loss, right?”

“You said you hate me plenty on your own. But what fucking reason have I ever given you to?”

“Oh?”

“I told you to go there, didn’t I? I’m giving you a chance to let out your grievances. And that’s one more than I should, you know patience isn’t my strongsuit.”

“Can’t a girl just hate Rafe Cameron with no strings attached? I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

He looks over to you, blue eyes staring into yours. “You and I both know there’s always strings attached.”

“What can I say, Cameron? Guess it’s just par for the course. Or are you so desperate to know because you crave my validation?”

“What can I say, Y/l/n? I guess you wouldn’t be able to understand what it means to learn from your mistakes.”

“You’re full of it.”

“No more than you are, peach cake.”

“Just drive us back to the club already.”

“Not until you confess.” He protests, dangling the keys in your face before sliding them into his pocket. Rafe leans back, unintentionally manspreading as he does so, and drapes an arm over your shoulder. “We could be here all day.”

The exasperation was pretty much dripping off of you. His antics felt so familiar in the most intense way possible, and it made you want to scream. He was the same Rafe bullying you out of the playground a decade ago. The same Rafe you were now wondering had you misjudged. Or judged a little too harshly over some measly childhood rivalry.

“Primrose Park.”

“Excuse me?”

“Primrose Park.” You reiterate. “Don’t feign amnesia. I know you know.”

“How could I forget? I was the king of that place for years.”

“King? More like dictator.”

He shrugs. “I had a delicate ego back then.”

“As well as no patience or manners. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought you were raised by wolves.”

Rafe chuckles, amused by your memory of him as a child. “Blame it on Uncle Ward.”

“Sarah and Wheezie were always sweet as pie, so I don’t know if that’s fair.”

“Probably just caught me on a bad day, Y/n. I, too, am sweet as pie.” He defends, eyes twinkling as he smiles.

“Like hell you were! Do you recall wading up your gum and sticking it in my hair? Does that ring a bell?”

His eyebrows furrow as he recollects the memory.

“When we were kids at the park, you got all pissed that I wouldn’t give you a turn on the swings, so you spit your gum in my hair.”

He chuckles at first, but his laughs grow much louder as he ponders the memory.

“It’s really not that funny, Rafe. My mother had to cut that chunk of gum out of my hair.” You remind him. “You’re lucky I don’t shave your damn head right now!” You take a swat at his cap, knocking it to the ground as he’s struggling to get his laughter under control.

“And after all these years you never forgave me? It’s been decades, Y/n.”

“You never apologized.”

“Well I’m sorry, now. If that means anything.” He mumbles the last part, apologies being a foreign art to him. “But you should be thanking me, actually. You have no idea what you were in for had you stuck around.”

“What?”

“Henry Haberstroh. He was gonna give you another one of those stupid bouquets of weeds.”

“The dandelion bouquets?” Your mouth hangs open at the revelation, remembering the boy with an incessant crush on you. A crush so intense in fact that he wouldn’t stop giving you bouquets of dandelions he’d picked from the grass— not until you’d agreed to a playdate with him despite being painfully uninterested.

“The gum idea was more of a last resort but I thought you might wanna get out of there. I mean, dandelions? You’re allergic to bees.”

“And how do you know this exactly?”

“As King of Primrose Park I was privy to information. And was subtlety ever Henry’s thing? The kid was a blabbermouth. He never shut up about you.”

“Well I must say I’m impressed, Cameron. That’s quite a scheme you pulled off. Not that you’re forgiven or anything. But Henry was a creep.”

“Couldn’t take a hint to save his life, either. I don’t think I’ve seen you run away from someone so fast, not even from me.” Rafe teases, nudging your arm with his as you giggled.

“The bees!”

Rafe gives you a look of disbelief, knowing damn well it wasn’t the pollinated dandelions you were running from.

“Seriously, I’m really allergic! But you already knew that?”

“What kind of secret admirer doesn’t know his admiree’s allergens?”

His blue eyes lock with yours, smiles replacing the scowls on both of your faces from earlier. You raise an eyebrow at him in question.

“Shame on Henry.” Rafe critiques, realizing the implication of his words.

“Yeah. Shame on Henry. But I wouldn’t call us even quite yet, so sleep with one eye open just in case.”

The two of you share a genuine laugh for the first time all day, before Rafe begins driving towards the next hole.

“Remind me to lock my windows when I get home.”

—

You move towards your ball once again, but gaze at your target uneasily. Maybe you still had a thing or two to learn about the sport. Rafe leans up against the cart, arms crossed and biceps stretching the fabric of his shirt much thinner. The tension was almost gone in comparison to how you started the afternoon. Almost.

Now looking at Rafe, it felt different. How could you be angry anymore? Holding a vendetta against him took too much energy at this point when it was no longer warranted.

