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alphabetboyluvr · 6 months

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habits of a clandestine nature | jjk

pairing: collegejk x female oc (angst, smut)

warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao

wordcount: 16k

note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.

Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.

You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.

Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.

From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.

All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.

Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.

It's not that you actively want to see him.

You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.

He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.

God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.

The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.

In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.

Has told you a lot.

Told you far too much.

Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.

Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.

And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.

You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.

But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.

You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.

It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.

But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.

Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?

Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.

The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.

The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.

The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.

For a minute, you feel vindicated.

It doesn't last.

For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.

The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.

He always slept well in your bedroom, though.

Funny, that.

He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.

Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.

The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.

"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.

Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.

"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.

They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.

There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.

It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.

"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"

"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"

"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."

On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.

Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.

Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.

After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.

Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.

Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.

Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.

"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"

"Obviously."

"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."

"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.

And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.

While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.

But summer was lonely.

Or at least it was.

Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.

Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"

The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.

After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.

When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.

"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.

Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.

Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.

But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.

He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.

A routine grew. Habits formed.

Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.

Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.

The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.

He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.

And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.

Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.

But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.

Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."

"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.

You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.

The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.

But he was, and it was lovely.

The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.

"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."

It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.

Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.

Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.

But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.

Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.

You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.

It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.

"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.

"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.

"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"

On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.

"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."

A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.

"Sure."

There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.

"You think I can't be trusted?"

"I think it's foolish to trust any man."

His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.

"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"

"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.

"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"

With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."

"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.

"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"

"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.

"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.

Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."

Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.

A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.

And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?

His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.

Have you not served him enough?

You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.

"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.

He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.

"Excuse me, sir."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.

"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.

More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.

Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.

Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.

You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.

Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.

"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."

Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.

Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.

You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.

You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.

As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.

But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.

Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.

But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.

You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.

Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.

It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.

In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.

"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"

The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.

It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud.

In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.

But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.

You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.

Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.

Where you at? It could read. I'm here.

Or maybe, I miss you.

I can't sleep without you.

This is so stupid. Can I come over?

It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.

Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.

You: you not coming in tonight?

You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x

You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?

Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.

Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.

Jackass Wang: party tonight

You: so????

One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.

Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery

"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.

It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.

Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.

You: i like it better when i don't see you x

Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.

You: they'd rather die :) x

Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: you just can't take no for an answer

Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.

You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????

The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.

Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.

You: charming x

Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.

You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.

Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.

The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.

Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.

Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.

Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.

"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.

Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.

"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"

Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"

His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.

Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."

He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.

"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"

"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."

"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."

"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."

Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.

"Don't give me that bull."

"It's not bull!"

"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"

His expression is flat. You are paper thin.

He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.

He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.

"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"

"No!"

Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.

Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"

"I'm not!"

"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"

Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.

"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."

"Yes, we are."

"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.

"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."

"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.

He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.

"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"

With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.

"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."

You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.

As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.

By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.

"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.

There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.

Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.

Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.

Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.

It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.

But he did, and you damn well know it.

Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.

"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."

But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."

You're silent when he says this.

Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.

But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.

Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.

"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."

Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.

Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.

Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.

He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.

"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."

"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"

"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."

He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.

They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.

Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.

"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."

"Who?" Jimin chirps.

Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."

"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"

"I said leave it."

"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.

"No one."

"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"

"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."

"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."

Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.

"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.

They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?

"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.

It's not that he's ashamed.

It's that you're separate.

When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.

If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.

He doesn't want that.

He wants you to be a safe haven.

A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.

But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.

He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.

"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"

With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."

"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"

"You really have to ask?"

For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.

They always have done.

When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.

Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.

How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.

Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.

When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.

So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.

"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"

"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."

Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.

The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.

It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.

The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.

The irony isn't lost on you.

"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"

"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.

If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.

All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.

One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.

When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.

You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.

Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.

Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.

"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."

"It's not my new home—"

"MONTGOMERY!"

The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.

"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."

Nothing happened between you.

It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.

"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.

"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."

Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.

Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.

It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.

"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.

Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."

As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.

How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.

"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."

Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.

A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.

"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."

It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.

They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.

And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.

Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.

The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.

Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail.

Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.

In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.

Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.

The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.

Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.

Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.

But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.

A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.

"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.

The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.

Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.

"Cut the bullshit," he says.

"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"

"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"

Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.

"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."

Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.

Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.

You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.

"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"

It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.

"Mistaken identity."

"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"

You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.

He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.

"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.

"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."

"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.

With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.

"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."

Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.

"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."

Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.

He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.

It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.

Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.

This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.

You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.

Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.

As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.

Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.

But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.

"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"

Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."

"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."

And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.

If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.

He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.

But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.

It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.

Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.

"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.

"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."

The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.

"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"

"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."

Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.

"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"

"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"

It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.

But every cloud has a silver lining.

"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."

He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.

"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."

The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.

A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.

And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.

Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.

The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.

"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"

You're gonna kill Taehyung.

In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.

"Safe," you grimace.

Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"

"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.

"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.

"My sentiments exactly."

Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge

"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."

"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."

Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.

"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.

"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."

Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.

"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.

The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.

You wish you didn't.

"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.

"Excuse me?"

"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"

"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."

"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"

Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.

And so he doesn't try.

"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"

You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.

Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.

You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.

"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.

"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"

It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.

"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."

"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.

"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."

"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"

"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"

He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."

Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.

"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"

He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.

"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"

"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.

"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."

"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.

The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.

"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."

"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"

He's silent, now. Cowardly.

"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."

"You know that's not—"

"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.

Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.

Feels like it, too.

"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.

"Tell you wha—"

"That you were a virgin."

Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!

Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.

"Hardly relevant, is it?"

"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"

"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"

"I didn't ghost you."

"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."

"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"

"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"

"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."

"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."

"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"

The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.

"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."

You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.

To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.

With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.

Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.

With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.

Looks down at you.

Is so close you can smell his aftershave.

A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.

"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."

Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.

The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.

"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.

"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."

He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."

The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.

Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.

Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.

"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"

The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?

All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.

"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"

The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.

Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.

And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.

It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.

Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.

An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.

When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.

While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.

He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.

He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.

As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.

And so it's up to him to put you back together again.

"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"

His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to. Also knows that he does need to.

"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."

"But I—"

"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up."

He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.

"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"

His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.

An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).

"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.

The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"

"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"

"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."

Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.

Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.

It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.

"I want you," he husks against your lips.

"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.

"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."

"And what was that?" You encourage.

There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer.

Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."

And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?

Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.

The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.

"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.

"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"

"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."

He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.

"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.

"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.

As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.

"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"

You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."

He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.

"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.

"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.

"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.

There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.

"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."

Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."

"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.

And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.

His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.

"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"

"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.

"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."

With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.

Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.

His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.

Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."

The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.

He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.

When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.

Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.

But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.

"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."

If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.

Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.

Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.

You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.

But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.

As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"

Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.

"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."

The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.

"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.

"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.

"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."

It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.

His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.

"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.

"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.

"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."

"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"

"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.

He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.

"S'all there is. They alright?"

"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"

"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."

His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.

"I don't care. I don't want them—"

You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.

"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"

When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.

"I promise," you swear.

As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.

"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"

"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"

"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.

"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."

With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.

"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.

"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."

"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.

You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.

"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.

Your argumentative streak wants to fight.

You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."

His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.

In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.

Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.

Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."

Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.

He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.

"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.

The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.

You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.

"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."

"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"

His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."

And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.

But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.

Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."

"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.

"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."

"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.

"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole.

His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes.

Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"

There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."

But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."

"You're stupid."

"You're stupider."

"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before.

His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"

"Think you were gonna make me cum."

"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."

His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.

The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.

As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.

The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.

"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.

"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."

You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.

"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.

"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"

It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.

"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.

"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."

The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with.

His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.

But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"

That's the thing.

He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.

Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.

"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."

Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.

And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.

"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"

You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.

"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."

It's been half an hour.

He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.

The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck.

Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.

Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.

"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."

"We?" You question, incredibly confused.

"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.

Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.

As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.

Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.

"Sorry, what the fuck?!"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #college!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #college au

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eringobragh420 · 13 days

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Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader Summary: Damian and his girlfriend disturb the peace. Warnings: NSFW, obviously, lol. Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll fix it! Fingering, oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, rough sex, mild pain play, cum. Taglist: @eddiesrockstargirlfriend, @terrortwinunicorn. If you’d like to be added, please let me know! Requested By: @danithepenguin05-blog. Hope you enjoy! Notes: This one got away from me, but I loved the requester's idea so much lol

“You know, I’ve been watching you all night …” She jumps at the voice coming from behind her, smiling when she can feel his warm breath ghost across her neck and bare shoulder. “And I think I’m gonna fuck you in that dress.”

Her grin widens, brow arching. “You might wanna be careful,” she advises, “my boyfriend is a big dude, and he gets really jealous.” She turns around, eyes climbing to meet the pair gazing down at her.

“Is he bigger than me?” Damian growls, puffing his chest out as much as he can in the confines of a button-down shirt, vest, and suit jacket, somehow making himself seem even taller than his normal six-five.

“Oh, damn,” she purrs, closing the space between them. “You’re way bigger. Let’s get out of here.”

“And fuck you in that dress?” Damian repeats, eyes sliding down the garment in question—a deep purple ruched midi-dress with one sleeve and an asymmetrical hem that hugs every one of her curves, even ones she didn’t know she had but was excited to find just the same. His hands claim her hips, sliding back to her ass, possessive in his Priestly way, and she beams up at him. Her hands glide up his chest, straightening the tie she’d had to tie for him before clutching at the lapels. She inhales his cologne and body wash and the scent that is simply Damian, and her heart flutters, pussy dampening at the same time. The control he has over her should be studied by science.

“And fuck me in this dress,” she whispers, pulling him into a kiss that starts as a peck, but when she tries to pull away, his long arms wrap themselves around her. She giggles against his lips, her own arms snaking round his neck only when he bends his knees and comes closer to her height.

“We better get going,” Damian mumbles. He leans sideways and glances down at her silver heels—the ones that have diamond-encrusted bows on the toes, the excess of which provocatively climb her calves. “Because I think I wanna fuck you in those heels, too, and I know you’re not gonna last much longer before you whip out the chanclas.”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “Well in that case … Priest, you big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever.” She’s given universal consent with a quote from their favorite movie to watch together, and the change in her boyfriend’s demeanor is palpable.

Damian releases her only to drop his arm around her shoulders, and she reaches up to interlace their fingers. She’s smiling up at him, adoring, as she usually does, when she notices the Three Stooges headed their way, all of them leaning on each other, none of them able to walk in a straight line. They stumble over JD, who is passed out with his head on a plate of salad. Damian glances down at her, shaking his head, and she takes the hint, averting her gaze in the opposite direction. Together, they pick up their pace.

“Guys, wait!” Dom hollers behind them.

“Nope,” Damian grumbles so only she can hear, and they continue on.

“Don’t leave us hangin’!” Finn slurs.

The couple continues on, waving goodbyes to friends in passing, blissfully, though not really, ignorant to the whining that seems to be following them.

“Besties,” Rhea cajoles, then exclaims, “oh, shit!” just before a stomp, a thud, and three dummies giggling. Damian and his girlfriend slow to a stop and look at each other.

“There’s like a 70 percent chance they’ll die if we leave them here,” she says.

Damian rolls his eyes, nods, and turns to their friends, waving his arm for them to hurry up. And once they arrive at the rental SUV, Damian stuffs all three of his inebriated friends into the backseat, slamming the door in Dom’s face when he asks if they can stop for chicken tenders on the way to the hotel. Rolling his neck, he straightens his suit before turning to his girlfriend, who’s patiently waiting near the front passenger door. He opens it for her, taking her hand and helping her inside before closing the door and making his way around to the driver’s side.

“No, but seriously,” Dom says, poking his face between the front seats. She glances at him, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol, and then she looks at Damian, catching him taking yet another deep, calming breath through his nose. “I was lookin’ on my phone earlier and there’s this place that’s open late that has tendies …” He begins searching the pockets of his suit. “Hey, hey, who has my phone?”

“Whoops,” Rhea giggles from behind her, and Dom reaches over Finn.

“Give it back!” Dom exclaims.

“Get your arm outta my face!” Finn says, shoving Dom’s arm away.

“Tell her to give me my phone back!”

“Give him his bloody phone back!”

“I know his passcode,” Rhea taunts.

Suddenly Dom’s own shiny black shoes bounce between the front seats as Finn launches him into the trunk area of the SUV.

“Well, open it already! What are you waitin’ for?” Finn shouts, holding Dom back as he both fights to climb over the seat and grab his phone from Rhea at the same time.

“If this is what having kids is like, you can forget it,” Damian remarks, making a left turn out of the parking lot. His girlfriend watches the street- and headlights bounce off his handsome features, smiling when he places his hand on her thigh, lifting her dress just a little.

“I’m not really concerned with that right now,” she quietly replies. The three in the back are still arguing and paying no attention to what’s going on in the front. Damian looks at her, and she lifts her hips, tugging the bottom of the dress up her legs until the very tops of her thighs are visible. His eyes return to the road to be sure he’s still in his lane, snapping back to her as she places her hand atop his, beginning to slowly drag it up her satiny skin.

Damian’s rough fingers make first contact with her bare slit, and he casts another glance in her direction. Her grin is wicked as she licks her lips, rolling her hips against his touch wantonly. His left hand grips the steering wheel, he adjusts the positioning of his own hips, and his middle finger slips within her folds. He massages the tiny nub in slow circles, torturing, before gliding his touch up and down, easily causing her pussy to surge. She sighs, head falling back against the seat, and she bites her lip.

“Shit,” she whispers. She squeezes his solid forearm with both hands as she rides his gifted fingers. Slithering inside her, first with one finger, then two, he hooks them expertly, and her back bows. The raucous from the backseat, the very fact that she and Damian are not alone in such a tiny space, sends her into a shivering, inaudible orgasm quicker than is typical when he uses his fingers on her. She releases his arm, gaping as he brings those cum-coated digits to his perfect lips where he sucks them greedily into his mouth. His cheeks hollow with the suction, sculpting those bones exquisitely, her thighs instantly twitching. He pulls them from his mouth with a lewd pop, winking at the same time, and she knows exactly which direction things are headed once that hotel room door clicks closed behind them.

He opens her door after backing into a parking spot. He rearranges the bulge in his pants as he holds his other hand out for her. She makes a show of raising her hips so she can pull her dress back down to its original length before placing her manicured hand into his, carefully climbing out of the vehicle. Damian closes the door, leaning down to press his lips to her ear.

“I’m gonna fucking wreck you,” he says.

“Promise?” she murmurs, brows raising.

“You guys suck,” Dom complains, tumbling out of the back of the SUV. Finn and Rhea lean on one another, uncontrollable laughter passing back and forth between them. “Now everybody’s gonna think I’m weird.”

“You are weird,” Finn and Rhea snicker in unison.

Damian’s arm rests on her shoulders once more, their fingers again tangled, as the party of five boards the hotel elevator. Dom continues to whine about whatever Rhea and Finn did to him, which evidently has something to do with an embarrassing Twitter post. But their bickering slowly begins to fade into mere background noise, the three of them standing in front of her and she in front of Damian, and she snakes her hands behind her. Her nails clack against her boyfriend’s belt buckle, a sinister grin splitting her lips as they continue southward. She follows the zipper, the mechanism threatening to burst trying to hold back the monster hardening within, which she tenderly cups in both hands. Damian brings an arm around her shoulders and across her chest, the other enveloping her waist, and she rests her head against his pec, massaging his still-growing cock through his pants. His perfect mouth latches onto her ear, biting, kissing, sucking, moving onto her neck, making sure to touch all of her spots. She’s so distracted she doesn’t notice his hand sweeping back across her chest so he can fondle her breast, which further occupies her attention and keeps her from realizing he’s pulling the sleeveless side of her dress down until that bare breast falls out. He takes it into his hand again, groping obscenely, all the while feasting on her neck.

The ding of the elevator breaks the couple’s building tension, and Damian lifts her dress back into position before the doors slide open. They resume their customary holding of one another as they follow their three friends into the hallway, Damian having to redirect them from turning right to turning left. The lump in his slacks is incredibly conspicuous, but he doesn’t try to hide it, and she doesn’t blame him—he has a lot to be proud of. She waits by their room door as he snatches the key card out of Finn’s hand, knowing none of the inebriated three will be able to operate the machine. He herds them inside, not even bothering to take Rhea to her room, and closes the door before they can make any more requests.

She backs slowly into their room as Damian stalks her. He regards her with a tilt of his head, stealthily reaching back to turn the lock on the door after it clicks closed. He casually starts toward her, opening his suit jacket and allowing it to slide down his arms. He catches it in one hand and lays it on a nearby dresser. Her breathing accelerates and she chews on the inside of her cheek as he unbuttons the cuffs on his shirt, rolling the sleeves halfway up his forearms like he’s about to take on a task that’s going to last for hours.

“I love that dress,” he tells her, closing the space between them.

She smiles. “Well thank you.” She runs her hands up his chest, over the vest this time, applying a small amount of pressure just so she can feel how hard his muscles are. “I thought you might like … the easy access.” Her hands come down his abdomen and she takes hold of the buckle on his belt. “And I—” She starts to unbuckle it. “—might like—” She unbuttons and unzips his pants. “—this big cock in my mouth.”

Ahead of her descending to her knees, he grabs hold of her with his hands under her arms and he tosses her back onto the bed. A giggle nearly erupts, but Damian is leering at her in a way he’s never done before as his fists come down on the mattress, then his knees, and she backs up on her elbows. When she comes to the pillows, she bends a knee, lifts her leg, and Damian pauses his advance. He glances at the heel perched delicately on his against his shoulder, the diamond bows, the diamond ribbons ascending her calf, and when he returns his attention to her, his eyes are devoid of any color except sable and he’s wetting his lips.

“Lick me, Papí,” she says.

Damian chuckles softly, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of her ankle. “¿Qué dices?”

“Please, Papí, will you lick me?”

He seizes her thighs, spreading them, pushing them back toward her until her hips nearly come off the bed and her elbows collapse. She feels the cold from the air conditioner rush over her bare, wet pussy, sending a shudder throughout her body. She lifts her head only to have it fall back into the pillows again after watching Damian lick a hot stripe from her aching hole to the top of her slit. She groans and her back arches as she grabs at his ponytail of tiny braids, to which he responds by closing his lips around her clit and sucking, slurping, effortlessly holding her legs in place as she fights to close them around his head.

“Fuck,” she yelps, releasing his hair to reach back and grip the headboard. Damian releases one leg so he can pull her dress down until her breast spills out, and that heel lands on his back, digging in as much as she dares as she tries desperately to ride his tongue. Damian grunts, coming away from her pussy, and she looks down at him, worried the heel in his back is too painful. He glances behind him in the direction of the heel, and when he looks back, she’s not sure he’s the same person. This man must certainly be the devil—the onyx flames in his eyes and the impish slope to his grin supporting her hypothesis. He surrenders her other leg, and she instantly brings the heel down onto his back, because that’s where a devil would want it. His eyes close briefly, opening just before he attacks her pussy, assaulting every nerve-ending with every trick he knows. She cries out, heels burrowing even further as her body undulates, and gushes cum all over Damian’s gifted tongue.

