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nouearth · 1 year

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baby-sitting for miguel o'hara.

miguel o'hara x m!reader headcanons.

part ii.

warnings: smut, perverted!miguel, stalker!miguel, top!miguel, bottom!male reader, small!male reader, weak!male reader, sir!kink, thoughts of sex, masturbation, fingering, spying, kinda dubcon (?), heavily focused on sweat and smelly musk (hehe).

notes: say hi to my first miguel story! i couldn't stop thinking about him ever since I rewatched the movie, tbh.

—at first, miguel was rather reluctant to hire you for babysitting.

—your experience was almost non-existent, if it hadn’t been for that one time you babysat your nephew… eight years ago. of course, you left that part of information out.

—but miguel deemed you trustworthy, concluded that so even before he ran a background check on you.

—and so far, he seemed correct.

—on the first day, he was just as nervous as you were, leaving his precious and sacred gift to the world with a complete stranger—it was frightening and if he had the choice, he wouldn’t have done this.

—he would tell you about the cameras installed throughout the house—mostly for the safety of gabriella’s, but your well-being was also a considerate factor in this choice.

—you were small, and if miguel said that you looked weak, you’d probably say a questionable thank you considering how quietly submissive you were towards him.

—later that first night, miguel knew he made the right choice in picking you (out of a measly three candidates, but still).

—you managed to get gabriella to sleep by her bedtime, one routine that miguel still hadn’t figured out yet.

—but to be fair, babies woke up and slept according to their own terms, so did they really have a bedtime other than day, afternoon, and night?

—like the first night of many, you bid him goodbye after being paid.

—goodnight, sir! i’m pretty much free all summer until my semester starts, so if you need me on stand by or something… go crazy!

—all right, I’ll keep that in mind.

—and… thank you.

—something ignited in him when you guys spoke. it must’ve been… what, your fourth interaction together?

—the first few have been more formal—interviewing you, introducing you to gabriella, and checking up on you with a phone call. it was limited, a thick barrier that miguel would put up between you and him because it was work—just work.

—even though he sent you off fairly quick, the interaction was long enough for him study you like he never did before.

—he never realized how handsome you were, optimism practically seeping from your smile to your voice. it was a stark contrast to his moodiness, strained by the constant amount of stress put on by work, and furthermore by an ongoing divorce case.

—but he liked you, more than he’d like to admit.

—miguel liked the way you would tuck your shirt into your pants. a younger version of him would’ve labelled you a nerd, church boy even.

—but he found it attractive when the fabric laid on your chest with the right amount of tightness—a slightest exposure that would have him staring for an embarrassing amount of time.

—he also found it attractive when the peak of summer closed in on you.

—one day, you would show up at his doorstep in shorts.

—you preferred walking.

—no wonder you were so radiant to him, you practically soaked in the sun every day before you two would meet.

—sorry if i look like a mess, sir- i look gross, don’t i?

—that feeling in him returned again, churned like butter as he would watch the sweat calmly roll down your aching legs.

—i’d be lying if i told you no, wouldn’t i?

—you were a mess, miguel would go on to agree to himself. not because of the way your hair sparkled in the sun as it latched onto sweat—but because of the way you were completely oblivious to how you made him feel.

—it only grew stronger with subsequent meetings.

—you can use my shower, you know. it’s gotta be uncomfortable to be sweaty in those clothes for—what—eight hours?

—no, no! I’m fine, sir. i don’t think it would be right of me to-

—well, just throwing it out there in case you needed to.

—next time, then!

—and the next time, you would carry an extra bag of clothes because you and miguel both knew the outcome.

—it was a proud moment when miguel could smell his body wash on you when you left that night.

—sure, he probably bought the most generic brand he could find. but he has never smelt that scent on you before, so it inflated his ego to know that you’d be walking home in his usual scent.

—sleeping in his scent.

—like every other night, a shower would mark the end of miguel’s day. it was his favorite pastime—all thoughts were left behind as soon as he stepped under the shower head, letting the warm spray of water wash him of stress.