To your luck, you could excuse the fiery feeling rising to your cheeks as a result of the sweltering sun. No matter how hard you tried, your former memory of him melted away. You could no longer see Rafe as the pesky little boy he once was. Perhaps a symptom of heat stroke, you thought. Hopefully it would be temporary, you still had the whole summer with Rafe ahead of you.

“I almost forgot you’re supposed to be teaching me how to play this joke of a sport.” You gripe. “Will you show me?”

Rafe bites his bottom lip to avoid cracking a smile. That you had finally cracked, giving in to ask him for help. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Leaning off the cart, Rafe saunters over to you. “I need you to start on your form first. May I?” He offered, gesturing to set his arms over yours for some adjustment.

With a slow nod, you decide to taunt him further. He’s not gonna get away that easy. “You’re not chewing any gum are you?”

“No, Y/n.” He responds, and you can just hear the smirk in his tone. Hearing your name roll off his tongue makes your stomach flutter— now feeling his body against yours, the heat increasing tenfold.

“Hold the club firmly, and swing through the ball, not at the ball.” He guides your arms with his, mimicking how to prepare for a swing. As his head peers over your shoulder, you swear you hear his breath hitch at the faint aroma of your perfume. Rafe almost seems relaxed, doing the movements with you a few times over again before stepping back to let you try it.

You do just as he taught you, and Rafe repeats the instructions under his breath as he watches you take your swing.

From the woosh of the ball leaving the grass, your eyes follow as it lands in a close proximity to the cup. With a scream of victory, your hands collide with Rafe’s in a high five, before wrapping your arms around his neck, his hand instinctively falling to rest at your waist as he pulls you into a hug. ���Atta girl!” He marvels.

“I did it!” You cheer, smile beaming off your face. Once the initial shock wears off, you realize whose arms you’re engulfed in, stepping back from the embrace abruptly. “Uhm- I’m sorry. I didn’t…” You begin, trying to explain yourself and your sudden outburst of physical affection.

“Don’t apologize.” Rafe assures, reaching his hand out for yours. You accept it with a shy smile. “You did great for your first big swing. Can’t say I’m surprised, though, you do have one hell of a teacher.”

“He’s not bad.” You confess. “Actually, better than I thought.”

Rafe quirks an eyebrow, his cerulean orbs gazing into your eyes, finding for once they held not one drop of bad blood while looking back at him. He steps forward, the space keeping you both apart dwindling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell him I said that, it’ll go straight to his head.”

His eyes flicker from yours then to your glossed lips, which is the final straw before giving into your growing urge to kiss him. Rafe’s free hand clings to your cheek immediately as he deepens the kiss; as if a magnetic pull between you two had clicked.

Pulling away, the surprise on Rafe’s face is evident, but the confidence in his voice made it impossible to tell a difference. “I’m glad to see you came to your senses and forgave me.”

“Jumping to conclusions already? What makes you think you’re forgiven?”

Rafe shrugs, and that familiar look of pride returns to his expression. His thumb grazes across the apple of your cheek, and his hand gives a gentle squeeze to your waist. “Call it a wild hunch.”

taglist @ilovejjmaybank @missevi @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @rudybarnes @annab-nana @reawritesthings @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneylaneylaney @jjpouggues @milkiane @mildkleptomaniac @whcclxr @mrs-cameron @alanniys @amourology @luversgirl @fallingwallsh @scenesofobx @bradleybeachbabe @chrisevansfuturewife @drewstarkeysbitchh @littlementalpolaroids @destourtereaux @iammirrorball

[awfcspencer]

omg please write a part 2 to that Jill fic its absolutely broken my heart

It Takes A Second To Say Hello, But Forever To Say Goodbye || jill roord x reader

jill roord x mancity!reader

Part 1

prompt: requested!

warnings: angst

a/n: i got multiple requests for a part 2 so here you go!

The silence that followed your confession was deafening, the slamming of the door of the washroom stall was the only noise heard. Not only did Jill hear you loud and clear, but so did your other teammates. Small tears had began to brim in your eyes and your mind was jumbled, your body felt numb. This was not how you wanted to tell her, not that you ever wanted to tell her frankly. You were planning on keeping this secret a secret for as long as you could. Jill has a girlfriend, and she seemed happy. You would rather her be happy with someone else than possibly unhappy with you, all you wanted for her is to be happy. Your teammates tried to comfort you, tried to pull you in for hugs, but the only thing you could do is run to the pitch and began getting ready for the match.

Stepping on the pitch was like a safe place for you. Your brain could turn off and all you focused on was football. But today, emotions were high, thoughts were cloudy, and honestly, you were utterly embarrassed. You tried your best to warm up, going through a quick few drills, but all you thought about was Jill. Her eyes wide and mouth parted when you confessed your secret admiration for the girl. You knew indefinitely that you were in love with her, but she wasn’t in love with you.