Without warning, Damian pulls away, standing on the floor now at the foot of the bed, the bottom half of his face glistening with her juices, and he repossesses her legs. Before she has time to pout, he yanks her down the bed, a leg on either side of him. He reaches down and wraps his hand around her throat, pulling her into a sitting position, her hands immediately rummaging through his pants and briefs, reemerging with Damian’s cock and balls. She makes a show of spitting into the palm of her hand before sliding it down his rigid shaft. He leans down to kiss her, pulling back just as she attempts to accept the kiss. She glares, trying again to kiss him, only to be met with the same results.

“Papí,” she sulks.

“I want you to choke on this dick first,” he tells her, hand still clutching her throat, lifting to the point she’s nearly coming off the bed. She sighs, glowing, hand decelerating on his cock. “You know I like kissing you when your mouth’s a mess.”

She nods, waiting obediently for him to release her neck, and as soon as he does, she has his cock buried almost to the root in her throat before she gags, coughs, and has to come up for air.

“Fuck!” Damian shouts, one hand on the back of her head, the other on the side near her neck, as he thrusts into her mouth. She grasps the ends of his belt, simply using them for stability as Damian rides her face. After several pumps, he pulls out, strings of saliva and precum bridging her lips and his cock. Now he allows her to kiss him, groaning as their tongues twist and curl, and she knows he can taste his cock all over her mouth, just like he likes it.

He picks her up under the arms again and launches her just a few feet back on the bed. Snickering as she bounces, she watches as Damian sheds all of his clothes from the waist up before crawling on his knees to get between her legs. He takes one of her heels and arranges it on his chest. Rubbing the velvety head of his cock along her throbbing clit, she feels him press into the heel, so she adds resistance with her leg so it might go deeper.

“Goddamn,” he roars. He starts to push himself inside her, and she revels in the sensation of being split open as she gives a moan of her own.

“Mmm, Papí likes a little pain,” she coos. She gives him a shove with the heel, and he snarls, glaring down at her with a tilt of his head, and maybe she went too far, but they’re past the point of no return. “That’s hot.”

Damian’s hips surge forward, impaling her completely on his rock hard member, nearly bouncing her head off the headboard if not for the pillows. She cries out, gripping the wood that is fastened to the wall, making it safe from rattling. However, the mattress has a squeak, which sounds in time with Damian’s rapid thrusts. He wraps his fingers around her ankle, anchoring it to his chest, other hand groping her bare breast, and he has a steady, albeit aggressive, rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants with each and every pump, unknowingly increasing the force in her leg. “Fuck me, Papí!” she cries out, finishing with a whisper, “please … please …”

Damian cries out his own set of curses, and with one final surge forward, he releases inside her. His pace slows, but doesn’t stop for several moments. A smile grows on her bruised lips, and even though she’s positive her makeup and hair are both incredible messes right now, she doesn’t feel shame or embarrassment. Her boyfriend doesn’t need to see her painted and polished to perfection every moment of their lives. And anyway, he’d warned her of his intentions to wreck her. Eventually he pulls out, lying next to her, and moments later, the couple is snoring together—she still in her dress and heels, he still in his pants and shoes.

The next morning, following a refreshing joint shower, they collect their belongings—Damian handling the heavier items, always leaving with her as little as possible to carry—and as she’s holding the door for him, Dom, Finn, and Rhea exit their room, Rhea having retrieved her things from her room earlier. The threesome are already wearing sunglasses and share a similar pale complexion, but when they spot her and Damian, they collapse into giggles.

Brows furrowing, she asks, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Finn replies.

She glances at Damian, who shrugs and rolls his eyes. They all head to the elevator, the three amigos murmuring amongst one another, and she has no idea what’s going on, but she knows it has something to do with her and Damian. Everyone stuffs themselves and their luggage into the tiny box, Rhea punches the button for the lobby, and the doors close. This is the moment the three of them launch into a litany of moaning and groaning and one of them even imitates the sound of a squeaking bed.

“Fuck me, Papí,” Dom’s voice is many octaves higher than normal.

“Papí likes a little pain,” Rhea joins in.

Finn repeats almost verbatim Damian’s list of curses after he came, and for some reason, she doesn’t understand what they’re talking about until this point. She feels her cheeks erupt as if coated in lava, and she’s shell shocked a moment before turning to Damian, who already has his hoodie unzipped and one side of it opened. Mortified, she buries her burning face against his chest and he covers her with the jacket. The rest of the elevator ride is filled with snickers and imitations.

Once outside, she pushes ahead of the group, hurrying toward the rental when she hears the distinct sound of hands clapping. Turning, she catches Damian grinning like he just won the fucking lottery, sharing handshakes with the boys and a high-five with Rhea.

“Really?!”

** Chanclas - Flip flops ** Papí - Daddy ** ¿Qué dices? - What do you say?

#wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #damian priest x reader #smut #damian priest #damian priest smut #damian priest kinklist

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whiskeyghoul · 6 months

Text

Pt2. || She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid x Goth!Reader]

Read part 1 here

Read part 3 here

A/N: OMG I can’t believe how much people enjoyed part 1? Seriously, as I am finishing this part up it has reached over 500 notes, I am shocked and so very thankful for the love. I didn’t expect it. A silly little fic not proof read, totally self indulgent, really this is so wonderful and I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read it and reblog, like or comment on it. I hope part 2 doesn’t disappoint. Part 3 is going to be here soon too, which will be the unofficial date.

WC: 1,9K ~

Tags: Fluff, just fluff, Spencer is a flustered mess, Alt!Reader, Goth!Reader, 2 idiots flirting, Reader and Penelope are besties, use of Y/N, Penelope has been playing matchmaker, alluding to a date, crushes.

Warnings: None.

Your pov.

It was a late Sunday afternoon. You were sitting on Penelope Garcia’s couch, cup of hot tea in hand. Legs curled up on the couch with a colorful blanket over your lap. It clashed just ever so slightly with your dark outfit. The two of you are in complete contrast to each other. Penelope was a ball of color in a bright purple dress with a lemon pattern, large yellow earrings and a blue bolero sweater. Compared to your all black ensemble she was a ray of sunshine. An array of snacks spread out over the coffee table. The aforementioned peppy blonde was sitting next to you on the couch. Deeply engrossed with the romance show playing on the TV. You watched it together every Sunday, when a new episode would come out. Today your mind was somewhere else completely.

“He hasn’t called yet.” You spoke up. Penelope eyed you curiously, “Who?” She asked, her focus gone from the show. Her eyes peered at you with interest from behind the cat eye glasses she had picked out that day. “Doctor Reid.” You turned your head back to the TV casually, trying to not seem bothered. You could hear Penelope hold back a small squeal. It sounded more like a gasp that way. “Oh my god! Are you interested in him? What did he do to impress you? I have been trying to set you up for ages! You have shot down any person I have discussed with you. Always something wrong.” She started rambling, hearing the clink of her glass being put on the coffee table. Her hands grabbed yours, making you look back at her and rolling your eyes. “Firstly: I am not ‘interested’ in him. Secondly: I just thought he would have called by now. Or stopped by at least.” You shrugged noncommittally. You were just a little interested. Thinking back to that meeting.

When Spencer had stepped into the lab earlier that week, courtesy of Penelope, you had found his awkward demeanor endearing. He was hot, that was for sure, and tall, you remembered having to look up at him, Those dark brown eyes pinning you in place. Especially when you had stood so close together. You had wanted to tease him after watching him stumble over his sentences. See him even more flustered. It made you somewhat excited. When you had given him your number you could feel his pulse racing under his skin. He had shown many signs of being interested yet he hadn’t even texted you. It made you rethink the interaction.

“Well, he couldn’t have stopped by. They got called on a case in Utah so he’s not really in the area right now.” Penelope clarified. Those words put your mind at ease more than you expected them to. “Oh, I guess he can’t really get to the lab then.” You shrugged. Just a little disappointed but feeling relieved that apparently he hadn’t meant to not visit you. Or maybe he had done so on purpose if he would be close. Your earlier relief was replaced by a mild panic again. Trying to convince yourself you weren’t interested in Dr. Reid. Although, he could have texted.

You could practically feel Penelope smirk as you turned your attention back on the TV. Unable to focus but pretending to. “Spence is not one for texting. He probably has been getting to the hotel at ungodly hours and hasn’t had time to call.” it was like she could read your mind. “Don’t do that.” You said with a shudder. “Do what?” Penelope questioned innocently. “Read my mind like that. It’s weird.” You answered, making her laugh. “Just goes to show how well I know you.” She answered with a smile. It was true. She knew you too well you would even argue. The fact both of you were women in a male dominated field, both dressed eccentricly, and both with a passion for cheesy movies and tv shows. It was only a matter of time until you were best friends after your first run in.

Your phone, which was placed on the table, lit up at that moment. The ringtone played at a high volume, making the cure blast through the room. Your eyes quickly flickered to the screen. Caller ID unknown. You picked up the phone, hesitant of the unknown caller, deciding to hang up instead. You had been plagued by telemarketers for the past month and really didn’t want to deal with that right now. If it was important they would call again. And they did, you still had your phone in your hands when it went off again. “Just pick it up! I will keep watch over our show, fill you in later.” Penelope said, motioning her hands for you to get up. You got off the couch, soft blanket falling to the ground as you picked up the phone. Softly padding away to the kitchen to be out of earshot of Penelope. “Y/n speaking.” you answered, waiting to hear from the other end of the line.

“Hey… ehm… is this not the right time? Are you busy?” The voice on the other end of the line made you straighten up slightly in surprise. “Doctor Reid.” You breathe out his name quietly, adding a “Now is a perfectly good time.” to your sentence. Wondering how hearing his voice through the slightly tin-like phone speaker made you feel a little flutter in your stomach. “Good… I didn’t want to bother you. You can just call me Spencer by the way. Doctor sounds too formal. I just introduce myself like that. It’s a habit. I don’t call you Doctor L/n either. So call me Spencer.” He started rambling. A smile spread across your lips, this rambly version was different from how speechless he had been in the lab. You held back a giggle. Apparently you had rendered him speechless in the lab. “Alright, Spencer.” You answered, the humor in your voice apparent. His breath hitched a little on the other side of the line.

“Why did you call?” You asked, trying to continue on without dawdling. “Oh eh, the report, I ehm…” He was quiet for a moment. It crossed your mind that maybe he didn’t need to speak with you, but he wanted to. “Yes?” You urged after a silence had fallen on the other side of the phone line. There was an intake of breath from Spencer, a moment that signaled he might be trying to raise some courage. “I didn’t want to talk about the report.” He finally spoke. It made you smile, your cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “Oh, well then what did you want to talk about?” You added a bit of playfulness in your tone. You pictured him, holding the phone to his ears that were tipped red. His face was probably just as flushed as it had been in the lab.

“I ehm- I haven’t been able to focus, on the case that is. Because I keep thinking about the lab. How I probably came off as a mess, I just didn’t know what to say because you looked so… Not that you look bad because you don’t, you looked really nice. Emily says my IQ gets slashed down to 68 when I am around pretty girls. I wanted to make a good impression. I couldn’t find the words though. I usually don’t make great first impressions, because I tend to ramble. Just- I really really hope I didn’t make a bad first impression.” His sentences flowed into each other like word vomit. Nervous, quick, and hardly understandable. Luckily, you were trained in the art of understanding nervous rambles when Penelope would spiral into one from time to time. However he had called you pretty. “Spencer.” You said his name almost like a question. There was a beat of silence. “Yes?” He asked softly, he sounded so nervous.

“You didn’t make a bad impression. I gave you my number for a reason.” You told him with a smile, a little giddy as the words ‘he called me pretty’ kept bouncing around your head. “And I am sorry I called without any real reason to… I know it was for talking about the report. Though Morgan tried to convince me it wasn’t.” Spencer answered. You rolled your eyes at that. Ofcourse, this hyper intelligent man would mix up what you were trying to do. “I gave you my number because I wanted you to call me. Not about the report. I just wanted you to call me. About anything.” There was apparently a need to clear up that confusion. It was silent for another moment. “Oh.” It was like realization dawned on him. “So I should have called sooner, right?” His question made you laugh softly, trying not to clue in Penelope on your call. “Yes, you should have. Or could have at least. I was waiting.” You answered back, smiling at the ground. You fidgeted with one of the large rings on your free hand, twisting the cool metal round with your thumb.

“I’m sorry I didn’t.” You could almost hear the smile in his voice. The slight uptick in his pitch. You imagined he was still fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater, or was perhaps looking at his shoes with a grin. “You can make it up to me by buying me a coffee when you get back.” The suggestion came naturally, you didn’t even have to think about it. The words left your lips before you could, really. “What do you like?” Spencer asked without hesitation. “Cinnamon latte.” You answered it softly, a little surprised he agreed so readily. A giddy feeling in your stomach. “Alright, cinnamon latte, I’ll remember.” Spencer sounded a little breathy, like he too was feeling giddy at the prospects of having coffee together. Like the idea of taking time to get to know each other at work over a warm beverage was the perfect first date. “What do you like?” You asked in turn, wanting to know what he would usually get. Knowing more about him would feel so domestic and sweet. “Black coffee, usually with tons of sugar.” He had a hint of embarrassment in your voice. A little muffled like he had covered his mouth to hold in the confession of drinking it so sweet. You smiled at his answer. Of course he had a sweet tooth. “Tons of sugar, I’ll remember.” You mirrored his words.

“Oh! My! God!” You heard Penelope gasp from the living room. Knocking you out of your little phone call bubble with Spencer. “I think I have to go. You better call me tomorrow.” You said it lightheartedly. Just wanting to hear from him again soon. “I will. I’ll call you.” Spencer answered. “Bye Spencer.” “Bye Y/n.” You hung up with a smile, already turning and walking back into the living room. Penelope turned around on the couch to look at you, “They shot Richard!” She looked absolutely shocked as she gave you the news of your favorite character being hurt. You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face though. “Spencer called.” You saw her face form from a shocked to surprise expression, “Oh! My! God!” She sounded a lot happier that time, and you knew you wouldn't hear the end of it.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #Goth reader #self indulgent fic #fanfic writer #tumblr writer #she blinded me with science #part 2 #whiskeyghoul

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silentglassbreak · 2 months

Note

ok bestie I have a request for my delulu self mwuah

my scenario:

Noah’s your hot neighbor, lives in the apartment across the hall. you’ve really only spoken in passing— to exchange pleasantries and phone numbers, just in case— but you did have takeout with him and his rowdy group of guy friends (Folio, Ruffilo, and Jolly, who else?) when he was first moving in. a thank you for moving one single box (that’s all they let you touch before one of them was grabbing it out of your hands). Noah mumbles something about him not about to let “his pretty new neighbor carry his shit.”

one night you touch yourself to the thought of him, you might moan his name 🤭— he’s not even home half the time, what are the chances he’d hear you? except he does. because he’s home and the walls are thin. and your phone dings with his text.

want some help, sweetheart? ft. Noah sleeping over please!!!

preferably anonymous other than x fem!reader but I like pet names!!! sweetheart, baby, angel are my favorites <33

I know it’s a lot of details, you don’t have to include them all, it’s more so to give you an idea of the vibe 💖💖 utterly filthy but still he’s still a softie and a sweetheart

thank you this is actually so cool of you mwuah

Mmmm we love a good hot neighbor trope, yeah? What a cutie patootie he is, eh?

Mkay, let’s get into this.

After Writing Notes: This man will be the death of me…

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, Noah being an absolute munch 😜

Skin

“Good morning, Angel.” His deep voice rings in my ears, and there he is, as he always is, sitting on his balcony, joint in his hand, guitar perched against the rail. He’s likely writing again, but Christ, does he have to always be out there at 7AM? I hate being up this early, and am never in the mood to speak to anyone.

I just want to sip my coffee, clear my cobwebs, and mentally prepare for my workday. The shop is packed, and my books are completely full, my first session starting at 9AM. I don’t have time for his early-bird antics today, nor the patience.

“Morning.” I grumble between sips of steaming hot coffee.

“Sleep well?” He pushes his joint out in the ashtray, careful not to damage it, obviously saving it for later.

“Mmph.” Is all I can muster while leaning back in my chair, pulling my sweater tighter around me. The crisp October morning has brought about hues of orange and amber in the trees surrounding the building. My favorite time of year.

“Busy day today? Must be if you’re up at this hour.”

I sigh heavily, eyes darting to him. His pale yellow hoodie and black beanie look so perfectly placed.

Noah is attractive, there is no arguing it, but he’s annoying. He’s always so positive and chipper. His friends are always over, as upbeat as he is. They’re in a band, and to be fair, they aren’t bad. They just like to start practicing at 10AM, on Sundays, which are the only days I get to sleep in.

I like them. On occasion, they’ll invite me over for pizza and to watch hockey, which I usually accept. None of them have ever been creepy or made a pass at me, which is so refreshing.

Noah does some mild flirting, using pet names instead of my actual name. Nick let it slip once that it’s because his ex has the same middle name as my first name, and that bugs him. He would rather not associate me with someone like her. I suppose that’s fair, so I’ve let it go. They’re all sweet, non-provocative names anyway.

“All booked today.” I slipped out.

He nodded. “I plan to schedule with you soon.”

I rolled my eyes. “You say that every week, Noah.”

His guitar was now dutifully placed on his lap, his fingers strumming a slow melody. “True, but the struggling musician lifestyle doesn’t exactly come with a wad of cash.”

I smirked. “Told you I’d discount you.”

“Discount as in…free?” I chuckled.

Despite hating his early routine, he usually did manage to perk me up in the mornings.

I stood up, opening the sliding door and slipping inside. “Keep dreamin’, champ.”

The day had been absolutely brutal. My wrists were still vibrating from holding my machine the entire day. I had hoped my last client would be done two hours earlier, but he had to keep taking breaks. Because of that fact, my hands were extra tired, and there was no way I could finish my sketch in preparation for tomorrow’s client, so I had to wake up early again.

Slinging my bag over the back of the couch, I huffed out a groan as I slumped down onto it. Days like today were becoming more and more frequent, and I was exhausted. I needed to clear my books for a week and have a staycation. Do nothing and see no one.

Heaving myself up, I made my way to the bathroom, taking my hair out of the tight bun it had been kept in all day. My fingers scrubbed at my scalp before I turned the water of the shower on.

I let my wrists and hands sit under the scalding spray for what felt like hours, just trying to loosen the joints. Afterwards, I massaged a brutal amount of lidocaine cream on them to ease the tension.

Pouring myself a glass of red wine, I stepped out onto my balcony with my favorite sweatshirt and the latest book my sister had recommended to me. It was a love story with very light smut, so she figured I’d enjoy it. If only she had known the types of stories I read regularly.

Still, I humored her.

Flipping on my porch light, I leaned back on my chair and pulled a blanket from my basket over me, covering my bare legs.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I startled, nearly spilling wine all over the pages.

“Jesus Christ, Noah!”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me.”

“No, gosh you almost gave me a stroke.”

His eyes peered over the separating railing at me. “Whatcha reading?”

I snorted, taking a gulp of my wine. “Some romance novel my sister keeps bugging me to read.”