—when he stepped out, something caught his eye in the corner of the tiled floor—something blue.

—your briefs.

—you forgot to take your briefs with you because you were rushing when you heard gabriella suddenly cry.

—it would’ve been off-putting by anyone else, but this was you.

—this was your briefs, miguel would then hold up like a trophy. a piece of fabric that would contain and cover you—touch your most vulnerable parts.

—with the current feelings miguel had for you, it would’ve been a missed opportunity if he simply threw it in the washer.

—so, he doesn’t.

—11 am. where miguel would usually find himself sleeping by this hour—he was inhaling the scent of your musk instead, scrunching your sweat-stained briefs to his face as he jerked off in bed.

—in all honestly, he was ashamed to admit that he loved the smell of your sweat.

—but miguel would nonetheless take deep whiffs, desperate to smell you in your most vulnerable state.

—and he comes at the very last second when he can.

—it wasn’t enough for him though, so miguel doesn’t waste a single second to jerk himself off again—his cum lubing his sensitive cock up with a generous amount of stickiness and slick.

—good morning, sir!

—(m/n), i thought i said that you can call me miguel?

—oh… right! sorry, that completely slipped my mind. i must’ve forgotten.

—never stop forgetting, miguel muttered to himself, fucking his heavy cock into the depth of your briefs.

—he loved the way you called him sir. it made him feel authoriative and only fueled his want and need to protect you—you and your weak body.

—you’d be powerless if something were to happen to you, and the chances of that happening were well in your wits since you continued to insist on walking home.

—unbeknownst to you, every night miguel would follow you in the shadows—an undisclosed bodyguard of some sort—until you reached home.

—even then, he wasn’t fully relaxed because most crimes always took place domestically.

—he would watch you from below, through your window, for quite some time, making sure your parents’ house was a danger-free zone.

—and it wasn’t until you took your pants off and began stroking yourself through those same blue briefs, that he was finally at peace.

—fuck... miguel stopped fucking into your briefs to take another whiff of the fabric until his nostrils stung—a mixture of you and him together now.

—the fabric clung around miguel’s cock as his thick precum was the only glue that pieced him and the presence of you together.

—he would think back to how you would suck on two of your fingers as you stroked yourself to nothing but lewd thoughts—your eyes tightly closed to visualize your perverted mind into reality.

—what are you thinking about? who are you thinking about? is it me? are you thinking about my cock?

—the air in his bedroom has gotten heavier, thick with sex as he sweated under the cloud of you fingering yourself with the clumsiest yet neediest precision.

—he spat on his cock to slick it up again—because he could go on for hours—replaying back to the night where he watched you completely juxtapose with the innocent image he had of you prior.

—your hips were lifted up, legs awkwardly bent back as you dug into yourself, working your hole open deeper with one, then two, then three fingers because—miguel was right. like a spell, you were thinking of him and his cock.

—he had to be big, you were so sure of it. the fact that you strained your neck from looking up at him was a telling sign that he was, as ignorant as that was.

—and you were practically drooling at the thought of his cock stuffing you with the most fulfilling amount of pain and pleasure.

—you’d want him to be ruthless with you and show no mercy as he couldn’t care less about the way you whimpered and cried out for him to stop.

—fucking you from behind as his strong arms held you in a headlock, applying pressure that would frighten a choke out of you.

—because you were nothing but his fuck toy.

—it was all overwhelming for miguel on that night, almost too good to be true and he had to squeeze his cock through his sweats to make sure this was reality.

—you would confirm that it was, with the image of you coming all over your chest and stomach, all to the pathetic plunging of your fingers.

—and miguel does too, coming powerfully, to the point of shudders running down his broad back, into a part of your briefs where it would hold your own dick because he wants his smell to be imprinted on you, inked deep into your flesh.

—until you smelled like his.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x male reader #miguel o’hara smut #nou.fics #miguel o’hara headcanon

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elusivecagedmockingbird · 7 months

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Orbiting: pt.4°

: pt.1° | pt.2° - pt.2,5° | pt.3°

[icehockey!jungkook x figureskater!reader] [3.9k smut, angst. There's swearing; bitch-calling (non-sexual); this is purely fiction, please practice safe sex!; tons of dialogues. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, but tbh, I kinda struggled to steer the plot.