Back in the changing room Jill is left speechless. Her mind is running at 100 km/h, unsure of so, so many things. You had just confessed that you were in love with her and then ran out so quickly that she didn’t even get a second to really process the sentence that left your mouth. The sentence that shattered your heart, but confused Jill’s brain. What hurt the most was that you never told Jill about your crush. From the moment Jill had met you when she played for Arsenal, she fancied you. She was overzealous when she got back from the match and you had followed her on social media, obviously returning the favor very quickly. When she transferred to Man City, she hoped the two of you could form a relationship, whether that be a friendship or a romantic relationship. She really just wanted to know you, understand you. Questions of, what would have been and what would have happened if she told you how she felt stormed her brain. She wanted you at a certain point and you wanted her too.

Jill had spent weeks pinning over you. Hoping that the subtle coffee dates, movie watching, and cuddling on the coach would portray her feelings towards you, but they were left unanswered. She figured that you just wanted to be friends with Jill, and she would take being friends, even if it physically pained her, over nothing with you. She needed you in her life and any way she could get that was good for her. So when she had met someone through a mutual friend, she assumed that you would be fine with it, because she thought you did not love her like she loved you.

The confession could not have happened at a worse time as you both now had to transition and play a 90 minute football game. Your passes were weak and Jill’s shot on goal was subpar. The weight of what had occurred previously was definitely affecting the both of your performances on the pitch. Man City was blessed to come out on the other side and win the match 2-0 thanks to Lauren, as you were subbed off early, your head clearly not in the game.

“Y/N” is all Jill said to you when you walked to the bench, sitting several seats over from her. You did not answer her, here was definitely not the place nor the time to get into the situation.

The changing room was tense, a lingering feeling of miscommunication and confusion was in the air. Your teammates knew you and Jill were close but not really understanding the deep connection you both had formed, especially when you both liked each other at one point. Your teammates could tell in trainings or in the lounge the conversations between you two, the eye contact, the way your hands would brush casually, but never really though much about it. Assuming that one of you would man up and confess your feelings.

Jill invaded every waking thought you had for the next few days. When you woke up, you thought of Jill. When you were about to go to bed, you thought of Jill, she even invaded your dreams or possibly nightmares depending on the dream. The hardest part of dreaming about someone you love is waking up to remember that that person is gone. Everything reminded you of her as well, that combined with the fact that she was also your teammate was hard. You both kept it professional, making sure to not ever be alone with her and trying your best not to make eye contact with her, knowing you would immediately burst into tears. Jill had unintentionally shattered your heart.

Jill had wanted to send you a single text, ‘I am was in love with you too’ is all she wanted to write or likewise texts that conveyed her feelings but each time she would erase the words, unable to communicate. So she left her feelings completely to herself.

Jill’s heart was also in pieces. She had lost you entirely it felt like, although she didn’t know she had done it to you. She racked her brain on how she could not feel the mutual crush you both shared. She was in a happy relationship, it was unfair to her partner to simply just break up with her because the one she wanted you had just confessed your love for her.

When you left in the January transfer window to Real Madrid, it was shell shocking, not only for Jill, but also your teammates and Man City fans. Jill tried to text you but you left her on delivered, unable to come up with the right words to say, unsure if you ever knew what the right words would be. Your transfer was talked about on all platforms, many people speculating why you did not renew, some even coming up with nasty and crazy rumors on what occurred. You knew other teams were eyeing you as your contract was expiring. At first you were hesitant, but after everything with Jill, you needed something new, a new environment, one where Jill wasn’t.

Unfortunately, Jill never left your mind, always lingering in the back of your brain. Anytime she would post on social media, you immediately saw it, not being able to force yourself to turn off her notifications. You had gotten close when she posted her new relationship, but Jill looked happy, and at the end of the day, that is all that you cared about and mattered to you. You also kept up with how Manchester City was doing in the WSL, that was your team for as long as you could remember so you would always support them. You also secretly always checked how Jill performed. You knew you would be trying forever to say goodbye to Jill. She had such an immediate impact on your life, your first real true love, she was unforgettable. You had noticed that as of recently, Jill was not posting with her partner, but that was simply none of your business.

Several weeks later, national duty came up and you had completely forgotten that there was a scheduled friendly match against the Netherlands. Initially you and Jill were so excited, talking about how she would show you around her favorite places in her home country when you got there. You were even going to meet her family as well. Obviously those plans were before the ‘incident’, as you now referred to it as, so you now only felt dread thinking about the match.