He nodded his chin at this, not verbally responding. I noted the beer in his hand, and his eyes peering out at the city below.

I didn’t know Noah well at all. In fact, I knew so little that it was almost freaky, given that I saw him all the time. That’s the price I pay for being closed off. I do, however, know that he doesn’t drink much at all, and typically only does when something is bothering him.

“You okay?” I closed my book around my fingers so as to not lose my place.

He didn’t look up at me or respond, just took a pull from his beer.

No quips or witty remarks? This was even more unlike him.

“Bad day?”

He nodded.

“Want to talk about it?” He didn’t say no, but he didn’t say anything. He just sighed heavily. I pursed my lips, watching as his eyes stayed trained on the lights flickering off in the distance of Los Angeles, entranced in his own mind.

Then an idea sparked. “Oh! I know!” I set my book down, and stood up. He looked at me, finally. “Stay there! I know what you need!”

He quirked an eyebrow and took another swig from his bottle. I ran inside, grabbing the grocery bag inside my work tote, the goodies still untouched from my way home. When I came back out, I reached in the bag, pulling out the yellow package.

“Catch.” I chucked it at him, which he caught one handed. He scanned the bag, and smiled.

“All pink and red Starburst.” He looked back up at me. “You know what I needed.”

I smirked, pulling my other candy out of the bag, Sweettart Ropes, and began munching. He popped the bag of his own candy open and began unwrapping the tiny cubes.

“Now do you want to talk about it?”

Looking down at the wrapper balled up in his hand, he sighed hard, chewing the soft candy.

“We met with our label today.” His beanie from earlier was still on his head, perfectly placed. “They want us to join a tour.”

I chewed my ropes, speaking around the candy in my mouth. “And that’s bad? I thought that was part of being a band? Isn’t that how you make good money?”

He nodded, drinking more of his beer. “It can be, but I’m nervous. And they’re pressuring us.”

“What do you have to be nervous for? You’re super talented.”

He looked over, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “When have you ever heard our music?”

I scoffed. “Every Sunday morning through the paper thin walls.”

This made him laugh, which was a nice sound in comparison to his previously somber tone.

“I just recently started working on my vocals. Our early stuff was mostly all screaming. This last album has singing, though. I don’t feel ready to perform that live.”

I nodded. “Well, you practice, I know that.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that simple. I’ve got to know I can do it. I can’t second guess myself or I fuck up. I know it.” He sighed hard, setting the candy and beer on his table, and pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“Mm,” I swallowed my candy. “is it a crowd thing?”

“I’m not really sure.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “I feel like it’s a being put on the spot, thing? I don’t know.”

I mulled this around. “I see.” I played with the idea in my brain before speaking. “So sing to me.”

His eyes shot up. “What?”

“Sing to me, Noah. Right here, right now.”

“The fuck? I can’t just do that.” He looked bewildered.

“Why not? It’s about being put on the spot. So sing to me.”

Noah stared at me as if I was insane. “What do I even sing? I don’t know any Taylor Swift songs.”

I scrunched my nose up at that. “Gross. No thank you.” He chuckled at that. “Sing me something of yours.”

He shook his head. “You won’t like our music.”

“Sure I do! I know you sing one about lions? Sing me that one!”

He all out laughed then. “The one about lions? Are you kidding?!”

I joined in on his laughter. “It’s the only one I remember.”

He groaned. “You’re serious?”

I sat back in my chair, chewing my candy, silently making it clear I was dead serious. He rolled his eyes and stood up.

“Hang on.” He disappeared inside. I took a large gulp of my wine, and waited.

He returned a few minutes later with his acoustic guitar, the one he usually had in the mornings. He also had taken off his beanie and sweatshirt, his tattooed arms and freshly cut hair on display. Were his arms always so muscular? No, he had definitely been working out.

“Alright, I’ll play you the one about lions, but please don’t laugh if I go off-key?”

I leaned forward, glass in hand, giving him my full attention. “Never.”

He sighed, and strummed the opening riffs of the song. It was slower, and sadder than when I had heard him practice it.

“You set me up as a villain, but you never mentioned the root of the problem. Took what you wanted and flipped it, but you won’t be dragging my name to the bottom.”

Noah’s voice was melodic, perfectly on key.

“So much unsaid. Left me for dead. I won’t forget.”

The song sounded more powerful in this style.

“Well everyone’s listening. And they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses.”

His fingers stopped strumming for a beat.

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said, but I’m going to make you wish you did.”

I smiled at the chorus, now remembering why I remember the lions.

“Jump to conclusions, they fall for illusions, but you weren’t there trying to stop them. You’re going low at the end of the road, but that won’t be the path that I follow.”

I finished my wine, setting the glass down and intertwining my fingers.

“So much unsaid, left me for dead. I won’t forget.”

He stopped strumming again, and I noticed he had his eyes closed. He hadn’t opened them once.

“Well everyone’s listening. And they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses.”

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. But I’m going to make you wish you did.”

The chord progression changed leading into the bridge.

“I’m holding on to this until the scale’s untilted.”

He stopped, his pitch rising.

“Well everyone’s listening, and they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses, but you’re pushing my limits.”

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. Oh-whoa.”

I leaned back in my chair, thoroughly enjoying this private show I was receiving.

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should now I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. Oh God, I’ll make you wish you did.”

He strummed the final chord and opened his eyes. I was smiling from ear to ear. I clapped my hands together, which made him blush.

“Oh stop.” He set his guitar down, leaning back in his chair and grabbing his beer.

“That was fantastic, Noah!”

He shook his head. “It was okay. I wasn’t on key the entire second chorus.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you always this hard on yourself?”

He smirked. “Always.”

“Please tell me that song is called Lions.”

This made him genuinely laugh. He shook his head. “It’s called Limits.”

“Mm, close enough.” He smirked at me.

“You really liked it?”

I nodded in response. “I did. It was really beautiful.”

His eyebrow raised and his thumb traced the rim of the beer bottle.

“You’re really beautiful.”

My stomach dropped clean out of my body, and my expression stilled. He didn’t waver, however, staring at me with a stern expression.

“Thank you.” Was all I could manage to say.

He nodded in acknowledgement, throwing back the bottle and tossing it into the trash can next to his table.

“Well, it’s past my bedtime. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I smiled. “Bright and early.”

He grinned back. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Goodnight, Noah.”

I tossed and turned in bed, sleep being the farthest thing from me. I had to get some rest, as I had to be up in less than eight hours, but even the wine hadn’t been able to wash the day off of me.

To be honest, the melody of the song kept ringing through my brain, the image of Noah strumming his guitar flashing past my eyelids.

His arms are so big. He’s actually kind of…buff? He didn’t look like that when he moved in. As much as I loved his long hair, the short hair was so fitting on him, falling loose by his ears.

Before I could stop myself, my hand was snaking down into the waistband of my shorts, fingers ghosting over the top of my clit. An orgasm should help me sleep, right?

As much as I know my rose would make quick work of this, the idea of having another vibrating object in my hand made my wrists ache. I opted to just take my time, fingers circling my sweet spot, and let myself indulge in the idea of my hot neighbor, fingers running over the string of the guitar. Arms flexing when he moved his hand up and down the neck. Throat constricting as the lyrics flowed out of his plump lips.

I could feel myself getting into the idea, my body sinking comfortably into the mattress. Lips parting, I pictured him on the other side of the walls. What did he look like shirtless? Was his chest as muscular as his arms? Did his tattoos spread all the way to his chest?

My fingers applied more pressure, making me squirm, and a soft breath left my lips. I wanted to be quiet, but I was alone. Did it matter?

Noah is likely sleeping, so I doubted that he would be able to hear anything.

I let a moan escape, letting one finger dip between my lips and feel how the moisture had built up at the thought of him. My pussy ached at the idea of his hands, long fingers pressing into me. I would bet he could hit my sweet spot with the first knuckle. I gasped hard, my hips bucking at the thought.

“Oh fuck.” I groaned, my mind drifting even further.

If his fingers were that long, how long was the rest of him? Did his cock size up to his gargantuan stature? What would it feel like? Would it hurt? Would it stretch? Likely, given I hadn’t been intimate with anyone for at least eight months. Would riding him be possible?

“Mmm,” I licked my lips at the image. “God, Noah.”

His name slipped out, and for a split second, I almost blushed, until I remembered it was just me.

That is, until I hard my phone chime on my nightstand.

I groaned, stilling my hand and growling. I was so close, and now it was gone. I snatched my phone, but my body froze when I saw the text on my screen.

Noah: Having fun over there, sweetheart?

My brain melted, completely mortified. Why was he awake?! He went to bed an hour ago!

I couldn’t respond, wishing I could sink into a hole in the mattress and disappear.

His type bubble appeared, and my heart rate sped up.

Noah: You’ve been at it a little while. Sounds like you may need a hand?

What do I even say to that? Am I okay with that? The heat between my legs screamed at me, telling me to take him up on his offer, but my brain put the brakes on.

We are neighbors. Did I want to change that dynamic? Did I want to tempt the fates?

I’m not, and have not been, in a place where I wanted to be in any kind of relationship/situationship/friends with benefits agreement right now. What did inviting him over mean?

Or was it that deep? Did I need to think about it that hard?

Me: Back door’s unlocked.

My finger hovered over the send button for a good 30 seconds before finally getting the nerve to press send. Once I had, I practically threw my phone across the room in hysteria.

What had I done?

After a moment, I heard a sound of a mattress creaking and shifting, and the sound of his sliding door.

Holy fuck.

My room was pitch black, so the light trailing in to the room from the moonlight was disrupted when his tall silhouette appeared. The door slid open smoothly, and he stepped in.

Instinctively, I reached over and tapped on the lamp on my bedside table, propping myself up on my elbows.

There he stood, hair just slightly messy from his pillow, shorts hanging low on his hips, and no tshirt.

Well, that answers my question. His chest and abdomen were covered in colorful, beautiful tattoos. Behind them, his muscles were chiseled and tight.

“You good, angel?”

He stood, and leaned his back against the wall, arms behind his back.

I guess my expression had been confusing, so I shook my head.

“Yeah, just a little embarrassed.”

This made him smile. “You shouldn’t be.”

“No? How much did you hear?”

With this, he pushed off the wall, taking a few steps to the bed, sinking down on the edge next to my leg.

“Oh, not too much.” His hand reached out and his palm ran over my duvet. “Just you moaning my name.”

His eyes flicked up at me from under his lashes.

That was it. I was dead. My face turned a deep crimson and I threw my head back, pulling the pillow over it, praying it would just suffocate me.

This made him chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s humiliating!”

He snorted. “I find it extremely flattering.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” My words were muffled by the pillow.

“You know, you could’ve just asked me to come over.”

I pulled the cover from my face and scoffed. “Oh sure.” I put my hand up to my ear to mimic a telephone. “Hey Noah! I know we’ve never had any kind of sexual contact - ever - but would you by chance come by and help me get off so I can get some sleep, since I can’t seem to quit thinking about you?”

“Sounds good to me, I don’t see the problem.” His smile was so mischievous. I couldn’t help but sheepishly grin.

“Noah-“

He cut me off. “How many times have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

My mouth hung open. “This is the first time…”

He nodded, his hand sliding along the blanket and closer to my leg underneath.

“What changed?”

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve lived next door for six months. Why are you attracted to me now, all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always found you attractive.”

He smirked, his hand slipping up over my calf, applying a small pressure. My skin tingled.

“Then the feeling is mutual.” He sighed, looking up at me. “But tonight was different?”

“I just…” I shrugged, rolling onto my side, which pushed my body closer to him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you singing. Playing the guitar.”

His hand moved up, sliding to my hip and resting there. “Ah, okay. So I serenaded you, and you couldn’t resist?”

This made me giggle. “Gosh, you’re such a dork.”

He snickered, scooting himself closer to me. “Mm, maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that you were thinking about me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Suddenly, the air was thick, and he was leaning closer to me. I leaned my head back, giving him full view of my face. When he was close enough that I could feel his breath brushing across my lips, his eyes searched mine.

“This can just be a one-night thing if you want?”

I bit my bottom lip, and nodded gently.

I felt the skin of his lips press into me as my eyes closed, and I molded, form-fitting to him easily. He shifted, his body laying sideways next to me. Noah’s hand reached up and grasped the side of my face, pulling my body in closer to him.

I couldn’t feel or hear anything but the sound of his soft breathing against me, and the pressure of his hips pressing directly against mine.

His hand fell from my face and grabbed my leg by the back of the knee, hiking my leg up to hook on his hip, pulling my body into him even further. The press of his erection behind his shorts provided the sweetest friction against my pussy, still clothed by my shorts.

He groaned into my mouth, and I bucked my hips against him, begging for more contact.

Making out with Noah was more fun than I had imagined. He licked at my tongue, and I tasted the mint toothpaste he had used right before bed. His lips made the most delicious sounds when they sucked and pulled on mine, it had my head twirling in so many different directions.

All of my fantasies were replaying in my brain. His hands, his arms, his chest. My hands began wandering down his body, feeling every last ridge of muscle he had. I felt the ripple of his skin when he flexed, his body so warm and inviting.

He pulled his lips off of mine to look down at me, eyes dark and full of what had to be desire.

“What do you want me to do?”

What kind of question was that? Wasn’t it obvious?

“What?” I felt as though I was missing some hidden meaning.

He shifted, his body now looming over me, and I laid back flat on the bed so I could look directly at him.

“What…” He leaned down to kiss my lips. “do…” Kiss to my jaw. “you…” Kiss to my throat. “want me…” Kiss on my collarbone. “to do?”

I was panting, my need to feel him against my skin causing a hot burn everywhere I couldn’t.

“I, uh” His lips were attached to my neck, nipping and sucking on the skin of the tattoo etched there. “I don’t know. I just need to feel you.”

He pulled back, eyebrow raised, and smirked.

“Well,” He huffed a breath, running a finger down the skin of my chest above the tank top I wore. “I could pull this off of you.” His hand palmed over my breasts, his thumb tracing around my hard nipple. “Suck on these until you’re begging me for more.”

His eyes glanced up at me, and I just stared at him, eyes blown wide, trying to beg with my stare.

“Or…” His hand lifted off of my chest, and swiftly reached down, grabbing hold of the waistband of my shorts. “I could bury myself between those thighs,” My legs shook at the thought. “and lick you until you’re begging me to stop?”

My hand tightened on his sides, my hips pressing up toward him.

He leaned down again, licking a stripe up my throat. “Then, when you’re a hot, shaking, whining mess, I could fuck you until you can’t see straight.”

I moaned, his hand slipping down to tangle in the small patch of hair I had above on my pubic bone. “How’s that sound, baby girl?”

“So fucking good.” I felt his lips smile against my throat.

“You’ve made it easy for me. You’re not even wearing panties.”

I huffed out a small laugh, letting my eyes fall closed. “Yeah, well maybe I was hoping this would happen.”

“Is that right?” His kisses were moving down my body, his hand pulling my breasts free from my shirt. “Knowing you were over here thinking of me had me so fucking hard, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea.”

Noah’s tongue began circling around my left nipple while his hand massaged the other, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.

He only focused on my chest for a moment before moving downward, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down my stomach, leaving a particularly hard one on my hipbone.

“So fucking sexy, angel. I won’t lie, I’ve thought about you before.” His fingers pulled my shorts down and off with no hesitation, his body settling between my legs.

“I’ve touched myself, dreaming about this gorgeous fucking pussy.” Noah placed a soft, gentle kiss on my inner thigh. “I can see how wet you are from thinking about me, baby. I hope you’re fucking ready.”

I didn’t have time to question what that meant, as his lips were now attached to my clit, the tip of his tongue circling it expertly while his lips sucked hard. My back arched off of the bed, the sensation nearly knocking me sideways.

“Fuck!” I screamed out, hand burying itself in his dark brunette hair. “Oh my God, Noah.”

“That’s it, gorgeous,” He licked at me, lapping up the fluid pooling between my lips. “fuck my face, pretty girl.”

My hips rutted forward, pressing myself into his lips harder. His arms circled my thighs, locking me into place while his mouth absolutely ravaged me at my core.

My entire body was vibrating, my eyes locked on his beautiful face, eyes closed and so focused.

I could feel myself beginning to crest on the edge of my orgasm, and his name came out as a string of prayers off my lips.

“Ugh, Noah…Noah…Noah…”

Without warning, he lifted me hips off of the bed, bringing himself to kneel on the mattress, so only my upper back and head were left on the pillows. The angle brought an entire new level of sensation. His tongue assaulted my clit, flipping back and forth from kitten licks to long, flat strokes, making me dizzier with each repetition.

“Noah, I’m going to come.” I breathed out, and his eyes opened, looking directly at me. His head began to move back and forth ever so slightly, him now locked onto my sweet spot. The ministrations sent me so far over the edge, I felt as though my entire body was floating.

“Oh fuck! Noah! Jesus fuck!”

He didn’t stop, however. Although he was licking me carefully through my climax, he didn’t show signs of slowing down…

“It’s sensitive. Please, I can’t take anymore.”

He disconnected from me for a second to smile deviously. “Sure you can.” And he continued.

“No, please, it’s too much.” I could feel tears welling in my eyes.

He pulled off of me, laying me back down, with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. “The safe word is lions. Use it if you need it.” And he was back to it, making my vision go white.

“Noah, oh God, I can’t handle it, please!”

“You can, and you will.” His voice was factual, leaving no room for argument.

Just as I was about to protest again, I felt his tongue stop, and a sinfully long finger pressed into me, bringing about an entirely new sensation.

“Jesus Christ.” I was struggling to breathe.

“That’s it, baby. You’re so good, taking it all the way in. You’re so fucking perfect.”

My walls tightened around him at his words.

“It’s so fucking tight, baby. I’m almost worried it’s going to hurt when I fuck my name out of your mouth…” He looked up again, pressing a second finger in, a burning sensation pulsing through me. “…almost.”

My chest heaved, my breathing erratic and unstable. It was too good. It hurt so perfectly. His hand began pumping in and out of my body, causing loud, wet sounds.

“Going to make a mess, baby? I’d hope you’d wait until you were in my bed for that.” I couldn’t feel anything but his fingers inside me, driving me to insanity. “Thats alright, I’ll clean up. Go ahead and let go, honey. Come for me.”

An ear splitting screech ripped out of me, my body being rocked by another hard orgasm. His hand slowed, his fingers slipping out eventually.

“So fucking pretty. You got me all wet, I can’t tell you how fucking hot that was.”

I laid, eyes closed, working to bring myself back down to Earth. I wasn’t given much of a chance before I felt his tongue lapping at me again, making me squeal and jerk away from him.

“Nope.” His hands pulled me back to him. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The tears in my eyes were running. “Noah, please. Please!”

“I haven’t heard the safe word.” His face was buried in my folds, tongue pressing inside me. “You can do it baby, just one more, okay? I need one more.”

My head fell back on the pillows, savoring the soft, slow swipes of his tongue against me. It was almost…relaxing? He wa easing me through it, building me back up.

“Okay baby, you ready for another?”