Also! Happy Hobi Day! Please give Be My Mistake some love, too! (if u want)

"Isn't that your girl, cozying up to Park?"

The first thing Jungkook sees is you—back on the rink, just where you belong. He's never seen someone as graceful as you glide. You always look beautiful like this, he thinks. The apples of your cheeks are rounded and rosy from the cold, and the corners of your eyes wrinkle as you laugh.

You always reverted to the nine-year-old you when you were left free to skate—so carefree and unafraid. There were moments like now when he could watch you move smoothly on the ice and soar in the air forever. Days like today are what he will always be thankful for, and he hopes you get to have forever. No longer does he want to see you put yourself through so much pain and endure it for the sake of being the best in your sport. While Jungkook knows all too well that you need to put in the hard work to get a step forward toward your dream of being professionals in your own field, he also knew when too much was too much. In all those days where you suffered, Jungkook did, too. So, he vowed to never forget that there's a version of you who knew how to revel and not overthink every move she made on the ice. And it is his duty to always remind you of her.

Your squeal broke him out of his trance. And Jungkook would have felt the strain in his muscle when he whipped his head, turning to look through the glass, past the bleachers, if the sight hadn't irked him. Jealousy stirred as he spots Jimin's arms on your waist and the other outstretched to hold yours. He knows it's nothing malicious. You've been practicing that stance with him for years when you were kids, thanks to his mom. But something about seeing Jimin with you and the fact that you've defended the guy when Jungkook blamed him for your sprained leg AND even managed to gush about how graceful he skates left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Plus, not to be bitter and petty, but Jungkook thinks he skates well—better even. And yet you've never complimented him.

"Not my girl," Jungkook murmurs under his breath. "And it's a routine. Not exactly cozying up." He scoffs and takes his stick from Yugyeom a little too aggressively, causing his friend-slash-teammate to chuckle.

"You seem to know a lot about routines," Jackson cuts in. "But then again, why wouldn’t you, Jungkook?" The lilt in the older man's voice as he said Jungkook's name wasn't unnoticed, but Jungkook didn't have enough patience and attention to spare to even humor the guy. He also knew whatever Jackson had to say would be anything but a friendly banter.

Jungkook only acknowledges the man with a side-eye and raised brow as he tapes his hockey stick.

Unfortunately, Jackson refuses to shut his mouth; the man is clearly on a mission to get a reaction from Jungkook.

The rest of the hockey team starts to come out of the locker rooms, clumping to the bleachers. With the gathering crowd, Jackson raises his voice, demanding attention and an audience. "You know, there's this move figure skaters do where they spin and spin and spin, circling around their partner." With his head tilted and standing in front of Jungkook, he gives him a haughty glare.

And still, Jungkook’s attention remains on you. You’re only just occupying your side of the rink—the opposite side where his team is gathered at. Whatever you hear on your end should be incoherent. You don't need to hear the bullshit coming out of his teammate's mouth, he thinks.

"What was it she preferred to call it again?" Jackson pretends to wait for Jungkook to answer. Yugyeom, on the other hand, looked apologetic. What started out as playful teasing turned into a way for Jackson to provoke their team captain, and everyone knew how Jackson loved to rile Jungkook. While everyone thought it was because the older man lost the title to someone younger, that was only partly the reason.

"Ah, right," Jackson walks closer to Jungkook. He claps Jungkook's shoulder before gripping tightly into it. "Orbiting,” Jackson grins. He’s taunting, hooking Jungkook, demanding his full attention. “Y/N does it well, but you clearly do it the best,” he mocks. “It’s comical watching you run in circles around the bitch for years.” His sly smile turns to pointed chuckles as he feels Jungkook tense under his grip.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Closing in on Jungkook's ear, Jackson whispers, "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure she does it intentionally, especially to guys she dances with. I bet Park's gonna be her new boy toy now, huh?"