For prematch and in the tunnel, you completely avoided Jill, only seeing her when you high-fived the opposing team before the start of the match. You also tried your best to stay clear of her on the pitch as well. Since this was just a friendly, you both did not play much, subbed off pretty early on to avoid injury. After the match you knew you wanted to speak to Viv, she was a dear friend of yours when Arsenal would take on Man City.

The final match whistle blew and you made a bee line for Viv, hoping to catch her quickly and then go back to the changing room. Until you heard a voice desperately calling your name, you knew the voice instantly, her voice. Everything in you knew not to turn around, not to give in, but it was as if you did not have control over your body as you turned to face the eyes you had been desperately missing. The eyes that initially made you fall in love with her.

“Y/N” is all she breathed out, almost in a whisper, surprised you actually turned around to her.

“Jill” you reply back to her. An awkward silence fell over the two of you, both not necessarily sure what to say next. Jill rubbed her neck, bouncing on her heels. Talking to you use to be like second nature for Jill, but now she was unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I um, I am single now.” she admits, her eyes fall to the ground, scared of your reaction to the sentence.

A wave of deja vu hits you, as once again you have found yourself in a situation similar to your confession all those months ago with Jill. Jill now confessing that she was single, insinuating that her being single was to mean something to you. All the pushed back emotions of trying to force Jill out of your mind were now out. You had spent weeks trying to figure out how to say a complete goodbye to Jill and move on. A lifetime of trying to say a proper goodbye to Jill. But now here she is trying to rekindle everything you fought so hard to forget.

“Jill” is all you could mutter out again. While a small part inside you was ecstatic, a large portion of you was concerned, hoping Jill did not break up with her previous partner because of your confession. Does she maybe possibly like you back? But that wasn’t fair to you, but even after everything, Jill was still your muse, your why, your love.

The very very very last thing you should do is hug her, under no circumstances should you hug her. But unfortunately, stood in the middle of the pitch, your bodies embraced. Your not sure if you started the hug first or if she did but nothing mattered. You were hugging Jill, you missed her warm body, her strong arms, her vanilla scent, everything about her.

The words unspoken meant much more, knowing at some point when the hug ends, you will need to talk to her. But for right now, you were hugging Jill, the love of your life. While you thought you were going to spend forever trying to say goodbye, it was so much easier to say hello. Welcoming the new rollercoaster that both you and Jill stepped on.

[webslingingslasher]

Hi can I get any kind of frat!peter angst, I’m such a slut for angst and something ab frat!peter makes me go feral

*cleaning out my inbox.*

'who the fuck is lauren?'

peter spins around in his desk chair, his pen stops twirling in his fingers. 'lauren?' you feel your blood pressure boil, it's one thing to be commenting and liking everything she posts, it's another to pretend he doesn't know who you're talking about.

'lauren, you know, itslaurenpeters222' it clicks, peter's got a furrow between his brows, his mouth slightly opens with recollection. instead of answering, he follows up with a question.

'why?'

you're about to kill him, for a moment, you imagine stabbing his shoulder with his pen. you don't like the question, he wants to know what you know before he admits to anything.

'just answer the fucking question, parker. who's lauren?'

'i'll tell you who she is if you tell me why you're asking.'

wrong answer. you fly off the handle, you throw your phone at him, he catches it without blinking. her page is pulled up, each photo marked with a 'liked by its.parker and others.' in some, he's even got a comment or two showing.

it's nothing incriminating to the untrained eye, but you know fuckboys and this is how it starts.

'i'm not fucking around, parker. who the fuck is she?' again, he doesn't answer. 'it's not what you think, if that's what you're asking.' you feel your brain breaking, you claim gaslighting frequently, but this time you mean it.

'if i wanted to know if you were fucking her, i would've asked that. i need to know who she is because she's the only other girl you interact with.'

peter locks your phone and attempts to hand it back, you refuse to get close to him, he tosses it to the bed as a middle ground. 'she doesn't go to school here.'

you're at your breaking point and peter doesn't realize. you tone down your anger, you're speaking calm and softly, you need him to hear how close he is to losing everything.

'peter, i need you to look at me.' steady eye contact, it's like you're trying to read a brick wall. 'i swear on everything i own, i will walk out that fucking door and never come back unless you tell me who she is right now.'

peter's antsy, he heard you loud and clear, and now he's wavering on his options. you think he's about to call your bluff, you don't care, you're a thousand percent serious and if he lets this be the downfall, so be it.

you wait for two minutes, you counted to sixty twice and peter's still chewing on his bottom lip. you have your answer, you nod with disgust, you thought he was better than this.

peter got caught red handed. you honestly never took him for a cheater, peter's a lot of things but a cheater wasn't something you ever pegged him for. it's sickening how wrong you were.

you have nothing else to say to him, you snatch your phone from his bed and whip around for the door, the second your hand wraps around the doorknob, peter clears his throat.