I didn’t dare look at him, only nodded my head.

His fingers slipped back in, curling at the spot that makes my toes curl, and latched onto me again, his lips sucking hard on my clit.

This orgasm came quicker, washing over me like ocean waves hitting high tide. This time, I only managed to sigh hard when it hit me, feeling so wonderfully exhausted.

“That’s my girl. Perfect.”

I felt him lift up, but I still couldn’t make eye contact. My eyes were so heavy, and I couldn’t even fathom movement.

The bed dipped down next to me, and I cracked my lids to see him smiling. He reached down and kissed my cheek lovingly.

“Still there, Angel?”

I smiled a sleepy grin, and nodded. “That was…” There were no words. They didn’t exist.

“I’m glad you enjoyed.” I felt the blanket being pulled over me, and I opened my eyes in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled lightly. “You need to get some sleep, beautiful. I know I talked a big game, but you’re exhausted. That was the goal.” He smoothed a hand over my stomach. “Help you get some rest.”

I rolled on my side, pouting slightly. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be just fine.”

His hand reached over and switched the light off on the nightstand. He moved to stand up, by my arm came out to grab his. He turned his head and looked at me.

“Could you…” I cleared my throat. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Even though it’s just one night?”

I smirked, lifting the blanket for him to crawl under. With his own grin, he did so, lifting his arm so I could tuck in, head laid on his chest and arm falling over his stomach.

“Maybe it's more than just one night.”

#bad omens #noah sebastian #fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fic #bad omens cult

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milksuu · 3 months

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❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ─── ☾⏺☽

phase O.1 // phase O.2

pairing: yandere!aphelios x solari!priestess!reader (LoL)

tw: non/con, fem!reader, oral sex (f. receiving), possessive/obsessive behavior, somnophilia, object insertion, blood/violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms, kidnapping/imprisonment, implied forced relationship, unbalanced power dynamic, enemies to lovers vibe

notes: here it is besties. thank you all for being so patient with me. and thank you to all the lovelies who've commented/msgd me asking about it and wanting more. im just so glad to share my unhinged obsessions. i do have plans to make a third part, but again, could be a bit. so sorry ahhh.

You hadn’t realized you were stolen to sleep. Sobbing yourself into the veiled shadows of your mind in the arms of something—someone—so haunting. A damning surrender on your part. It was a miracle you had the pleasure of opening your eyes. When the moon crawler could have offered you death instead.

When your lashes winged wholly, the haze of a night-dark bedroom washed your sight. You breathed in your surroundings. The linen bed sheets beneath your fingertips, a worktable littered with dried herbs and vials, and a vaulted chest for storing valuables. A simple room one would toss a coin for a night at a common tavern.

With effort, you pulled yourself to your knees. The weight of clothes shifted against your body. Looking down, you pinched the fabric of a clean gown. And when a hair strand fell to your cheek, you caught the faintest scent of lavender and nightshade. Drifting your attention lower, a mild soreness welled between your legs, accounting for last night's debauchery. A reminder of an ache you could never wash away, no matter how much you scrubbed yourself raw. But even scrapping your skin till you bled from bone seemed a better feeling than this.

That thought alone made you pause in your observations and consider the only details that mattered.

Where were you and...

Where was he?

You crawled over to the side of the bed. Pressing your feet against the ground, something like cold iron grazed them. You reached through the dark and secured a dulled paring knife. Your gaze studied an apple not too far away, half peeled from the skin of its flesh. Dropped mid-serving, for whatever the reason was. Knife in hand, you tiptoed to the bedroom door and tried to pry it open. It shuddered against your touch—locked. It seemed the only way to escape was by key, and to your misfortune, you didn’t have to guess who had it in strict keeping.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A brush of cold licked across your nape. Turning towards the sound, there was another adjoining room. A washroom, perchance. You tightened your hold on the knife, and willed your bare feet forward, swallowing your thudding heart. You counted each step, pausing when a puddle glistened before the doorway. Dark in color and metallic in aroma, a shiver traced your spine as you stepped over it.

Under the door frame, your sight fell upon him, bare and slumped in a wooden bath. You stood still, not daring to flinch, in case he had his own knife hidden beneath the surface tension. When your presence hadn’t been acknowledged, you padded closer.

Examining him further, you noticed not a lick of a wound, scrape, or gash on his body. Nothing that would substantiate the splatter of blood you'd passed. Falling onto his face, the faintest shimmer stained the corners of his lips. You would’ve deemed him dead if it weren’t for the labored breaths and shivers of his body.

A saccharine taste of flowers sprang to the tip of your tongue.

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you brought the knife a near inch to his throat. You hadn’t noticed the slits of his eyes cracked open, branding you the moment you stepped in. Before you could jerk back, his hand leapt from the bath water. You winced when he took your wrist, expecting him to plunge the blade in your direction. Instead, he lulled his head to the side, and guided your hand to press the sharp edge against the skin of his neck.

“This angle is much better, isn’t it?” Aphelios stated rather than asked, his wet hair flowing like liquid night across his features. “You can stare deeply into the eyes of your enemy, and watch that insignificant light fade from them. Then, and only then, do you know they’re truly dead. If that's what you would like to do to me..." you held your breath and felt the blue of his veins beat against the blade. “Now’s your chance.”

Your hands trembled, his mortal essence flowing right at your fingertips. But the mere thought of relishing red-stained hands overwhelmed you with a bout of nausea, weakening your grasp at the hilt. Even if he deserved every bit of suffering, and for you to celebrate his undoing by a dull carving knife, it wasn’t who you were.

You refused to be anything like him.

“Strange. Not many Burning One’s would hesitate at the offer. It’s no wonder they locked you away in that sunlit temple.” He released your shaking hand and traced the outline of your face. “Far from the shadows they’ve cast down.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you seethed, tugging your chin away from his touch. He leaned back in the basin, his shoulders taut as he fought against a cough. You narrowed your lashes at a string of blood pouring from his lips. “It’s not my place to deliver your punishment, but your trial of judgment will come. It’s already apparent you’re paying for your transgressions. And I’m glad for it.”

Your words were false against your true sensibilities. Feeling foolish for your heart to ache with sympathy for him, a wretched murderer and lech. The wiser part of you screamed when you set aside the knife, took up a washcloth, and wiped at his mouth. A cord in his jaw tightened, and you noted a life-stealing grip at the tub's edge.

A trained reflex to wrap his fingers around your neck.

Had you been anyone else.

Had you been anyone else, you would’ve been flayed open across the altar. Had you been anyone else, the pathetic knife you threatened him with would be stuck heart deep between your breasts. Had you been anyone else, She would have commanded your sacrifice.

You banished the unwelcomed thought.

“The water’s freezing. How long have you let yourself sit here?” His lips merely mirrored a fine line at the question. Under your gaze, you watched another invisible ripple tighten the tethers of his muscles. You exhaled on a presumptive thought. “You can’t move. Can you?”

The black glass of his eyes stared at nothing, and said nothing. Then and there, that cold existence would rather suffer than utter a single word of admittance.

“Seems you like to keep quiet when it’s convenient for you.” You quipped, wringing out the washcloth with indignation. “No different from a child throwing a tantrum when it suits them. I should leave you here then. Let whatever you catch take you within a week’s time. It would save a lot of others the trouble.”

His face remained a blank sheet of ice, and you interpreted it as an invitation to do as you pleased. He’d given you the choice to take his life, after all. Now you understood he’d meant every word. Perhaps he even intended to pay a compliment. Not a bluff or jab at your softer nature, even after you had foolishly settled to spare him.

You banished the strange sentiment. Once you had found a way to get him to bed and asleep, you would scrounge the room for a key. Wherever he had chosen to hide it.

“Golden Sister, avert your light," you asked for pardon under your breath.

You drew up your hand, calling forth a kindle of golden sunlight. It pulsed and radiated with warmth, kissing the tips of your fingers. The glow of it illuminated your company’s features. That face of marble chipped at the corner of his eyes; a crack of unnerving reproach. When you guided your hand towards the pane of his chest, he ruefully shifted away.

You clicked your tongue. “You’ll let me freely cut your throat, but the moment I try to help, you want nothing to do with it. Either you hold still, or I reconsider your offer. Which one is it?”

He responded with a slowed and pained breath. When he leaned back, you pressed a palm to his sternum.

Closing your eyes, you concentrated on the ebb and flow of warm light reaching for him; through him. When you entered, dark shadows ripped and slashed against your magic. Sharper than daggers of ice, piercing hotter than any black flame. Sweat gathered at your temples. Furrowing your brows, you steeled your magic from shattering and concentrated your radiance. Gradually, the thrashing tendrils subdued into undulating wisps that languidly brushed across your presence.

“I can’t heal whatever sickness you’ve caused yourself. It's unfamiliar to me. And even if I could, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting to spend eternity with your false deity," you admitted, withdrawing. “But I should have eased the pain. Enough for you to manage from here and to bed.”

Without a word, and with what little strength he still possessed, he gripped the lip of the tub. You hooked an arm underneath his own, and his legs trembled as he rose from the bathwater. When he dragged his feet from the bath, he banked to catch himself on the wall with his hand. The unexpected sway almost swept your footing away. With luck, he managed to hold himself as you helped him stagger out of the washroom.

When he dropped onto the bed, the weight of him brought you to your knees beside him. You huffed, prying his arm away from the support of your shoulders. He made no effort to force you to lay with him. Thankfully, the soothing effects of your work made him pliable, gifting you a moment of safe assurance.

Your gaze roamed the softness that rounded his previously sharpened features. His brows rested light above his closed eyes, and his lashes long and airy curtained over the smooth contour of his cheeks. His face once devoid of color now brushed with a stroke of pink from your magic. If you hadn’t been the wiser, you would’ve believed him to be a completely different person.

Nothing like a weapon now.

You pulled yourself from your careless observations, remembering time was of the essence if you’d hope of escape. Turning away, ghostly fingertips graced the skin of your cheek. Your breath hitched. Drawn back, his black pearls peeked from their bed of lashes. His lips moved, but deft as the words were, you swore it was a mere breath in the night.

‘...thank you.’

Your heart constricted, abandoning you in a space stolen of thought, let alone a reply. To your horror, the squeeze of your chest wasn't entirely unpleasant. Still, you feared to linger on it, knowing it would sooner kill you if you’d let it. You consciously berated yourself to get away—hurry, hurry! But like a silent poison of its own kind, you suddenly felt weak in spirit. And to no one’s fault but of your own.

You had drained yourself dry by helping him.

Still in his touch, your body sank onto the bed next to him. He traced the contour of your neck, past the dip of your clavicle, down to the arc of your hip bones. Lingering there, he drew lazy circles against the fabric till it hitched at your waist. His fingers slipped beneath, brushing a hand against the bare skin of your waist. You trembled, weathering the cold bite of his touch. No better than prey submitting to a cruel yet ordained circumstance.

“I should have never…” you swallowed, remorse tightening your throat.

His hand paused—watching a glint of wetness stain your eyes—then pulled you in with devastating gentleness. Resting his brow at your breasts, he enveloped you in his arms, and curled himself bare between your legs. Holding you in an embrace that was more delicate than heartbreak, drawing out a shuddering breath from your lips.

For what seemed like an eternity, you laid there. Feigning death, praying for your eyes to never close again. Hoping to salvage the opportune moment to escape once he let go. But exhaustion was a beast that stalked your side and sank its fangs in the spots where he held you close. Paralyzing all your nerves till they went flak, dragging your body limp in his touch.

And your waning consciousness along with it.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Behind closed eyes, the world was dark. An unfeeling landscape where nothing else existed. A state you could find yourself clinging to for the rest of your days to come. If only you were lucky enough to stay. Like a match to your body, a flame curled and burned beneath your dampening skin. The scorch of it trailing the woods of your body. A fire in your blood snaking lower to feed the smoldering spit simmering in your belly.

You shuddered, twitched and bit softly at the bottom half of your lip. Long, devoted fingers cradled your waist as lips graced the lower parts of your stomach. The careful graze of teeth at your navel sent your eyelids fluttering, where a glaze of lingering sleep clouded your vision. Only after a few blinks did you bid the fog away, and woke to the sight of yourself.

The hem of your nightgown had been shelved above your swollen breasts, revealing nipples perked and coated wet with saliva. A sheen of sweat glistened like oil from mound to curve, and found the wicked Lunari man responsible for your state laid between your legs.

Your lips quivered, struggling to speak through the feverish qualities burning away at your flesh. You couldn’t even attempt to prop yourself up, let alone drag yourself away. Your body felt heavy and drunk off whatever pleasure it had thirsted for and drank without complaint.

“What are you…” you started, but your voice was too sticky. Too mumbly. Not even swallowing would help.

“I had a dream about your sunlight. That small, pleasant piece you shared with me last night.” He took pause, flitting his attention up from below, where his black slits narrowed with shameless intent. “I wondered what it would taste like.”

“N–Not down there,” you pleaded out a half-choked whimper. “It isn’t clean.”

“Isn’t it, though? Have you considered how you might’ve bathed last night? Wondered who could have done it for you.” He trailed feather-light kisses down your inner thigh, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. “Washed your hair. Washed your body. And...” he tempted lower and lower, until the heat of his breaths warmed your folds, making them bloom with ache. "Everything in between.”

“Stop saying things like that. Stop doing things like this,” you said, wanting to speak them as commands. But the crack in your voice watered your tone down to unconsolable weeping. Knowing you had made a terrible mistake. Knowing no amount of your good nature would spare the heat of his mouth from teasing you relentlessly. Knowing you had no control as your cunt dripped itself into a pitiful mess. You tossed your head back and forth, desperate to hide the humiliation of your face in the throws of bedding.

“Please.” Your chest heaved and shuddered. “Just let me go.”

"Fated or not, you’ve chosen to stay. First, when you decided not to kill me in my most vulnerable state.” He eased the flat of his tongue over your leaking entrance, dragging it upward to flick your clit. Your hands clasped over your mouth to stifle the degrading noises that dared to leave. “Second, when you helped me to bed and kept it warm with me. And third—”

He plunged the length of his tongue into you, reaching for your center. You cried out through the gaps in your fingers, feeling something clenched deep inside you—and it wasn't his tongue. It was impeccably hard, with a distinct weld, shape and curve. The tip of his tongue swirled and twisted around it, coaxing it to rub along your sensitive ridges on the way out. When it revealed itself at your entrance, he took the object with a bite. A clink of metal between his teeth. With a shuddering gasp, your hips bucked once he slipped it past the squeeze of your hole.

“Even though you held the key inside you this whole time,” he fingered the iron loop and slid it across his tongue. You flushed when he consumed your gaze below. “You waited for me to take it.”

Your head and heart pounded with blood. When…when did he…?

Before you could object, his mouth reclaimed all your ripe and swollen parts. Graciously kissing, licking, feasting between your legs. Your hips jolted as you squirmed against him. His hands gripped to dimple the softness of your thighs, parting you open like two delicate and succulent halves of a fruit.

Your eyes clenched shut, trying to forge the words that would stop him. But none existed in the pleasurable thickness that drowned your senses, possessing your hips to meet him at each languid lap. Turning your saliva into hot syrup in your mouth. Muddling any conceivable words down to moanful whines, sloppy whimpers, and broken utterances. Completely helpless as every stroke of his tongue made a creamy reduction of your insides, threatening to spill over every edge.

Your nails twisted into the bedsheets, and you broke for breath. “Can’t—n’ more—“

The moon devil interpreted your incoherent pleas for mercy as undying praise. Encouraging him to devour you with the passion of a starved man who’d forsaken each meal before you. Listening to a hunger that told him you would be his last, and echoed a fear that it would never be enough.

One last brush of his tongue and he clasped his lips around the bud, suckling on its throbbing plumpness.

A burst of pressure had you coming undone onto his mouth. Wails ripped through the air as your back careened into that awful crescent shape for him. You reached to push him away, but he’d caught your hands before you could lay a finger. You choked out a sob when he tacked your writhing wrists against the bed and continued to worship your taste with his mouth. Savoring every part of your quivers and cries, down to the very last gushing drop induced from your spasms.

When he had taken his last sip of pleasure, he rose from between your thighs to loom above you.

“You’re exactly as I imagined you would taste.” His voice was a thin whisper on his glistening lips. As if he hadn’t even wanted the walls to hear. A secret only he would ever know, and for you to be the only one he’d share it with.

He bent forward, panting with an unsatiated appetite against your mouth. “Sweet and warm.”

He took your lips, letting you drink up your arousal. A heavy, generous pour. The dewy tang of yourself flushed your face and neck with color. Your heart raced, gasping for breaths in a blur of moans and kisses.

Tears of utter shame and frustration dotted your lashes, till they fell over in heaps. Yet, even your tears didn’t go to waste. He traced his tongue over your flushed and burning cheeks, catching every bit like spilled honey. And all you could do was lay there, unable to escape his sensual gilded cage. All the while hating yourself for wanting his mouth all over you—wanting to know how it’d feel claiming every inch of skin.

And hating him all the more for it.

#aphelios x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #league of legends #reader insert #aphelios #x reader #yandere aphelios x reader #yandere smut #league of legends x reader #tw noncon #mdni

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starryalpacasstuff · 7 months

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Indian BL? FROM 2017????

There's an Indian BL from 2017 that I just watched. And I have incoherent thoughts

Before I continue, massive thanks to my bestie @anixknowsnothin for telling me about this show and proofreading the post for me. You don't even watch bl so I have no idea how you found this, but I'm incredibly grateful nonetheless

Here's the link to where I watched the show from, there's a glitch in the first episode subs where the subs seem to be from another show entirely, but it's only for the first ep and about 50% of the dialogue is in English anyways, so it shouldn't be hard to follow.(My ask box is also always open if there's a specific dialogue/scene in Hindi that you want the translation of)

Edit: The link seems to be region locked, so to watch it you can use a vpn and set your region to India, otherwise the episodes are available on youtube, albeit without subs

Note:- this post is going to have a few mild spoilers throughout, but I'll flag major spoilers in red

It's no secret that India is fairly behind when it comes to queer love shows if we compare it to other Asian countries. While it has a handful of great queer shows and movies, it's still quite a small quantity. Additionally, before this, I'd never watched an Indian show that felt like I was watching a bl (if you have recs, please send them my way!!). I'm not going to get into the technicalities of what feels like a bl and doesn't, because honestly, I'm not completely sure myself. For now, I'm just going based off of vibes and feelings, and this show felt like a bl through and through.

Titled 'Romil and Jugal' after its main characters, the story is a modern, desi, bl remake of the classic story...

Romeo and Juliet

Well, Bad Buddy was the first Thai bl I ever watched, so Romil and Jugal being the first Indian BL I watched just feels right, no?

I didn't actually know that the story was based off of Romeo and Juliet till the second episode, because I didn't bother looking for a synopsis, and jumped right in. However, it's links to Romeo and Juliet quickly became apparent, around the same time I started to see similarities between this show and Bad Buddy. I also did not know that this show came out in 2017 before I googled it, having already watched the entire thing, which was a pretty huge shock, because this BL is progressive by 2024 India standards.