'i had a friend in high school. a really, really good friend and he did something that hurt me. lauren is his little sister, she's two years younger than us and goes to rutgers. it never has been, and never will be, sexual. and i don't know why i still talk to her, all she does is remind me of her brother but i don't know, it's nice to know i'm still connected to their family a little, i guess, i don't know.'

your eyes narrow on his face, it seems like he's being authentic and honest. you don't bite, yet. 'and you couldn't just tell me that?'

'i don't like talking about him.'

'and that means...'

'it means that telling you who lauren is, opens up a new door of information about myself and you'll want to pick this apart and you're gonna get hurt when i shut down and tell you we're not going to talk about it. ever.'

peter's a softie around his friends, you assume this was a best friend, and if it was high school that means peter was still a nerd. meaning, it had to be bad.

'what did he do?'

peter crosses his arms over his chest, your question proves his point. he's blocking you out, he gave you all he was going to give, it's up to you if you decide if it's enough.

'peter, c'mon, you can't just dump all that on me and expect me not to-'

'yes, yes i can. i told you i wasn't going to explain it further. you wanted to know who she was, i told you, conversation over.' peter was right, it does hurt your feelings. he never wants to open up and it's frustrating beyond belief, but peter's taught you that slow and steady wins the race.

if you badger him about this, he'll shut you out indefinitely. if you slowly poke and draw out information over the course of a few weeks, you'd have the full story. more or less, you’ll attract a bear with honey.

'that's all she is? your old friend's little sister? there's never been anything more i need to be aware of? nothing?'

peter shakes his head, the one thing you believe, it's that there wasn't anything sexual. the thought has him look like it makes him sick to picture it.

'the last time i saw her in person she was fifteen, i promise there's nothing sexual. i don't even have her number, we interact on instagram, that's it. just likes and comments, no dm's or secret phone calls. promise.'

fine. it doesn't mean you like it.

'i don't like this. i don't appreciate you all over her page.' peter takes in your words, he's listening and while his tone is gentle, he's stubborn about the topic.

'i understand that, and i appreciate you telling me that, and coming to me about this, but i'm sorry, trouble, i'm not cutting her out. if you can't handle that, i understand. but if you do, we need to get this over with now, i don't need lauren resentment coming from you down the line.'

what he's saying without saying it, is that this isn't a bargaining chip and you can't hold it over his head. the topic of lauren dies tonight, and if you have a problem with that, you need to walk away.

you point at him, you're not nearly as hot headed as you were five minutes ago. 'i don't like this.' you feel like you haven't stated it enough.

'i understand. i'd have my own qualms if the situation was reversed.'

he brought it up first. 'and if it was reversed? how'd you react to this?'

'i'd be frustrated and have my own opinion, but i'd understand that this is a person you're not ready to let go of yet, and maybe one day you will be, but you can't be forced into it and you need to make that call when you know you're ready to move on.'

it's a shitty situation, at least peter knows it. you know it'll go nowhere but you can't imagine what could've happened that made him so clammed up.

'he really fucked you up, huh?' peter's hesitant to agree, he's terrified you'll use anything as a conversation starter. 'unrepairable.' no chance of fixing it, ever.

'you swear there's nothing going on?'

'i swear. i promise it on may. i promise it on the frat, on my relationship with you, on everything in me. there's nothing between us, i promise.'

you take a deep breath in, you're going to need more than a single conversation to think about it. it makes you insecure to the ninth degree, but you're confident he's telling the truth. to give peter some benefit, she's got a boy plastered all over her page dating back from two years ago to her third most recent post.

'okay. i believe you.'

'you do?' he sounds hopeful, he hopes this means you'll move on from it. 'i do. i don't like it, i don't support it, and i'll never support it, but i believe that you're not ready to let her go yet and there's nothing romantic or sexual about it.'

'and...' you can't believe you're giving the guy you're seeing a pass on another girl. 'lauren is the only exception. if i ever see you doing this with another girl, i'll stab your pen through your neck. are we good on that?'

peter hold his hand out, 'deal.'

you're allowing this to happen. this better prove how fucking trustworthy you are, if this blows back up in your face, you'll never make the same mistake twice. if peter lies, he'll fuck everything up for every guy after him.

you step up to meet his hold, your grip is tighter than his. 'deal.' 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter Three

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Mild angst. Word count: ~3.1k Series masterlist

Chapter summary: The dinner date happens, and much more besides that.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

She hasn’t been able to shake the memory of Aemond’s lips since they kissed on Wednesday evening. He’d dropped her home shortly afterwards, letting her know he’d pick her up at 7pm on Friday. Since then her tummy has fluttered every time he crosses her mind. If she closes her eyes she can almost taste the red wine and cigarettes on the plushness of his lips as they’d pressed eagerly against her own.

She knows it is foolish to wish for something more, to expect their arrangement to be something other than transactional, but that kiss had felt like he meant it, so she allows herself a tiny slither of hope to believe there is the possibility for a genuine connection to blossom between them.

Relieved when her last minute annual leave request for Friday is approved, she gets to work on making sure she looks her best. She intends to spend the day face masking, exfoliating and shaving until she is the very picture of perfection for her dinner date.

She’s startled by the buzzer to the flat, rushing to the door to answer the intercom. She lets the delivery driver up, assuming it’s something Mysaria has ordered, but balks when three parcels are handed to her, each of them with her name on.

She opens the first, it contains a black floor length Ralph Lauren off the shoulder gown with a thigh high slit. She holds it against herself in front of the mirror, she knows Aemond is generous to her, but she is still awestruck by the sheer extent of how much he is prepared to spoil her.

The second package is a pair of Jimmy Choo black suede open toe platform sandals with a stiletto heel and delicate ankle strap. She turns the shoes over in her hand, marveling at them, but also wondering how on earth she’ll ever manage to walk in them.

Her phone vibrates and she’s unable to keep the Cheshire cat-like grin from her face as she sees it’s from Aemond.

I saw the tracking information for my gifts update to state they had been delivered. Do you like them?

She fires off a quick response.

I love them :) Thank you xoxo

It’s only after she’s set her phone back down that she remembers there’s a third package, hidden among the wrappings of the first two she’d opened. Her eyes widen as she unwraps it. Agent Provocateur. Aemond has sent her lingerie.

Her palms grow sweaty as her heart races and her thoughts travel faster than her mind has the capacity to keep up with. This clearly meant he anticipated something happening between them this evening. What man sends a woman underwear if he doesn’t expect to see her in it? She isn’t experienced at all. What if he’s disappointed? What if he asked for a refund? Fuck, can sugar daddies even ask that of their sugar babies?

She is broken out of her mild panic when Mysaria comes home. “You in?” She calls out as she closes the front door behind her.

“In here.” She shouts back from her room.

She hears her flatmate toe off her shoes and then pad towards her. She leans against the doorframe, eyeing the packaging and clothes that lay scattered on the carpet and lets out a low whistle.

“Daddy been spoiling you? Lucky girl!” Mysaria says with a grin, which disappears when she sees her worried expression. “What’s the matter?”

She holds up the Agent Provocateur lingerie box by means of response and Mysaria nods in understanding.

“Nothing needs to happen until you feel ready. Why not just try it on and see how you feel?”

She sucks in a steadying breath, attempting to calm herself. There was no harm in trying it on.

It turns out to be a playsuit of sorts. An underwired, padded quarter cup bra with a basque constructed using satin covered black boning and satin straps to create a cage-like effect, complete with suspender straps with gold-toned sliders, with subtle, matching black satin bows. Inside the box is also a flimsy black lace thong and black silk stockings.

“The man’s definitely got taste.” Mysaria says, helping her into it.

They’ve had to boot up her laptop and look up the lingerie on the Agent Provocateur website in order to figure out the intricate series of straps and clasps, and she can’t help but notice the eye watering price that’s listed alongside it online. Fuck. There was no way Aemond wasn’t expecting to sleep with her.

She stands in front of her full-length mirror and runs her hands over her body, looking at the way her breasts sit within the cups of the bra and how the straps of the basque dip and flare with the natural curve of her waist and hips.

“It looks different on the model on the website.” She says nervously, chewing her lip. “What if Aemond doesn’t like it?”

Mysaria snorts derisively. “Girl, please, that model has been airbrushed to shit. You are real and you look hot as fuck. Daddy’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you in that.”

“You really think so?” She asks, turning slightly, still studying herself in the mirror.

Mysaria gives her a playful swat on the backside. “Oh, I know so. Now let’s finish getting you ready.”

Two hours later, her hair and make-up have been perfected by her flatmate, and she stands wearing the dress and shoes that Aemond had gifted her - she has done several practice laps of the living room in the heels, to ensure she doesn’t fall over - the lingerie is snug to her body underneath.

Her nerves disappear the moment Aemond steps out of the car to greet her. His long silver-blonde hair is loose. She has never seen it all down at once, it falls thick and lustrous, well past his shoulders. Yet another well-tailored black suit hugs the broadness of his shoulders and the length of his long legs.

Any uncertainty as to how she ought to say hello dissipates as he cups her jaw and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

“Hi.” He murmurs, keeping her close. “You look beautiful.”

“Hi yourself.” She whispers back. “You don’t look so bad either.”