Alright, enough of my rambling. Here's a synopsis of the show in case you haven't heard of it. (I couldn't find an official one, so I did my best to write a spoiler free synopsis)

Ramya happens to start talking to a slightly older woman at an airport, who believes that there is no romance in the younger generation. To prove her wrong, Ramya decides to tell the older woman her brother's love story. The story from the past is shown to us as Ramya narrates it to the woman in the present. Jugal is a closeted 19-year-old who lives with his parents. One day, a family moves into the house next door, and Jugal immediately falls for the son, Romil. The two of them attend the same college, and eventually become friends. The two of them eventually get together, but have to face the challenges of a homophobic society and having parents that hate each other.

I was a little skeptical of the show going in, but the show surpassed all of my expectations in the best way possible. It's no masterpiece, and it has its flaws, but it was far better than what I expected. It had both comical elements and darker themes, and it did not shy away from exploring the darker themes at all. Oh, and it has a few musical numbers. What did you expect? This is India after all.

The show is 10 episodes long, with 20 minutes per episode, and so it does unfortunately fall into some of the pitfalls that shorter shows tend to fall into, namely underdeveloped relationships and rushed endings. I did end up feeling a little bit like it didn't make sense for the pair to sacrifice and suffer as much as they did because they hadn't known each other for very long, and I felt like they should have been given more time to fall in love with each other. But it also could be argued that the show stays true to the play, and Romil and Jugal are dumb teenagers who make mistakes and stick with each other through them. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it.

One thing that I loved the show for was that it showed us that the relationship is not all sunshine and rainbows. They argue, they break up, they get back together, and they do argue even after that. But every time, they eventually work through the issue and reconcile. The show even depicts Romil dealing with internalized homophobia and struggling to reconcile with the fact that he will never be who his family wants him to be. Although I do wish they'd have had more time to explore this, I'd say it was decently depicted and handled. The show really delves into how children are forced to uphold their family's wishes and are constantly put under pressure to make them proud. Although it clearly affects both of them, it's more obvious with Romil, who is expected by his family to date and marry the daughter of his father's boss, whom they think he is dating. There's a metaphor along this theme too, where Romil pretends to like the mango shake that his mom has been making for him since he was a kid, even though he hates it, and when he tries to tell her, he has to act like it was a joke to spare her feelings. The show also goes into the communal mindset of basing your actions off "what will people think?", and you can see how a lot of the characters' actions throughout the show are haunted by this question. Some of Romil and Jugal's earlier disagreements are due to this very mindset.

The show also very candidly depicts the extreme homophobia of society in India. Romil and Jugal had to constantly hide who they were, always having to keep up a mask and I felt that reach somewhere deep inside me. When the pair come out, the show really shows how ugly homophobia can be in India. Their parents immediately disown them. They're mocked in college and wrongfully suspended for a fight that was provoked by other students. Very, very few people stand with them, and the pair very quickly realize that now that they are out, they simply cannot live in the city anymore. So with the help of Jugal's best friend and her mother, they flee to Mumbai, where they get jobs and live as paying guests with a friend of the aforementioned mother. But, even in Mumbai, the masks stay up. They have to act like cousins, for fear of being persecuted. The series depicted the worst-case scenario that so many of us live in fear of, so watching it was something of a cathartic experience for me.

Another thing that the show did quite well is showing how different people and their mindsets can be. Jugal's best friend, Ahalya, and her mom are very supportive, and they help the pair out quite a bit. Ahalya's mother provided a safe house for the pair and helped them find a fresh start. Meanwhile, Romil and Jugal's parents are incredibly homophobic. There was a scene that really stuck with me, (mild spoiler ahead, skip to the last sentence of the paragraph) where Ahalya's mother came across Jugal's mother, who prided herself on being educated and well-read, searching up how to cure homosexuality. Ahalya's mother then tells her off for calling herself educated yet believing that homosexuality is an illness. It is so important to me that the show depicted both the violent homophobia that permeates Indian society and the surprising, warm acceptance that one can find.

One final thing that I loved about this show so, so much is just how authentically Indian it feels. Asian cultures share a lot in common, but they also have their differences, so seeing a show where I can imagine encountering the characters in real life is really amazing. Rather than something big, it was little things sprinkled throughout the story that warmed my heart. The story felt like something I could hear the local aunties gossiping about. The way it depicts queerness in India hits incredibly close to home.

One thing I've learned watching Asian bls is that the ending of a show can make it or break it, but with this one, I'm stuck. The best way I can describe the ending is absolutely insane and incredibly Bollywood.

I believe this show was supposed to get a second season because the last two minutes of the show leave us with a massive cliffhanger. Now, it's been 7 years, so a second season is unlikely, so I'm simply pretending that the last two minutes of the show never happened. But the ending has so much more to it than just this (Major spoilers for the ending up ahead. I mean it when I say major, this is like going into Bad Buddy knowing that they're going to trick their parents in the end).

About halfway through the show, I remembered what play it was based upon and realized that there was a very real possibility that Romil and Jugal would die. The first half of the last episode leads up to this, telling us that they died when reconciling after an argument in the middle of the road when they were hit by a truck. We get a super emotional scene (yes, I cried) where the two families somewhat reconcile in their grief as they go to the police station to identify the bodies. Except... they're not dead, which is revealed when Romil's father hugs Romil's (not) dead body. They reveal that they planned this to show their family that they still loved their sons. I did say it was like PatPran tricking their parents in the end, didn't I? So the families reunite, Romil and Jugal get jobs in New Zealand and get married, and return to India for a wedding celebration (yes, I cried. again). The ending does feel slightly rushed, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. Believing that your child is dead for a bit is a somewhat justifiable reason for a sudden change of heart. There's a part where Romil and Jugal tell their parents that if they choose acceptance, they can reconcile, but if they choose to remain prejudiced, Romil and Jugal can simply get back on the stretchers, because they'll be as good as dead to their families anyways and it is *chef's kiss*.

All in all, the show was surprisingly heartfelt and poignant. It had me laughing, kicking my feet and even crying. There's a lot more about this show that I could talk about, but I'm going to stop here for now, and I'll try to write more on it later. This show really does deserve more recognition than it has, and I'm almost mad at myself for not knowing about it before. Am I being really biased when talking about this show? Absolutely. But I do think that this show is a worthwhile watch, and I'd really like to see what other people on here think of the show, especially because I'm aware that I am biased towards this show.

I'm tagging a few people who I know might be interested/have some thoughts about the show because this is a show that I really want to hear other people's opinions on and have conversations about, so I hope you guys don't mind!

@waitmyturtles @lurkingshan @bengiyo @neuroticbookworm

#good lord this post is almost 2k words #i think this is the longest post i have ever written #and there's more thoughts rattling around in my brain about this show #did i convince you to watch the show?#please say yes #i need people to talk to about this show #bl recs #indian bl #indian bl recs #romil and jugal #romil & jugal #bad buddy #i mean it's related #how does everything i write about somehow find it's way to that goddam show #but seriously romil and jugal was surprisingly very good #i did not expect it at all #but i have never been so glad to be proven wrong

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sequinsmile-x · 6 months

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Can you write a fic where Emily is pregnant, and she feels the baby move for the first time but panics something is wrong because she'd already lost a baby previously?? She doesn't know whats happening and the new sensation immediately freaks her out. Kind of like Meredith in Greys.

hiii bestie! Of course - I love this idea.

This fic takes my word count on Ao3 over 2 million words. 2 MILLION WORDS OF HOTCHNISS. That is wild, and bonkers and just...a true testament to my brain being nothing other than a desk covered in an unending pile of ideas vaguely organised into stacks.

I am writing a fic (a Hunger Games AU) that is as unhinged as the thing it is celebrating haha, so keep an eye out for that, but for now I just want to say thanks for being here, thanks for always being so supportive of my work, and....heres to the next 2 million I guess.

-x-

Flutter

Pregnancy had been rough on her since the start.

AKA the one where Emily feels a new sensation in her pregnancy and panics, but Aaron knows exactly what it is.

-x-

Words: 2k

Warnings: pregnancy, references to previous miscarriage

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily sighs contentedly as she settles into her seat on the jet, excited that they are finally heading home after a long case. She was exhausted, tired in a way that she hadn’t thought was possible, and her plan for the five-hour trip home was to sleep.

“Are you okay sweetheart?”

She smiles sleepily as she turns to look at her husband, “I’m okay,” she says, placing her hand on her bump, “Your kid is sucking the life out of me,” she says, raising her eyebrow as her smile becomes wry, “But I’m okay.”

Pregnancy had been rough on her since the start. Her nausea in her first trimester had hit her hard and fast, leaving her unable to keep anything but water and the plainest possible food down. It felt like everything, not just food, triggered it - including Aaron’s cologne that she’d always loved. He’d stopped using it the moment she told him, even going as far as showering immediately to wash away any remnants, aware that his wife loved to snuggle with him when she didn’t feel well.

He’d been everything she could have ever hoped for in a partner during this. Kind and attentive and always aware of her needs, sometimes even before she was. He bordered on overprotective a lot, but she did nothing except raise her eyebrow at him every time he yelled at Derek for eating breakfast sandwiches in front of her that would make her gag. She’s sure as she gets further along, it would drive her crazy, that she’d end up yelling at him when he went what she deemed too far in his quest to protect her and their unborn child, but for now, she let it slide.

This was something they’d both waited for, both wanted so much, and she couldn’t imagine being mad at him for wanting to look after them.

She’d been pregnant once before. They’d only been trying for a couple of months when she felt slightly off and took a test, her eyes wide as she gripped the positive test in her hands. They’d been excited, overjoyed at the prospect of making their family bigger. They’d huddled together in the armchair in their bedroom that morning, both of their palms on her still flat belly, talking about their plans for the future.

Their joy had been shortlived. It was only a couple of weeks later when Emily started to notice cramping, a discomfort that was mild at first and got worse very quickly. By the time they made it to the hospital, she knew what the doctor was going to say, her hand tight around Aaron’s as they had confirmation that she had miscarried. She’d walked out of that hospital with a broken dream and a plastic bag full of medication she’d taken once before. They were pills she’d taken in secret in the Embassy in Rome, as opposed to the comfort of her own home, her husband by her side as she helped her body along with the process it had started by itself.

There was still joy when she found out she was pregnant this time. Still an unrelenting type of happiness she would have once said was beyond her, but it was quickly chased by fear. An anxiety she still couldn’t shift even though she was 19 weeks along now.

She knew Aaron was anxious too, which was why he was overprotective, wanting to do everything he could to keep her and the baby safe. It’s why she let him talk her into not leaving the precinct when they were away on cases weeks, and why she’d already agreed to stop going on cases altogether when she hits her third trimester.

Aaron chuckles softly and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead and he puts his hand over hers on her stomach, linking their fingers together, “Why don’t you try and get some sleep on the way home?”

She hums and shifts in her seat, her hand still on her bump, “I’m going to try,” she yawns and rests her head on his shoulder, her eyes drifting shut, “I hope you don’t mind me using you as a pillow.”

He smiles again, seemingly undeterred by the fact the team were all within listening distance, that Derek and Dave were sitting opposite them, fascinated by this relatively rare insight into what they were like when they were just Aaron and Emily, as opposed to Hotch and Prentiss.

“It’s what I was made for sweetheart,” he says, kissing the top of her head, and she smiles, pressing her cheek further into his jacket.

She hears a barely covered snicker from the other side of the table and she feels Aaron tense. She never wanted him to feel embarrassed for how much he loved her, never wanted him to feel ashamed. She kicks out and smiles when her foot connects with Derek’s shin.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he complains, and he's frowning when she peels her eyes open to look at him.

“You were thinking it,” she grumbles, wrapping both of her arms around one of Aarons as she snuggles back down, her eyes closing again, “Pregnant and half asleep or not I’ll still kick your ass.”

Aaron places his hand over one of hers and squeezes, “Go to sleep, Em. I’ll wake you up just before we land.”

She falls asleep before the plane even leaves the tarmac.

___

She feels groggy when she wakes up, like she’s slept not enough and entirely too much all at once. Aaron insists that she waits in the car for him as they deplane, and she doesn’t have it in her to argue with him when he says he’ll bring her bag to the car.

She yawns as she pulls the visor down to check her reflection in the mirror and she winces, horrified to learn she looked as tired as she feels. She places her hand on her bump and leans back in her seat, flipping the visor back up.

“You’d better be cute,” she grumbles, rubbing a circle on her stomach, a smile spreading across her face, “Who am I kidding, of course you’re going to be cute.”

That’s when she feels it. A strange sensation rolling through her belly, a fluttering that is enough to make her freeze, her eyes wide as she stops breathing for a second, waiting for it to happen again. It does, and she feels familiar panic start to spread through her, chasing the feeling away like a harsh winter breeze. She immediately feels nauseous, bile climbing up her throat as she convinces herself something is wrong with her baby, that she’d got too comfortable, too safe in her happiness that she’d somehow let something slip.

She jumps slightly when the driver's door opens and Aaron climbs in, but she remains frozen in place apart from that, both of her hands on her belly.

“I was thinking we could pick dinner up on the way home,” he says, pulling the door closed behind him, “Do you still want chicken nuggets…” He drifts off when he looks at her and panic flashes through him, he reaches out and touches her cheek, gently encouraging her to look at him, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

She blows out a breath, tears she hates pressing at the back of her eyes as she shakes her head, “I don’t know. I felt something…I don’t know what I felt,” she says, speaking so uncharacteristically quickly he worries she might choke, her words strangled by tears, “I think something is wrong.”

He has to swallow down the fear that threatens to climb up his throat as he looks at her stomach, the way she’s got both hands on it as if she’s trying to protect their child from whatever she’s felt. He could feel whatever he needed to feel later, right now she needed him to be the strong one when it was so often the other way around.

“Sweetheart,” he says, catching a tear on her cheek and pushing it away, “Tell me what you felt, okay?” He says calmly, hoping his smile is reassuring, “And we’ll go from there.”

She growls in frustration, more aimed at herself than anything else, hating the fact pregnancy had entirely removed her ability to control her emotions, “I don’t know how to explain it,” she grumbles, her lips pressing together in an attempt to stop her chin from trembling, “It felt like…maybe gas bubbles I guess? Or like a swirling sensation. What if something is wrong? I can’t lose-”

“Em,” he says, cutting her off, reaching for one of her hands and linking it with his, a bubble of relief popping in his chest, making him relax a little, “Did it feel like butterflies in your stomach? Like a fluttering sensation?”

She sniffs and pauses for a moment as she thinks about it, and she then nods, tears splashing down onto her cheeks, “Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat, “Yeah it did feel like that.”

He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, a conversation he’d had with Haley years ago coming to mind. She’d sat next to him in bed, describing in detail how it felt when Jack moved inside of her, her smile teasing as he lamented that he couldn’t feel anything on the outside yet. It felt like a crossroads in his life, a moment from his past colliding with his present, the lessons she’d learnt whilst loving Haley always coming into play whilst loving Emily.

“That’s the baby moving,” he says, lifting their joint hands and kissing her knuckles, “What you felt is our baby moving, sweetheart.”

She just stares at him as he repeats himself, his words not sinking in as she looks down at her bump, “Wh…what?” She looks up at him, her eyes slightly wild, still not entirely convinced that the perceived danger was over yet, “How do you know that?”

He reaches out and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “That’s how Haley always described it to me,” he says, his smile soft and wistful, “Like a butterfly flapping its wings,” his smile gets wider as he chuckles, “Until of course he got bigger and she started comparing Jack to a soccer player.”

Emily laughs, the sound catching on a sob as she shakes her head, “Well, he is a good mid-fielder,” she says, wiping tears from her cheeks, “So the baby’s okay?”

He nods, “We’ll keep an eye on things obviously, if you feel any pain or have any bleeding we’ll go straight to the hospital,” he leans forward and stamps his lips against hers, “But yes, the baby is okay. They are just saying hi.”

She chuckles and shakes her head and rubs a firm circle on her stomach, relief spreading through her so quickly she feels lightheaded.

“Hi baby,” she says, almost willing to feel the movement again, to be able to enjoy it without feeling the fear that she’d immediately fallen into, “We’re so looking forward to meeting you.”

Aaron kisses her again before he leans over the centre console and kisses her bump, “And if you think Mommy is protective now, just you wait until you wait until you’re here.”

Emily narrows her eyes playfully as he pulls back, “What did you say?”

“I said I’m taking you and baby for some chicken nuggets,” he says, smiling at her as he clips his seatbelt into place and starts the car.

“That’s what I thought,” she hums and places her hand on his as he places his on her thigh, squeezing gratefully, hoping she could put everything she never quite found the words for into the touch, her love for him seeping from her skin into his.

A week later, when they find out they are having a son, Emily watches in fascination as their little boy's movements on the screen match up in real time with the fluttering she feels beneath her skin.

-x-

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

Note

If its ok what if

Lloyd hansen x reader x steve rogers

🥵 smutt

ya know, it took me a loooong time--this ask is from september--to come up with something, but today's the day apparently! And, AND! The lovely @darsynia made me an awesome graphic whilst I wrote all this filth! Thank you, bestie!!! WC 3.3k

Warnings for oh fuck these two are terrors, smut, goddamn fighting (obviously, bc they can't get along in any universe), possibly the worst fucking puns ever and I no longer care, terrible/inaccurate/but very mild dom/sub vibes, not much but knife play. Please note that this work does not involve the two men together. Alternate title: Ro is 1,000% [nope, better make it 1,000,000%] going to hell. MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you!

You can tell Steve is about to crawl out of his skin as the knife touches yours.

"You buy these pretty things for me?" Lloyd coos, tucking the point of his switchblade beneath a lacy seam. He knows damn well the navy set with bright red hearts is not for his enjoyment at all, so he turns his head to stare at your husband.

"Useless," Lloyd growls, flicking his wrist deftly.

The sliced fabric springs back to reveal your thatch of hair. You have no idea whether Lloyd was talking about your panties or Steve, and frankly, you're too turned on to care. There’s a certain amount of goading you expected aimed at the awkward hunk leaning on the far wall.

Steve clenches his arms tighter across his chest and sucks in a breath, eyes darting to your skin in case Lloyd drew blood, but his gaze lingers at your almost exposed core.

He hates this whole idea, but you have tried talking to him so many times about how to make sex more interesting. Steve can't stand to even listen to the words much less do what you want. This is the compromise.

Lloyd Hansen will do anyone for the right price, and sure, usually, that's killing, but who doesn't love a good fuck? Who wouldn't get half-hard just thinking about taking Captain America's wife to pound town right in front of the guy?

Lloyd simply smirks, returning his eyes to you and nudging the lace a little farther. The flat of the blade on your mound feels cold and so fucking dangerous that you shiver, neck tensing to throw your head back.

"How's that feel, pumpkin?"

"Golden," you whine, mewling when he nicks the other end and pulls your panties off. Lloyd doesn't like safe words and shit, but he agreed to a few check-ins, and you do have a way to stop him because, let's face it, the money is the real goal for him. The rest is gravy.

Lloyd stalks over to Steve's corner of the room, lifting the ruined garment for the other to take. "A souvenir--" he chuckles "--what's that smell like to you, huh, big man?"

Steve grimaces, unmoving, so Lloyd shoves your panties in his face.

"Smells like team spirit to me."

You should laugh. You really should. You should not fucking moan when you see Steve's chest expand and his eyes flutter shut briefly. You should not have such a surge of tingling heat race to your center that your thighs slam together.

But you do. And Lloyd notices.

"This is gonna be fun," he whispers, likely to himself, as he drops the fabric and walks over again.

His fingertips slide from your knee up your thigh, and Lloyd bends to nip at your neck.

"Lie back from me, sweetheart. Go on."

You have to cover a squeak while you flop onto the mattress. This sort of dominance is nothing like Steve Rogers even on his most confident day. Steve is always measured and a little tentative, his force reined in to the point of being boring after so many years. This is all flush and feral with the promise of oblivion, and in the strangest way, you still associate every second as with Steve, not Lloyd Hansen. The exercise in trust--the sheer fact that he was willing to entertain this idea, much less the practice--is a show of devotion from Steve you never thought possible.

And then Lloyd kneels down and pushes your legs apart. "Open up for me. That's it. Good girl."

"Ah fuck," you moan into your hand, and thank god if Steve does hear you, he doesn't say a thing.

Lloyd skips finesse and plunges into the dirty end of the pool by licking all the way up and down your cunt, hands spreading your ass to expose every bit of you to him, and he pauses to speak with his mouth against your clit.

"Do I need to give him a lesson or can I just fucking taste you?"

"I know how to--" but Steve's protest dies behind the noise Lloyd makes sloppily eating you out like a man starved.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, and your hips buck into the wild ride. His mustache burns in the best way. You gasp so much that your throat burns dry, too.

He says other things, things that rumble up your spine and settle deep in your brain, but you can't process what those words are until the white-hot lightning finally cracks your body apart.

Lloyd is shockingly soothing as you come back down from your high but unshockingly smug when he sweeps his face clean of your cum.

"You're doing star-spangled spectacularly for me, slut, now why don't--"

There's a thunderclap of noise that wrenches you out of your bliss. You’re knocked onto your side as Lloyd falls to the floor.

Steve raises his arm again but hesitates when you call his name.

"He doesn't...he doesn't do well with language like that," you manage to say, still fuzzy and out of breath.

Lloyd wipes blood from his nose. "Yeah, I picked up on that. Thanks,” he spits sarcastically, followed by a real spit to clear his mouth. “Down, boy. I'll play nice--" he winks at you as he rises "--but not too nice."

Lloyd climbs back to sit on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand spreading over your throat gently. "Feels good, don't it? Feeling golden?"

You nod vigorously.

He licks more blood from his lip. “Yeah? Can we move on, pumpkin, or is your pussy still needy—“

Lloyd catches Steve's fist this time, jumping up to punch your husband square in the neck.

Steve, to his credit, doesn't even go down, but he drops his arm and steps back, rubbing the point of contact as he wheezes for a minute.

"Can I please continue?" Lloyd screams in annoyance. The man is not in any way used to sharing, or going slow, or giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room for that matter. However, Lloyd is a dedicated professional, so he’ll continue because he knows what’s in it for him. "God damn it,” he barks, spitting at Steve’s feet.

Lloyd takes a beat to compose himself and returns to your side, facing away now, his hand plunging between your legs.

"Time to earn participation points, Golden Boy." Two fingers breach your entrance without warning. "On your knees."

Lloyd snaps his other fingers and points to the ground like he's training a dog to heel.

Slowly, with wide eyes and hesitant steps, Steve places himself exactly as Lloyd did before. He strategically keeps his focus glued to yours until the squelching sound of Lloyd's fingers thrusting in and out of you becomes too loud to ignore.

That look--that fucking moment where your husband sees your core and hunger darkens his whole face--could send you back over the edge right here, but suddenly, Lloyd stops.

"Now we've got his attention," the cruel man laughs.

Like your panties before, there's no ceremony to Lloyd shoving his fingers into Steve's awe-parted lips, but the biggest shock is how your husband doesn't fight the intrusion. No. Steve grabs Lloyd's wrist to keep him there until Steve is done sucking your taste off another man's fingers.

You're pretty sure that's when your soul left your body, but it's a toss-up between that and every other moment tonight.

With more patience than you thought possible, Lloyd waits, comically making an “O” with his mouth and looking at you. “Someone’s eager for the beaver, I see.” He takes the same wet fingers and tucks them between your breasts, snapping the front of your bra sharply against your sternum.

“Finish unwrapping your present. I wanna see what you got—” and when Steve immediately reaches behind your back for the clasp, Lloyd’s eyebrows bob up and down “—and he’s good at following orders, too.”

Your husband plants a gentle kiss on the swell of one breast before Lloyd stops him, tutting while he holds a fucking knife against Captain America’s chest to sit him back on his heels.

He ticks the blade down. “That’s your half now. This is mine.”

You’re practically panting while Steve’s eyes go hard in possessiveness, locked onto Lloyd in a challenge you don’t quite understand until the fancy man flips the blade back into it’s handle.

“Fine,” Lloyd grouches, tossing the knife farther up the bed. He shuffles closer to face you, a warm hand cupping your breast before he tweaks the nipple harshly. “Why don’t you relax for us, huh, good girl?”

Lloyd coaxes you to lean back again, orders Steve to hold your legs open and tease you, buries painful fingers in your hair, and forces you to watch.

“That’s it. Don’t you want to hear her beg? Doesn’t she sound so sweet? Oh, I like her desperate…”

Not in years has Steve Rogers whispered anything so filthy as the shit that falls from Lloyd’s mouth, but goddamn, every word is like kindling stoking the vigor with which Steve consumes you. You lap up the praise while your husband gulps down every ounce created by every word.

Lloyd lowers to suck and bite all over your chest, marks blossoming across the tender skin as he takes a sort of sweet revenge for his bloody nose. A kink for a kink.

“You want to tell him what’s next,” Lloyd rasps, straining your neck back to look at him in the last few moments before you come again, “or should I?” His devilish smile is the last thing you see before he pushes you to meet Steve’s eyes, the perfect, final flick of tongue rolling over your clit.

Dutifully—sweetly almost—Steve lifts away from you as your legs shake, replacing his face with his fingers to gently bring you down, and Lloyd does not like that. He swats Steve’s hand off to slap your raw bundle of nerves and shove his fingers in again, brutally hitting that spongy spot until the dam of orgasm doesn’t just rupture, it explodes inside you.

You cry out and flail. Lloyd pins you down with a knee to your ribcage, and it hurts but not enough to give a shit over the rush of cum soaking his hand and the sheets below. Steve holds your ankles so you don’t kick him in the face while squirming, transfixed on every move Lloyd makes to milk you stupid.

With one last wet slap, Lloyd rests his hand on your belly and tosses a gelled lock of hair out of his face.

“Wifey here wants to suck you dry,” he boasts, and your hands fly to your face in hot embarrassment.

You confessed that after drinking quite a lot during the ‘negotiation’ of terms for this little arrangement, but only when Steve excused himself to the restroom. Lloyd wasn’t supposed to repeat your fantasy.

“That’s right, big guy. She’s gonna blow your—“ his eyes drop and raise “—mind,” he continues, unpinning you and pushing your arms to the side. He leans down to smear your own slick across your mouth messily, quietly adding, “he won’t even notice I’m right behind you.”

The air rushes out of your lungs before you can stop it, making a downright pathetic sound of anticipation.

“Strip,” Lloyd commands, waving a hand casually at Steve and sauntering over to a bottle of water on the dresser. “The…uh…lady should get on her knees.”

Steve turns to the other wall, unable to meet your eye, bright red blotches spotting his neck and cheeks. He’s embarrassed, too, but from the speed at which he unzips his jeans to relieve his still-straining erection and then pulls his shirt over his head, Steve is also painfully aroused. You even catch him rubbing his cock with each conceivable pass while disrobing. It reignites that weak fire between your tired legs.

“Face up, Captain. Give ‘er some room,” Lloyd snorts, capping his water.

Of course, Steve spreads his legs in front of you, and instead of acknowledging how fucking hard he is, he helps you balance into position.

You capture a quick kiss and smile as your husband blushes even more.

“Jesus, I’m gonna vomit,” Lloyd mutters behind you.

He’s just so, so fucking evil, but you admit the contrast has you drooling to get your mouth on Steve. You’re already planning on adding orders to your regular routine. You buzz with excitement at all this play implies, now and in the future.

Steve isn’t just letting this happen; he likes what’s happening.

Lloyd’s warm hand pets down your spine until it rests heavily on your lower back, the heel of it pressed against your spread ass, an encouragement and a threat.

“Take him how you want. Just like you told me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, listening to Steve’s ragged breaths amidst Lloyd's criticism.

“You don’t just lick him, do you, kitten? You can do better than that. I thought you wanted to swallow him whole. Don’t disappoint me now. More. You can take it. More.”

Your nose nuzzles into Steve’s pelvis as you feel his cock jump in your throat. You swallow around him but force yourself up for air after.

“Is that the best you got?” Lloyd teases, his hand sliding tauntingly down your crack and through your folds before he’s gone.

You open your eyes when he grabs your wrist and presses the closed switchblade into your palm.

“Go on. Hold it, pumpkin. Right there.” Lloyd makes your hand rest on Steve’s thigh. For balance, you have to open your fist and press the metal to your husband’s skin as you take him back into your mouth.

Steve fucking groans, pinching his eyes shut and grabbing the sheets beneath him.

“Oh yeah,” Lloyd chirps, “he likes a bit of danger, huh?” A flat hand cracks against your ass, making you whine with your lips around Steve’s dick.

The sound of Steve whimpering is coupled with the snap of Lloyd's belt. His fingers return, and you just know he’s unabashedly staring at your pussy.

“Whoo-ee, if you weren’t already gaping for me, I’d think you weren’t into this. Put your back into it.” You hear the rip of a zipper only moments before the thick tip of him lines up.

You can’t help but moan low and long over Steve’s length.

“Baby?” Steve breathes above you.

“She’s fine,” Lloyd answers instead, pushing in. The head of him pops past the first ridge of your walls, and his hand clamps down on your hip, the other flat over the small of your back, guiding, controlling.

The spit of both men coats your core and inner thighs, you remember, and the slow swirl of ambient air proves it. That thought makes your eyes roll back as much as the glorious pressure of Lloyd’s cock filling you.

But Steve’s fingers find your chin and raise you to look at him, repeating his question until you let him fall heavy from your mouth and lick your swollen lips.

“Golden,” you say just as Lloyd bottoms out. “Fff-ahh.” You barely stop yourself from cursing when he thrusts forward and another SMACK hits your ass. “Golden,” you promise, because you know Steve is watching with extremely mixed feelings.

You return what attention you can to stuffing your mouth full. A rhythm progresses while you rock between them, but it’s too gentle for—of all people—Steve.

His hand knots through your hair to guide you faster. You have to plant yourself steady on the mattress, the knife digging into both your flesh, and hold your hips still.

Lloyd isn’t even fazed as he takes over his own selfish pace, his balls slapping so hard they sting your thighs. He keeps talking, too.

“See how much she likes that, buddy?”

Oh, that is not going to go over well with Steve.

“Bet she’d drop to her knees for you daily.”

He’s not wrong there…

“Damn, babygirl—“ Oh shit “—sometimes a bitch just needs fucked doggy-style.”

You can feel Steve’s chest fill to correct him, the deep v-line of his Adonis’ belt pressing against your nose to cut off your air, but Lloyd purposefully slams into you. You lurch forward to deep-throat Steve with a scream of alarm, and the constriction nearly topples Steve over the edge.

Just for a moment, his hand holds you down, choking you. It’s Steve choking you on his dick, and your nails happily dig into his meaty thighs. You’ve dreamed of this day.

With a strangled sound, Steve pulls you off him, strings of spit drip from your abused mouth. You’re gasping for air but also not done enjoying yourself, so you lick and kiss up Steve’s length until ready to take him again.

All the while, Lloyd darkly chuckles and kneads at your ass.

When one spanking lands so hard that you cry out, Steve bucks down your throat and punches the bed, clearly torn between sensation and situation.

“Such an asshole,” he grits through clenched teeth.

“Oh,” Lloyd tuts, “she wants it in the ass? Well, when in Rome…” He swipes his thumb over the cream pooling at the base of his cock and shoves his thumb hard against your puckered hole.

Honestly, you have no idea if it even breached because you scream and fall forward on Steve's dick. This time, Steve comes with a roar, a raging, animalistic thing you have never heard before, but you’re pulled away just as fast.

Lloyd hauls you up to his chest, telling you to look at what a fucking mess your husband is for you. Steve desperately grips himself until it’s over, half his spend glistening on his abs, half rolling down your chin while Lloyd continues to thrust into your sweet spot.

He’s given up controlling his language entirely.

“Fuck, she’s close. Come on, big guy—“ he pinches your nipple and bites at your neck “—finish her off.”

Lloyd drops you like a stone into Steve’s waiting arms, and Steve wastes no time slamming his mouth to yours and furiously rubbing your clit. You’re so stretched out that three of his thick fingers feel like nothing until they curl.

This time you can’t help but shout your own curse. Steve just keeps kissing you, holding you two together as you writhe. You hardly notice Lloyd painting his cum across your back and ass but neither does Steve, it seems, because the next thing you know you’re laying beside your husband in bed while your guest grins in triumph.

“I’ll just take this,” Lloyd drawls, reaching beneath Steve’s bare leg to retrieve his knife. He slaps Steve’s ass, too. It’s as if Lloyd knows Steve will let him get away with just about anything in the post-coital fog. “Don’t want you to feel left out, buddy.”

Your husband makes no move at all except to kiss your forehead.

“How are you?” He smooths your wrecked hair out of your face.

“Oh wow,” you say with a rough voice and runaway breaths, “I’m golden, just golden.”

Lloyd grabs his water bottle, joking. “My work here is done, and you two—“ he swigs and swallows dramatically “—I don't mind repeat business from. Anytime. Fuck.”

He struts to the bathroom, pants still undone and hanging open, uncaring. With a shout, he slaps the top of the door frame.

“That’s America’s Cunt!”

Steve’s whole body tenses. “I hate that guy,” he grumbles into your sweaty skin.

You snuggle closer, surrounded by familiar body heat and musk. “I know. Isn't it great?”

Because it’s so, so true. There is nothing about Lloyd Hansen you actually want for one second longer than necessary. That's the beauty of teamwork: everyone serves their purpose.

Honorable mention to the line I promised but ultimately couldn't fit in (that's what she said):

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers fanfiction #lloyd hansen fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #250+#lloyd hansen x reader #steve rogers smut #lloyd hansen smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve x reader #18+ fanfic #ro answers

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autumn-foxfire · 2 months

Text

Usually when I'm this annoyed I try and turn the negatives into more positive writing so here we go:

Shinichi didn't even look up from his phone when Ran barged into his room with enough force to knock his door harshly against the wall.

"You're cheating on me!" she screeched, her voice overly dramatic in a way that made Shinichi smile.

"So you finally noticed," he replied with a grin, "I'm so sorry, Ran, I have a mistress on the side."

He didn't even need to look up to know Ran was grinning as well. He did look up when the plush football Ran had won at a carnival and had given to him (or well, she had thrown it near him and told him to fetch like he was some kind of dog) was thrown at his head.

"Sonoko saw you!" Ran continued, even as she burst into small giggles as she could no longer fake her facade, "You were talking with other women!"

"A crime truly unforgivable," Shinichi agreed with a shake of his head as Ran jumped onto his bed and her giggles turned into laughter, "You must let me go, Ran, we could never work out."

Ran was struggling to contain it now, "I deserve better!" she managed to choke out through her laughter.

Shinichi smiled, "Now that, I definitely agree with," he said sincerely.

Ran's laughter settled and she collapsed back on Shinichi's bed, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence for a moment.

"I'm going to tell her." Ran spoke up eventually.

Shinichi raised his eyebrows, "You ready?" he asked in mild surprise. "You know the moment you tell her, she's going to try and hook you up with all the hot women she knows."

"Oh no, what a nightmare," Ran deadpanned, and shot Shinichi a grin, "Imagine all the rich and beautiful women Sonoko knows."

"You mean all the stuck-up heiresses," he replied.

"Says the rich kid," Ran muttered, slapping Shinichi's leg. The smile dropped from her face, overtaken by a serious expression, "I'm ready," she answered, "I'm a bit tired of her calling you my husband, if I'm honest," she wrinkled her nose in distaste, "You'd be a terrible husband, abandoning me whenever you find a case and leaving me to wait for you like a fishermans wife. No thank you."

"Huh, and here I thought it was because you only like women," Shinichi huffed, "Excuse me for being passionate about my career."

Ran giggled, "I'm not wrong though," she sang, "No offense, but it's not what i'm looking for in a partner."

"Yeah, you want all that romantic crap you love in books and movies," Shinichi taunted and Ran slapped his leg again.

"Sorry for being romantic, you uncultured detectived geek," she snapped back.

Shinichi smiled down at her, "I'm happy for you," he said, earnestly.

Ran's lips wobbled and a worried crease appeared on her forehead, "You don't think... Sonoko will hate me, do you?" she asked.

Shinichi snorted, though he quickly tried to hide it when Ran scowled up at him, "Sonoko would murder anyone who tried to hurt you," he answered, "If anything, she'll just take it in stride."

Ran's voice was small as she whispered, "Do you really think so?"

Shinichi reached down to squeeze her shoulder, "I've deduced so," he said, "And you know me, I'm never wrong."

"Conceited asshole," Ran muttered, but the smile returned to her lips, "Thanks Shinichi."

"Anytime."

------

This is a continuation of Ran and Shinichi being closeted besties that I've wrote before, here.

#dcmk #detective conan #shinichi kudo #ran mouri #foxy's writing

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meraki-yao · 6 months

Note

I wanted to get your point of view on an issue. I've just been reading you, but your answers are always precise and intelligent, so I'll proceed! I'm not someone who likes to compare different works, or who gets stuck in one thing while denying the rest or what a biased part... but let's face it: the TIOY will probably only be saved due to Nicholas' singing performances. The plot is really obvious and banal (and I won't go into comparisons with Harry Styles because it's a real minefield) and honestly I haven't even seen this incredible chemistry with Anne (which was missing from the RWRB trailer immediately outside). I'll get to the point: I noticed that the two times Nicholas talked about the

project (the last one just the other evening) he seemed not totally at ease, contracted, not enthusiastic in short. The narrative of calling on his co-star Annie to show off the chemistry (I remember he didn't answer the famous question promptly, but said "I should probably say her") is obviously a PR move so I expect them to try to make pass it all off as something it isn't. So I think he is aware of the mediocrity of the product. I also found him cold for M&G but in that case it was clear that the matter had involved him anyway. I won't say anything about rwrb because his eyes speak for themselves. What do you think of all this? Thanks for the reply ❤️

Firstly thank you for the compliment, that's very kind of you 💕

I don't think it would be fair to judge TIOY so soon since the trailer's barely been out for a week, but I will say my own opinion on the project first:

I haven't read the book, frankly I don't have access to it, but while I don't hold any really negative thoughts regarding the premise, it isn't ... that exciting to me? Like it sounds fun, but I've read a fair amount of fics across fandoms with the same/similar premise. Plus from my Chinese celebrity experience, it kind of feels like it's feeding into the "dreamgirl" mindset which I feel iffy about

I also don't see the "incredibly chemistry"with Anne, it's better than what I saw in Cinderella with Camila (that was really freaking felt like besties) and it's there, but it's not what I felt with rwrb (then again I'm not sure how objective I am) but then again, we only have the trailer, so we'll have to wait and see to make a fair judgement

I actually got an ask about Nick answering the chemistry question that I haven't gotten around answering (I've gotten a lot, and I mean a lot of asks these couple of days and I'm also a full time student 😅) so I'll probably answer this point in more detail in that ask, but basically while I don't know it's a complete lie and he did have some genuine connection with Anne, it might be slightly exaggerated because of promo/PR reasons.