He helps her into the passenger seat and the drive is spent in comfortable silence, though this time his hand lays a possessive hold on her knee whenever he’s not shifting gears. It leaves tingles across her skin in its wake and the gesture makes her feel lightheaded.

They pull up outside a restaurant called SOLA and Aemond takes her hand as he opens the car door for her.

“I took the liberty of choosing this place because it has a Michelin star. Never actually tried it myself.” He tells her as they walk in.

The dining room is small and intimate, elegantly decorated with an abundance of leafy green plants and sculptural lighting, but she is struck by the distinct lack of other diners.

“Why is no one else here?” She whispers to him as they’re ushered towards their table.

He smirks, watching her take in her surroundings with wide eyes once they are seated, his one seeing eye studies her closely. “I hired the place just for us for tonight. Wanted you all to myself.”

She giggles at that. Such a show off. She expects the food to be equally as flashy, a display of wealth for the sake of it. However, Aemond has ordered ahead of time for the both of them, with choices that suggest a more refined palate that goes beyond merely wanting to splash his cash.

They dine on Kindai bluefin tuna and oysters, paired with crisp white wine and the conversation flows as effortlessly as the wine.

She finds out that there isn’t much in the country from a business standpoint that the Targaryens and Hightowers don’t have a hand in. His father had worked to build an empire alongside his partners Otto and Daemon, prior to his death, and much of it has been left for his children to take care of now that he’s passed. Aemond oversees most of the legal aspects of the business, which is unsurprising to her considering how sharp his mind is.

He listens intently as she tells him more about her history degree and love of fine art. It saddens her when he tells her that originally he’d wanted to study history and philosophy, but had had to give that up to pursue a career in law when his family’s expectations were laid out to him.

It’s obvious there is an abundance of complexities and drama surrounding his family, but she knows better than to attempt to unpick all of that now, especially when the evening is going so well. 

Her skin feels heated every time he reaches across the table to gently stroke the back of her hand with his thumb. His eye contact is intense and with every moment that passes she finds any apprehension she had about sleeping with him simply fading away. She wants him.

“Dessert?” He asks, as the meal draws to a close.

She shakes her head with a slight smile. “Couldn’t eat another bite.”

“A pity.” He says, taking her hand and tugging her from her seat towards him. “I’m still absolutely ravenous.”

“For what- oh!” She gasps as he sits her on the edge of the table in front of him, lifting the skirt of her dress to the side by its thigh slit.

He hums in approval as his eye roves over the bottom half of her lingerie. She feels like there isn’t enough air in the room, her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage as his hands run up and down her legs. His thumbs stroke the creases where her thighs meet her pelvis as he drinks her in.

“W-what if one of the waiters sees?” She asks nervously, squirming against the heat that pools between her legs.

“Well, I suppose we’d better put on a good show for them.” He tells her with a raise of his eyebrow.

He hooks two fingers into the lace of her thong, pulling it to one side before he leans forward, groaning appreciatively as the flat of his tongue strokes gently through her folds.

A soft moan escapes her. No one has ever taken the time or care to do this to her before, she is unsure of what she’s supposed to do in this situation, but the thought leaves her mind entirely as Aemond begins to flick his tongue against her bud before suckling it harshly. She leans back on her elbows as he devours her with his lips and tongue, doing her best to stifle her noises by biting her lip, her chest heaving with the effort to stay quiet.

Her hands fly to his head, burying themselves in his hair as she bucks against his face when he speeds up his movements. Sounds of enjoyment rumble in his chest, sending shockwaves all the way through her body, causing a telltale tightness to rapidly build within her lower belly.

She finally falls apart, shuddering atop the table with a strangled cry when uses the tip of his tongue to draw tight circles against the most sensitive part of her. He pulls away, his face shining with her slick as he lifts her underwear back into place. He grins, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“You okay?” He asks.

She nods, feeling dazed. “Yeah…just…I need a minute.”

Aemond chuckles, smoothing her dress back into place. “Understandable.”

“That was…wow.” Is all she’s able to say once she feels lucid enough.

Aemond stands, helping her from the table. “The bill was taken care of in advance. Let’s head back to my place. I want to be somewhere where you don’t have to stifle those pretty noises you make.”

His hand sits higher on her thigh on the drive back. A mixture of nervousness and excitement has her pulse thrumming from thoughts of what he’ll do to her, of what he’s just done to her. Nobody had ever gone down on her before, but now Aemond has, and on top of a fucking restaurant table of all places.

Aemond lives in the penthouse of a modernised high rise. It’s minimalist. All of the fittings and furnishings are a combination of matte black and shiny silver chrome. It’s clean almost to the point of feeling sterile. It’s obvious he doesn’t spend a lot of time here.

She grins when she sees the elderly doberman raise her head from her bed as they walk through to the living room.