Forgive me, but I don't really look too much into how they talk about their work unless it's blatantly obvious, so I won't comment on what you said about him being tenser.

As for M&G:

I don't think Nick's acting cold when it comes to M&G, but also please keep in mind that M&G is something VASTLY different to any of his previous projects.

I actually have thoughts on what M&G means to Nick: it was a really, really hard job, arguably his hardest to date, but he's happy with what came out and has a sense of satisfaction from the work done: Nick often describes the process of shooting M&G as "gruelling", and he got hurt a lot, A LOT on that set. Also a lot was demanded from him in that role: (mild spoilers for M&G till *) a complex character who's recognizable from who he was in the first episode, sleeping with a lot of people, fencing, dancing, speaking French, horse riding, falling off a horse and deliberately running into a tree, filming in a flaming forest, etc. It was a lot, and a job like this doesn't come with entirely happy memories. Like I do believe the cast and crew were great, and Nick made really good friends, but just what entailed definitely took a lot out of him. So I think he's happy with the final product, but if you have him summarize the project, I think he'd say something along "learned a lot", "fulfilling" rather than something like "a joy", what he used for rwrb. So Nick might have a little more complicated feelings towards M&G, but I really don't think it's entirely negative.

But rwrb is something entirely different. It arguably gained the most traction and caused one of the biggest positive changes in his career, and there's also a bunch of personal, private connections and emotions there that we don't know about. So while M&G is a roller coaster, RWRB is a mostly happy experience.

Althought disclaimer, all of the above if my observation from what Nick has said, posted or done, and my own understanding of it. I do not or cannot actually speak for Nick.

I hope this helps? I think I might have gone off a tangent (I'm answering this while taking notes in a law lecture, fuck yeah multitasking 😅) so let me know if I missed something

#anon ask #answered #nicholas galitzine #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #the idea of you #mary and george

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hispipsqueak · 2 years

Text

Training Camp

Tsukishima x F!Reader - fluff

TW: college au, drinking mention, mild cursing, jealousy, pretty fluffy. There is one mention of reader having long hair.

A/N: wake up besties, Pip posted. I’ve been writing this off and on for like months just as a comfort fluff piece but I decided to finaly share it after some sweet feedback. I hope you like it. It’s v self-indulgent bc i am a SIMP.

Everyone is 18+

Hinata was yelling.

Tsukishima rubbed his temple. It was 6 AM and the team was on their way to an intercollegiate training camp. He was not excited. The cold bus was a stark contrast to the soft warm bed he left too early this morning.

The training camp was going to gather a few different schools so he was going to see his friends, Bokuto and Kuroo. He was hoping to work on a few more blocks with them, to improve his playing. However, having to deal with HInata and Nishinoya on the bus was testing his patience.

"Screaming isn't going to make you any taller, idiot." He hissed at Hinata. Hinata made a face and was about to shout back until he was interrupted by Ukai.

"We are pulling into the camp. I expect you guys to be on your best behavior as you're representing Karasuno University." He parked the bus and the guys started loading out their bags. Everyone was buzzing, excited to see their friends and test out new skills. Tsukishima pulled his headphones around his ears and started moving his bags to the team dorms.

"OI TSUKKI!" A boisterous voice shouted from behind him. He was immediately enveloped in a hug that lifted his tall frame off the ground.

"Bokuto...it's like 7 AM." Akaashi muttered, wiping sleep from his eyes. He nodded at Tsukishima who was grateful toward the dark-haired man for getting the giant owl to let him go.

"Tsukishima! Aren't you glad to see us?" Another cocky voice came from the corner. Kuroo sauntered in before clapping him on the shoulder. Tsukishima rolled his eyes.

"I feel like I see enough of you two, especially since you added me to a groupchat that you won't let me leave."

"To be fair, they won't let us leave either." Kenma muttered from behind his Switch. Akaashi chuckled in agreement.

"Anyway, Karasuno better be prepared because the practice matches are gonna go HARD!" Kuroo said laughing. Kenma rolled his eyes and they headed back to the Nekoma dorms. Bokuto's laugh echoed in the hallway and Tsukishima was just grateful the actual practice wasn't starting for another two hours so he could nap.

"Welcome all to the intercollegiate training camp for 2020! We are glad to have you all here!" The man running the camp said. He was an older athletic coach and was going to assist with match setup and drills, though individual matches and team practices would be run by each respective coach.

"Sorry I'm late, I got stuck in traffic!" You said running into the gym, tossing your bag on the nearest bench.

"Ah! Glad to see you –" The older coach started before the yelling commenced.

"Y/N!!!" Bokuto shouted, running and spinning you around. Kuroo ran up as well and gave you a tight squeeze.

"GUYS STOP HOGGING HER!" Noya shouted before running up to squeeze a hug in as well.

It seemed all the older boys knew who you were, though Tsukishima had never seen you before. A few other guys shouted greetings and waved, from each team. You smiled and Tsukishima felt his body grow tingly. He rolled his neck and focused on the older coach, who began speaking again.

"As many of you know, this is Y/N. She's our resident medic and will be taking care of anything you guys need. Y/N, a few words?"

You grinned. "Hello guys! I'm glad to be back here. As Coach Sato said, I am Y/N, your medic. Please meet with me before you leave today to get my contact info in case anything occurs after hours and you need assistance. I'm in the Medic dorm, so feel free to come see me whenever!"

You bowed slightly and waved before turning back to the older man.

Tsukishima wasn't sure why he felt restless all of a sudden but he pushed it out of his mind as the coach discussed the agenda for the day.

----

Day one was grueling. The drills were tough and since everyone had vastly improved, everyone had to work harder to top each other. Tsukishima saw you a couple of times, discussing things with Coach Ukai and Coach Sato. You were always smiling, and it seemed everyone was drawn to you. You complimented Daichi on his receives, laughed with Tanaka and Noya, and even got Kageyama to crack a smile. You were walking towards where Tsukishima stood when a guy from another team skidded across the floor,

You jogged over to pull him up and check him over. Tsukishima couldn’t help but feel a pang of something...wash over him. Why was he so...aware of everything you did? You were just some girl whom he didn’t even know. Yet, like everyone else at the camp, he was drawn to you for some reason. He had to snap out of it. He put all his effort into playing for the rest of the session and even Daichi complimented his newfound energy.

They were wrapping up for the day and Tsukishima headed to the bench to grab some water when he felt a soft voice calling his name. He turned around and you grinned at him.

“You’re...Tsukishima Kei right? I’m Y/N! Sorry to bug you, I just wanted to give you my number.”

Tsukishima gulped, swallowing too much water. His face reddened as he tried not to spit up water all over you. You laughed, the sound pouring over his heart like warm honey, and patted him on the shoulder.

“Sorry! That sounded weird. It’s just in case something happens I can rush over if you need medical assistance. Sometimes you’ll get hurt in practice and walk it off only for the pain to worsen late at night or something. So don’t be afraid to text me any time of day, if needed.”

He nodded and handed you his phone. You input your number and smiled before heading over to speak with the coaches again. He looked at his phone.

Y/N 🚑 😉

Fuck.

----

“Tsukki!” Bokuto’s booming voice echoed across the hall. Tsukishima looked up from his book.

“Kuroo, Akaashi, Kenma, and I are gonna work on some blocks later. You should join us!”

Tsukishima looked back down at his book. He was exhausted and about to tell Bokuto no until Kuroo walked into the room.

“Bo, I reserved the back gym and Y/N agreed to stay with us for practice tonight.” He said, tossing a volleyball in the air. “Tsukishima, you joining? Or are you too tired? I know you crows are weak.”

“Shut up, stupid cat. I’m fine and I need to practice some blocking anyway.” Tsukishima said a little too quickly.

Kuroo cocked an eyebrow. “You...you of all people are agreeing to extra practice? We have to drag you to spend time with us and now you are so...eager? Interesting…”

Kenma, who was behind him smashing buttons on his Switch, smirked without looking up from his screen.

“Probably because of Y/N.”

Kuroo let out his classic hyena cackle, eyes wide.

“NO! You have a thing for Y/N?” He asked incredulously.

Bokuto’s jaw dropped. “TSUKKI YOU LOVE Y/N?!”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, trying to hide the blush creeping up his ears.

“No I don’t LOVE Y/N. I don’t even know her.” Tsukishima said, trying to remain casual.

“You wouldn’t stop staring at her the entire day. Every time she was on your side of the court, you slammed on the ball like some final boss. Also, you choked on your water when she talked to you.” Kenma said, still engrossed in his game.

Tsukishima glared at him. Kenma ignored him, unfazed.

Kuroo grinned wickedly.

“So, we have a new plan. Get Tsukishima to confess to Y/N.”

Bokuto clapped. ‘YEAH! Tsukki, you gotta tell her how you feel.”

Tsukishima turned back to his book. “I don’t FEEL anything. I don’t even know her. I’ll see you guys tonight. To practice, not for some ridiculous love story.”

Kuroo and Bokuto shared a conspiratorial look.

Operation: Tsukki and Y/N was a go.

----

“Y/N! Fancy to see you here!” Bokuto said grinning mischievously. You furrowed your brow.

“Did Kuroo not tell you I was going to join you guys tonight?” You turned toward the raven-haired boy, who glared at Bokuto.

“Yes, Bokuto just doesn’t listen. Anyway, we are just waiting for one more...there you are!” Kuroo threw a megawatt smile to someone behind you. You spun around to come face to chest with Tsukishima. His gaze narrowed as he looked down at you. You gave a small smile and cautiously stepped back.

“Oh! Tsukishima. I didn’t realize you’d be joining! Great, because I don’t know if I can handle these four by themselves.” You smiled, gesturing to Kuroo, Kenma, Bokuto, and Akaashi.

Kuroo tossed a volleyball up in the air. “Now that we are all here, let’s practice.” You took this as your cue, to head to the sidelines and finish up work for the day. Once you were safely out of earshot, Kuroo leaned in towards Tsukishima.

“‘This is your chance. Show her how good you play. We’ll even go easy on you!”

Tsukishima shook his head.

“I’m not here for some girl. I’m here to get better and improve. Play me to win or don’t play.” His honey-tinted eyes held a fire behind them that Kuroo had never seen before. He shrugged and the boys split up on either side of the net to start practicing.

You watched them from the sidelines, while filling out your reports for the day. You knew most of the guys from previous training camps. Tsukishima, being a first year, hadn’t met you until today and you didn’t get a whole lot of time to interact with him throughout practice so you could tell he still hadn’t warmed up to you just yet.

You watched as the guys jumped, and methodically blocked the ball from scoring on their respective sides. It was amazing to see really, especially because you knew these guys outside of the court. Akaashi, who was one of the sweetest people you knew, was slamming the ball over the net like a man in war. Bokuto, who normally was all over the place, was hyper focused on preventing the ball from passing the wall of him and Tsukishima. Even Kenma, who normally showed very little passion outwardly, did an impressive dig to stop the ball from hitting the floor.

You tried to gauge some sort of personality from Tsukishima. He was methodical, calculating every move from each member and putting himself in a way that forced his opponents to do what he wanted. His demeanor changed from apathetic to focused and driven and for a first year, he had a lot of skill. You hadn’t had a chance to really gauge who he was outside of a first impression so you made a mental note to focus more on him in the coming week.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you away from the practice.

Yūji : hey bbygirll ;P

You rolled your eyes. Terushima was always overly flirtatious, though harmless.

Y/N: Hey Yuuji, what’s up?

Yūji : throwing a party ths wknd N u better goooo ;)

Y/N: mmm...maybe. Who’s all going to be there?

Yūji : literally evry1. Tendou n Ushiwaka, Oikawa (🤢) and those guys from Seijoh, some guys from inarizaki, maybe some from ur training camp thing, and YOU

Y/N: FINE. But I might bring backup since last time I had to take care of your drunk ass.

Yūji : :D can’t wait to see you

“Y/N!”

You looked up. The guys had finished their practice and were staring at you.

“Sorry, Terushima was talking about some party this weekend. You guys going?”

Kuroo nodded, “Thought about dragging Kenma to it. You going?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll go if you guys go, because I don’t wanna have to deal with that mess alone again.”

Bokuto laughed. “We should go together then. It will be a good way to end this week.”

He looked at Tsukishima.

“You have to go with us Tsukki!”

Tsukishima shook his head. “No way. A party with loud, obnoxious drunk people? I’m fine, thanks.”

You giggled.

“Come on Tsukishima! It’ll be nice to blow off steam from this week, plus I’d kill to see you at a party.”

Tsukishima looked over at you, his expression unreadable.

“Fine.”

-----

The rest of the week was tough but fun. You got to see all the boys improve, and you even managed to get Tsukishima to crack a smile a few times. You couldn’t deny that you were showing a slight favoritism toward the tall blonde. You told yourself it was because he was so difficult to reach, but you couldn’t help but seek him out in each practice.

Turns out you didn’t have to look far today.

“Medic!” Coach Ukai shouted. You looked up from your clipboard and saw a group of boys crowded in the Karasuno area. You jogged over there and the boys cleared.

Tsukishima was standing in the center of the circle, clutching his hand. You could see it was red, swollen, and bleeding. You pulled on gloves, and started inspecting it, gently squeezing and prodding to see where the pain was at.

You pushed on his knuckle and he let out a low groan.

“Ouch. It looks like you may have dislocated this. Come with me back to the medic bay, and I’ll patch you up.” You led him by the elbow to your office. He remained silent but you could hear his breathing had become heavy.

You motioned for him to sit in the chair as you started pulling out different creams and aids to ease the bleeding first.

He hissed as you applied pressure to his finger.

“Sorry, Tsukishima. It’s just to stop the bleeding so we can start working on your knuckle. This is going to sting okay? So keep your eyes on mine.”

Your voice was soothing and he felt his heart slow down as you started pulling out some sort of tonic. You looked up at him and he tried to focus on anything else but the blush creeping on his face. You smiled at him and then…

“FUCK!”

The tonic you sneakily applied on his wound BURNED. You held his hand firmly, while avoiding the injured area.

“Don’t move too much or you could hurt yourself worse.” You said while wrapping a small bandage around his finger.

Your hands felt so delicate in his. He almost forgave you for the stinging. Almost.

“Okay, let’s look at the swelling. Can you move it at all?”

He tried and his finger gave a pathetic twitch.

“Okay, so that’s not broken. I think we’ll just splint it up, but you may want to follow up with your doctor if it becomes more of an issue after a couple of days.”

“Can I still play?” He asked.

“Definitely not today, but you should be good to go by next week. Unfortunately, you’ll be out for the rest of this week.” You gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”

He exhaled slowly and nodded, though you could tell he was disappointed, which surprised you a little. You busied yourself putting away your tools and pulling out the wraps. “So you really like volleyball huh? Wait…sorry, of course you do. Just…I didn’t peg you for being so passionate.” Face burning, you turned around digging in a cabinet.

“I’m not like Bokuto or Hinata, if that’s what you mean.” His voice was quiet and you snuck a glance back at him. He was staring at his finger. You waited for him to continue but he stayed silent.

Grabbing the supplies you needed you sat in front of him and pulled your tray next to you. “Yeah those two can be a little…enthusiastic.” You laughed and reached for his hand. He hesitated a moment and you grinned. “No more tonics, I promise.”

His hand dwarfed yours and he felt his mouth go dry as you delicately ran bandages over the injury. Why did he suddenly become hyper aware of how close your knee was to his? He looked away, blood rushing in his ears. He suddenly realized it had gotten silent and you were looking at him. Fuck. “Uh, sorry.”

You smiled, that smile that made his hands tingle with electricity. “I was just asking if you were excited about the party this weekend.”

Fuck, The party.

“I know, it can be a lot. But I’m glad you’re going. I’m excited to see you in party mode.” You winked and he felt his heart stop for a second. “Anyway, you’re all done.” You let go of his hand and he tried to push away the emptiness it felt now. “I’ll let Coach Ukai know and I’ll see you this weekend.”

—-

“Hey Tsukki…how was your chat?” Kuroo sidled up to Tsukishima who was sipping water on the bench. Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Bokuto slid on the opposite side, sandwiching Tsukishima in the middle. “So did you tell Y/N you love her?”

Tsukishima glared at him. "No. And I don't love her. She just bandaged my finger."

"Oooh romantic. You guys were in there for a while." Kuroo said, winking. Tsukishima forced himself not to look in your direction, instead focusing intently on his water bottle.

A whistle blew and the guys headed to their respective teams. Tsukishima allowed his gaze to wander over to you. You were looking at your phone, a small smile on your face. You must have felt his gaze because you looked up, meeting his eyes. You shot him a small grin, before you were distracted by Lev tripping on a mat.

Tsukishima looked back down at the bandage wrapped neatly around his finger.

"Fuck."

—-

"Okay boys. We gotta make sure Tsukki looks good." Kuroo declared, dragging Kenma, Bokuto, and Akaashi behind him.

Tsukishima looked up from his book. "What are you talking about?"

"The party tonight. You have to dress to impress. You want Y/N to fall for you, don't you?" Bokuto said, rummaging through the closet. Kuroo looked Tsukishima up and down. "Is that what you're wearing?"

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. "Yes. I don't need fashion advice from a rooster and an owl, thanks." He didn't mention that he had gone through three different shirts before settling on the current one he was wearing.

"He looks fine. We better get going anyway." Akaashi said, looking at his phone. Kuroo looked at Tsukishima smugly.

"Don't worry. She's meeting us there. So we can pep talk you on the way."

Tsukishima grabbed his jacket. "You are delusional. There's nothing between us." He turned away, trying to ignore the buzzing in his stomach. The guys headed to Bokuto's car, piling in as Bokuto drove to the party.

—-

Bass boomed from the house and people were strewn everywhere. Tsukishima saw a few people he recognized as he walked in. Oikawa and his cronies laughing in the corner, the Miya twins dominating the beer pong table. Kuroo led them to Terushima, who was doing a shot of an amber liquid.

"Yo, where's Y/N?" Kuroo asked. Terushima made a face as the liquid went down, before pointing to the staircase. Tsukishima turned.

You looked incredible. Your hair was down from its usual ponytail, and it spilled down your back in long waves. You wore a tight shirt and jeans that hugged all of your curves and had that gorgeous smile on your face. You were standing next to Ushijima, listening intently to him discuss something before you nodded, replying back with something that made the large man smile.

"Oi Y/N!!" Bokuto yelled, and you turned, blinking at the interruption. You excused yourself from Ushijima and walked to where the guys were standing.

"Hey guys! Glad you finally made it-" You started before Osamu Miya tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around and he gave you a tight hug. "Hey come be my partner for this. `Tsumu got Suna and he's scary good." You nodded before waving a quick goodbye to the guys and followed Osamu to the beer pong table.

"Don't worry Tsukki, she's just really popular. We need drinks." Bokuto said, dragging Tsukishima to the cooler in the kitchen. Tsukishima narrowed his eyes. "I'm not worried. I didn't come here for some girl."

Bokuto fished two beers out of the cooler, handing Tsukishima one. "Exactly. Play it cool. Girls love that."

A cheer came from the beer pong table and Tsukishima glimpsed Osamu carrying you in a celebratory hug.

"Tch."

Kuroo sidled up next to him. "Miya's been desperate forever. She won't give him a chance. In other news, Oikawa brought his fan club with him." He rolled his eyes, gesturing to the gaggle of girls that were whispering next to the pack of Seijoh boys. They were all young, way too young to be at this college party and definitely overdressed. Oikawa and his crew barely gave them a second look, choosing instead to laugh amongst themselves.

The tall one, Mattsukawa, Tsukishima thought his name was, turned to Oikawa and whispered something before stalking toward the table.

As Tsukishima watched, he headed toward you. He saw a glimpse pass between Osamu and him before Matsukawa approached you. You listened, before nodding and laughing, turning to say something to Osamu and walking back to Oikawa's group. Oikawa's fans shot daggers at you, as you hugged Oikawa and talked animatedly with the group. Tsukishima frowned into his drink. You were friendly with everybody. He didn't know why he had let Kuroo get into his head.

The room felt hot and he slipped out the back door. The cool night air was refreshing on his skin. The house was near a dock, which was probably not the safest for drunk people, but it was quiet. Tsukishima walked along the wooden planks, the party sounds dying down as he moved further away.

The moon was bright, reflected on the water. He remembered an old story his mom used to tell him, something about a kingdom on the moon. He sipped his drink.

"There you are."

He turned around. You walked towards him and sat next to him at the edge of the dock. He became very aware of how alone you both were out here.

"I was looking for you. Guess parties aren't really your thing, huh?" You laughed, pulling a bottle of water out and taking a sip.

He shook his head. "People aren't really my thing." He cringed internally. Why did he sound so pretentious?

"I definitely understand that." You nodded, looking out towards the water.

He blinked. "You seem pretty popular."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt his ears burn. Now you would think he was some crazy stalker, watching your every move.

Surprisingly, you didn't seem fazed.

"I know a lot of people. It comes with the territory. But, sometimes I feel like…I don't know. None of them really know me? Ugh that sounds cliche, I know." You groaned.

He laughed, in spite of himself. "That does sound cliche."

You laughed. "Tsukishima! You're supposed to pretend I said something profound, not agree with me!"

Tsukishima shrugged, biting back a smile. He liked the way his name sounded on your tongue. You said it almost like a song, Tsukishima.

You scooted closer to him on the dock. "But cliches are cliches for a reason, right? There's some truth to them, I think." Your arms wrapped tightly around yourself and you shivered.

Tsukishima unzipped his jacket and draped it over you. "Here. Aren't medics supposed to be prepared for anything?"

You smiled, grateful for the warmth. "Well yeah, but then we can't steal jackets from grumpy volleyball players." You teased.

You were inches apart now. Tsukishima could see the glitter in your lip gloss, reflecting the moonlight. Your lips looked really soft. He felt his face burn and turned away, grateful for the darkness.

The wind blew a heavy breeze and he shivered in spite of himself. Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around him.

His pulse raced. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears and smell the sweet perfume you wore as it enveloped him. He froze and felt you shrink back.

"Sorry! I thought, since I stole your jacket I…uh…" You stammered and a buzzing noise came from your pocket. You fumbled with your phone and answered it.

"Yeah. What?! No. No. So? Why did you- no please. Well can anyone else-? Uh-huh. But- I-..." You frowned as the line went dead. You looked upset, your brow furrowed and bit your lip.

"Um, so that was Kuroo. Bokuto got drunk and threw up in the car and so he asked me to take you to the dorms since they don't have room. Um…yeah." You trailed off, fidgeting with the zipper on the jacket you wore.

Tsukishima got the feeling you were not excited about spending time in a car with him.

"I can just find a ride."

Your eyes widened. "No! I mean, I don't mind. We are going to the same place. Um, here's your jacket. I parked uh, pretty close so we can just head there right now." You hopped up, yanking his jacket off and handing it to him stiffly. He blinked and took it from your hands. You avoided his gaze and you led the way to your car.

"Door is unlocked." You said and he opened the door. A waft of your perfume, that damned intoxicating scent, washed over him. He squeezed into the passenger seat and you fiddled with the radio, tuning to an old rock station before checking your mirrors and backing out.

Your hands drummed on the steering wheel as you drove, determined to not look at Tsukishima. He looked out the window, the tension in the car thick.

What happened to make you switch your mood so fast? You seemed jumpy, almost in fear of him and he was 1000% sure you would rather be anywhere else.

You pulled into the parking lot of the dorms and stared straight ahead, your knuckles white. Tsukishima waited a moment before undoing his seatbelt.

"Er, thanks."

You nodded, still avoiding eye contact.

"Of course, no problem. Sleep well." He closed your door quietly so as to not disturb the dorms and slipped into his room.

You finally sighed, looking at your passenger seat where his dark jacket laid on the seat.

"Fuck."

—

Tsukishima quietly slipped through his door and flicked on the light.

"Hey hey hey how was it?!" Bokuto yelled and Akaashi shushed him. Tsukishima stumbled back.

"What the hell?"

Kuroo clapped him on the shoulder. "I told you, we got your back. So did you kiss her??" Even Kenma looked up from his game.

Tsukishima frowned. "No. What the hell? I thought you were drunk." He said, pointing at Bokuto.

Akaashi smiled. "Of course not. I wouldn't let him get drunk and drive." Bokuto nodded solemnly.

Kuroo shot his signature cat-like grin. “We told a tiny white lie. But more importantly, did you make a move?!”

The boys waited impatiently. Tsukishima sat down on his bed.

“No.”

Bokuto jumped up. “What?! Why Tsukki????” He cried out, Akaashi desperately trying to shush him.

Kuroo stared incredulously at Tsukishima. “What? Why not? You two looked cozy on the dock!”

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes. “How did you see us at the dock?”

Kenma shrugged, turning back to his game. “It’s a Pokestop. I was trying to catch a Wartortle.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. He looked at his phone, scrolling past your contact info, the winking emoji taunting him from the small screen.

Kuroo sat down beside him. “What happened, bro?”

Tsukishima took a deep breath.

“Nothing. We talked on the dock and then she got really weird and distant and it was very clear she did not want to give me a ride, thanks for that by the way, and she drove us here and barely spoke to me. She didn’t even look at me when I left.”

Three pairs of eyes stared at him stunned.

“Wait, what? She was VERY clearly into you based on the picture Kenma sent us.” Kuroo said, scrolling through his phone. “Look.”

He pulled up a picture of you and Tsukishima sitting very close on the dock. It was blurry and far away but he could make out the image of you in midlaugh. If he hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have believed that was the same girl who barely spoke two words the entire drive home.

“I don’t know! She just started stuttering and wouldn’t talk to me.” Tsukishima said, exasperated.

Bokuto looked close to tears. Akaashi hummed. “Well what happened before she started acting strange?”

Tsukishima thought back. “She was shivering because she was dumb and didn’t bring a jacket. I lent her mine and we were fine. And then she hugged me and when she pulled away she got distant.”

The room was silent. Then Kenma spoke up. “Did you hug her back?”

Kuroo laughed. “Of course he did Kenma, what kind of question is that?” He looked at Tsukishima and then frowned. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Even Bokuto looked aghast. “You didn’t hug her back? She gives great hugs, what the hell, Tsukki!”

Akaashi cleared his throat. “I think what they are trying to say is, that was a stupid move. She thinks you rejected her.”

Tsukishima frowned. “What?! I didn’t have time to react. She was hugging me and I just…I froze, okay? I don’t do well with that stuff. By the time I realized what was happening, she was already handing me my jacket.”

Bokuto facepalmed. Kuroo grabbed Tsukishima by the shoulders, shaking him. “YOU LET HER GIVE YOUR JACKET BACK?!”

Akaashi groaned. “So now she thinks you rejected her and probably only gave her your jacket out of necessity.”

Even Kenma looked annoyed. “Practice is going to be weird tomorrow.”

Kuroo looked over at Tsukishima and frowned. “Wait, where’s your jacket?”

Tsukishima looked down.

“Fuck.”

—--

Tsukishima woke up and stared at the ceiling. Coach Ukai pounded at his door.

“Up and at ‘em! Just because you’re finger’s broken doesn’t mean you can stay in bed!”

He sighed, throwing on his practice gear. He stared at his phone, willing a text to come in from you. Or maybe you would just pretend he didn’t exist. That might be helpful too. He stared at the ground.

Ukai pounded at the door again and Tsukishima sighed.

When he got to the gym, he glanced at the area you usually worked, near the coaches. There was no sign of you. He re-tied his laces, fiddling with the knots.

“She’s not here yet.” Kuroo muttered from behind him. Tsukishima looked up. “Weird, because she’s never late.” He looked pointedly at Tsukishima before he headed back to the Nekoma team and Tsukishima frowned.

With each slam of the door, he expected to see you saunter in, laughing as you carried your clipboard. When Coach Sato blew his whistle, you still hadn’t arrived.

“Teams, we expect some good matches today. As you may have noticed, Y/N is not here today as she is under the weather. If you have any injuries, please reach out to Coach Itto here who will assist you for the day.”

A short man bowed to the teams and Coach Sato blew the whistle again.

Tsukishima headed to the area where Karasuno was stretching. Nishinoya was talking to Tanaka.

“Sucks that Y/N is sick today. I was gonna show her my new receive.” He said and Tanaka nodded.

“I heard there was some wild party last night. Maybe she’s hungover?” He guessed, laughing. Sugawara, who was stretching next to them, frowned. “I doubt it. She’s responsible and wouldn’t do something like that. I hope she feels better soon.” He noticed Tsukishima staring. “Tsukishima, aren’t you two friends? If you see her, tell her we hope she feels better.”

Tsukishima looked down, saved by Ukai’s whistle.

—-

Your phone buzzed.

Bokuto: Hey Hey! Are you feeling okay?

You smiled at the screen, typing a message back before collapsing onto your pillow.

Y/N: I’m okay, just a little under the weather. How about you?

Bokuto: I’m doing great! I gotta go tho because Akaashi is staring at me. Bye!

You grinned. He was definitely cheery for a person so drunk he threw up in his own car the night before. You sank back into bed.

You knew it was a coward’s solution, avoiding Tsukishima by missing practice. But ugh, you felt like an idiot. You were sure he liked you, he gave you his jacket for crying out loud. But then when you stupidly made a move, he just…stared at you. You shivered thinking about his look when you let go of him. Ugh, he probably thought you were some lovestruck schoolgirl.

You groaned, covering your face with your blanket. Peeking out from under the covers, you spotted his jacket on your desk. He had been so freaked out, he left it in your car. Now it taunted you as a reminder of how you threw yourself, literally, at him.

—-

The last whistle blew in the gym and Tsukishima grabbed his water bottle as he turned to leave. He ran smack into Hinata.

“Oi Saltyshima! Watch where you are going!” The tangerine yelled at him, rubbing his head. Hinata carried a box in his other hand.

“What’s that?” Tsukishima asked, gesturing to the box. Hinata smiled wide.

“We are going to take snacks to Y/N’s dorm so she feels better. You want to come with us?”

A few other boys perked up from their respective teams, including unfortunately, Bokuto and Kuroo. Kuroo sidled up next to Tsukishima.

“He would love to go, RIGHT TSUKISHIMA?” He turned, glaring at the blonde. Bokuto stood on the other side of him, boxing him in. Tsukishima sighed, taking the box from Hinata’s hand.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

Hinata glared at him. “No way. You don’t get to take credit for these snacks!”

Tsukishima stared down at him. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Daichi came between them. “Tsukishima will tell her that they are from you. But we shouldn’t all go. It will overwhelm her.” He looked knowingly at Tsukishima. “I think Tsukishima should go alone.”

Tsukishima looked down at the box. He shrugged.

“Fine.”

—-

The walk to your dorm was long. Tsukishima dreaded having to face you. You probably hated him, which he didn’t mind from other people, but didn’t want that from you. When he thought of your eyes scrunching up when you laughed, the way your hand felt over his…it made his stomach hurt. He finally could delay the trip no longer. He reached the medic dorm and knocked.

It was silent. He waited a moment before knocking again.

“Y/N?” he called. No answer.

He looked at the box in his hand. Should he just leave it here? Should he leave a note? He heard voices coming towards your dorm and turned around.

You were walking with Osamu Miya, that damned smile on your face. You laughed at something Osamu said before you noticed Tsukishima standing there.

“Tsukishima! Um, what are you doing here?” You looked at the box in his hand.

He shoved the box into your hands, not meeting your eyes.

“Hinata sent these for you and says he hopes you feel better.” He turned around, walking quickly back to his dorm, ignoring your calls of his name.

—

Tsukishima ignored his phone as it buzzed on his desk. He tried to focus on his book, where he had re-read the same line at least 5 times. His phone buzzed again and he glanced at the screen.

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated that it wasn’t a text from you. On one hand, he wanted you to feel guilty. But on the other hand, what did you have to feel guilty for? You weren’t together. You could talk or date anyone you wanted, even Osamu Miya, though he didn’t know why you would choose him. The guy had grey hair and was just as annoying as his stupid brother.

A knock at his door broke him from his thoughts.

“Oi Tsukishima, open up!” It was Kuroo.

He tried to ignore the door, focusing back on his book. He banged on the door again.

“Tsukki, I know you are in there and I will wait here all night.”

Tsukishima groaned, getting up to answer the door.

“What?”

Kuroo barged in, followed by Kenma, Bokuto, Akaashi, and surprisingly, Daichi. The guys stood in a weird semicircle around Tsukishima’s bed.

“Well, what happened?” Kuroo asked. Bokuto nodded, looking excited. “Did you finally apologize for being an idiot?”

Daichi nodded. “They filled me in. Please tell me you fixed this.”

Tsukishima sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Everything is fine. She was out and got there when I was about to leave and I gave her the stupid box.”

Akaashi looked at him. “What did you talk about?”

Tsukishima shrugged. “We didn’t. She was with Osamu Miya and they were coming back from somewhere so I just handed her the box and told her it was from Hinata.”

Daichi, Kuroo, and Bokuto groaned. Akaashi stared at him, disappointed. Kenma was focused on his game.

“Well, did you declare your love for her? Kiss her in front of him or something?” Bokuto asked and Tsukishima rolled his eyes.

“No. Clearly she’s over whatever happened. The end. She’s with Osamu. Can we stop this stupid romantic comedy bullshit?” Tsukishima said, frustrated.

Kuroo grabbed his shoulders. “Tsukishima! She would never choose Osamu. That guy has been chasing her for YEARS and she has never said yes. She missed practice today because you were a dummy who hurt her feelings. You need to go make this right!”

Daichi nodded solemnly. “Tsukishima, you don’t understand. There’s something big there between you two. Everyone can see it. The tension between you two is insane. Osamu probably called her at a time when she was vulnerable and hurt. You need to tell her how you feel.”

Tsukishima looked at the guys. Even Kenma was nodding along. Tsukishima groaned and sighed.

There was a knock at his door.

“Who is that?” Kuroo whispered. Tsukishima shrugged. “Probably Hinata to ask about the snacks.” He answered the door.

You stood there, shivering and wet, holding a plastic bag.

“Hey!”

Tsukishima closed the door.

“Was that her?” Daichi asked and Tsukishima nodded.

“Open the door idiot!” Kuroo hissed. Akaashi pointed to the bathroom and the rest of the boys silently herded into the small room. Tsukishima swallowed hard and re-opened the door.

“Hi.”

You shivered again and he blinked. “Shit, sorry er, come in.”

You gave a small smile and stepped into the room. He grabbed a towel from the small closet and handed it to you.

“Um, here.”

Taking it, you nodded. “Thanks. Sorry it rained on me when I was walking here.” You quickly tried to dry your dripping hair. The room was silent except for the occasional droplets of water.

“Um, I uh, I brought your jacket.” You said, extending the bag to him.

He looked at your outstretched arm and silently took the bag from you.

“Thanks.” He placed the bag on his desk.

The two of you were silent again. Then you both began.

“About–”

“So–”

You laughed. “Um, you go ahead.”

He swallowed hard. “I guess you are feeling better.”

Inside the bathroom, Kuroo facepalmed silently.

You nodded. “Uh, yeah. I was just feeling really uh, weird this morning.”

The room got quiet again and you concentrated very hard on the floor tiles. He spoke first.

“I’m really bad at this.”

You looked up. “Bad at what?”

He sighed and fiddled with his fingers.

“I’m not a person who talks about feelings. Or very good at reciprocating them…appropriately? I feel things, obviously, but–” he trailed off.

“I’m sorry I hugged you. I thought I was getting a vibe but then I saw how you reacted and it made me realize you do not like me like that. I shouldn’t have been presumptuous.” You said quickly. Your face was flushed.

He blinked.

“I do though.”

Your eyes met his. “What?”

He nodded. “Like you, I mean. In that way.” His face was reddening and you had the urge to kiss his cheeks.

You stared at him. “Wait what? But you–”

He sighed. “I froze. I told you. I’m not good at expressing these things and it was overwhelming, a cute girl on top of me.”

You blushed, then frowned. “I was not ON TOP of you.”

He smirked. “Yeah, you kind of were.”

You pouted, and he had the strongest desire to kiss your lips. “Tsukishima, I was NOT on top of you!”

He cocked his head to the side. “Are you calling me a liar, Miss ‘called in sick to work today’?”

Your mouth fell open in mock offense. “Tsukishima Kei, you are a mean guy.”

He smirked, again. Stupidly handsome mean guy, you thought.

“JUST KISS ALREADY!” a voice from the bathroom startled the two of you. You turned to the noise and Tsukishima grabbed your face, surprising you with a kiss. Your eyes widened in shock before you melted into his embrace. His lips were soft and you felt fireworks exploding in the back of your brain as all the stupid drama floated away for this moment.

You didn’t even notice the trail of boys leaving the bathroom, Kuroo stopping to shoot a thumbs up at the two of you.

“God I love training camps.”

#hq fluff #mdni #haikyuu fluff #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima fluff

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