“You must be Vhagar.” She coos softly, kneeling and offering a hand for her to sniff. She scratches gently around the dog’s ears, giggling at the way she narrows her eyes in satisfaction, lifting her salt and pepper snout towards the ceiling.

“She’s not normally fond of strangers.” Aemond muses, as he kneels beside her, ruffling Vhagar’s head.

“The trick is to approach from their level and offer your hand before you try to touch.” She tells him. “Most animals that don’t like people just haven’t been approached by the right ones.”

He stares at her for a few moments, a small smile upon his lips, before he finally breaks the silence.

“Can I get you anything?” He asks, standing and walking towards the kitchen.

“I’m good, thanks.” She follows him and they hover by the kitchen island, simply looking at each other before he surges forward to kiss her.

The force of it feels like it knocks all the air from her lungs, it’s hungry and possessive and she returns it with equal enthusiasm, whimpering as her tongue meets his. He dominates the movement, his hand cupping the back of her head as he backs her into the bedroom.

She topples back onto the bed at his soft but insistent shove. Black sheets of a no doubt ridiculously high thread count feel like buttery silk around her as Aemond kneels before her to tug off her dress.

“Fuck.” He mutters as she lays before him in the lingerie he’d bought for her. “Yeah, we’ll be leaving this on. And these.” He grips the heel of her shoe, as he places a kiss to the inside of her ankle, before letting it drop again.

She watches, transfixed as he sheds his own clothing. Aemond is a work of art. His chest and abs subtly toned, he is all lithe, corded muscle, and she clenches at the sight of him. He is already hard when he strips all the way off, and nerves nibble away at her as she looks at the sheer size of him. Long and thick, lightly veined with a blush pink tip, her mouth waters slightly at the sight, yet there is a part of her that worries it might hurt. She had only ever slept with her ex before, and despite her inexperience she knew enough to know he wasn’t well endowed, nothing compared to this.

Aemond crawls over the top of her, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses to her neck and collarbones that make her writhe beneath him, each one sending warm ripples of arousal through her.

His fingers dip between her legs, pushing past her thong to stroke at her. “Shit,” He hisses. “Still so wet for me, I don’t even have to prepare you.”

He takes a condom from the nightstand, tearing it open and rolling it over the length of him before repositioning himself between her legs.

They both suck in a sharp breath as he begins to push inside, the stretch of him against her sensitive walls is both too much and not enough all at the same time.

“So fucking tight.” He grits outs, his grip on her hips vice like as he bottoms out.

He lays like that, forehead rested against hers as they both adjust, only daring to move his hips once she relaxes.

His strokes are smooth, even and precise, tapping a spot inside of her with every thrust that has her clutching his shoulders and moaning his name.

“Feels so good.” She mewls desperately as his hips piston against her own.

“Oh she likes that.” He hisses, almost mockingly, placing one of her legs over his shoulder and pounding harder into her.

Her eyes roll back at the sensation, her hands grip frantically at Aemond’s biceps and then the bedsheets beside her as he rubs at her clit with his thumb in tandem with each of his thrusts.

“You gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” He asks huskily. “I can feel you squeezing me.”

“Fuck!” Is all she’s able to cry out in response as she feels herself tighten and spasm around him, her back arching off of the bed with the force of the pleasure that washes over her.

Her own release triggers Aemond’s and he snarls, holding her tight against his chest as he stills and spills into the condom.

He pulls out, depositing it into the wastebin and pulls her into his arms.

She feels utterly spent, boneless and dazed in the wake of what she’s just experienced, but Aemond isn’t prepared to let her doze off just yet.

He moves down the bed, unbuckling each of her shoes and removes them. He ushers her to the bathroom with a firm tap to her thigh. Once she’s finished and settled back into bed with a glass of water, he begins to slowly unclasp each of the straps of her body suit, softly rubbing and kissing each of the indentations made by the bones of it as it falls away from her body.

“You’re gorgeous.” He whispers to her, stroking her hair as she drifts off to sleep.

She awakens the next morning, surprised at how refreshed she feels considering the events of the previous evening. She smiles to herself as she snuggles into the luxurious feeling plushness of the bed, thoughts of how good Aemond had made her feel playing on a loop in her mind. She is startled slightly when she rolls over to find his spot empty.

A note has been left on the bedside table.

Sorry, had to run. Have transferred you money for cab fare - A.

She sighs. She hadn’t expected breakfast in bed, but she can’t deny the sinking feeling in her stomach at the fact he hadn’t bothered to stick around. Rummaging through her things that lay scattered on the floor, she retrieves her phone to look at the time when she sees the banking app notification.

£5,000 from A. Targaryen. Her heart twists painfully in her chest. That wasn’t cab fare, it was payment for last night.