Jungkook was never a violent man. Even on the ice, in a game, he never started brawls. The one time he got tangled in a fight, he couldn’t stand the disappointed glare you gave him. It hurt more than the 13 stitches on his head and scarier than his mom’s scolding.

And yet, Jungkook throws the first punch straight to Jackson’s jaw.

Jungkook can take a joke and can easily shake off empty trash talk and name-calling from his team. In fact, he lets them make jokes about him about his blatant simping for you because it’s true, and anything untrue, he doesn’t see the point in entertaining it. But he draws the line when the jabs are at the expense of the people he loves.

In a matter of seconds, Jackson returns the punch, and a full brawl breaks out.

On the opposite end, you and Jimin match your stride as a pair—being aware of each other’s movement and syncing your limbs to move as one; oblivious to the growing chaos.

You’re in the middle of a Lutz when the commotion steals your focus. You wobble on your landing and Jimin’s quick to hold you from falling. You turn towards the racket and see a mass of bulky men shouting.

It’s Jungkook’s team.

You skate closer to the chaos, and it’s not until you see a pressed back on the glass, the number 97 jersey bold and taut on their back, that you speed skate. Behind you, Jimin calls your name and follows.

You see Yugyeom restrain Jackson, and the other guys are holding back Jungkook. A flurry of curse words flies out of Jackson’s mouth. Entering the box, your eyes are drawn to Jungkook. You can already see his busted lip and sore knuckles. You call his name, and he looks up, jaws locked and tense. It takes a moment for his clenched knuckles to relax. He stands up and shrugs off the arms holding him.

Yet again, Jackson cuts in, “You guys are quite a pair, huh?” he laughs, humorless.

“Man, shut the fuck up,” Yugyeom struggles but eventually manages to drag Jackson away from the group. Sensing that Jungkook won't follow and lunge at Jackson, the rest of the guys disperse. All that’s left gathered on the bleachers is you and Jungkook.

And Jimin.

Your new partner’s existence annoys Jungkook. Your doe-eyed friend wonders if Jimin knows he doesn’t have to stand so close beside you. He watches with eagle eyes as Jimin hands out your skate guards. You teeter sideways as you clasp the rubber on your skates, and Jungkook hates the sight in front of him—you’re holding on to Jimin for support, and his arm is on your waist to keep you steady.

Fueled by jealousy and adrenaline, Jungkook walks towards you just in time to catch your arm away from Jimin’s body as you switch to putting on the other rubber guard on your skates.

You feel smushed as you stand sandwiched between two guys. Feeling claustrophobic, you push Jungkook by his chest to look at his injuries. “Your lips are bleeding,” your tone colder than ice, a contrast to your warm hands inspecting the blooming bruises on his face. “It’s nothing,” Jungkook murmurs, his head turning sideways, away from you.

You tsk at his stubbornness and press your thumb on his split lip, earning a pained hiss. “We have to clean this so it doesn’t scar.” Before Jungkook can protest and put on his macho bravado, you turn to Jimin. “Can we take a rain check on lunch?” your voice barely above a whisper. But Jungkook’s not only stubborn, he’s nosey, too—masking how hard he strains to listen to your conversation with an unbothered face.

There's an exchange of whispers, then Jimin looks at him, then back at you. He smiles and nods at you. “I'll see you later, then.” His hands connect with your arm for a comforting squeeze before leaving.

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Where are we going?” Jungkook follows you as you drag him by his arm along the corridors. “The clinic’s closed on weekends,” he points out, but the only response he gets is a huff.

You’re a bit eerily quiet. Calm, even. He fears what follows, so he thinks of a way to pacify you.

“Well. Lucky for you, Jeon, I have the keys.” You dangle the set of keys on your fingers. “Your mom gave them to me before she left.”

You unlock the clinic and usher Jungkook in the compact space. “I seem to always end up hurt when I practice and it’s not like your mom has her eyes on me all the time, so she lends me the key to the clinic.” You push Jungkook to the foamed table. “Sit.”

Jungkook follows suit, still mum, still thinking. He knows he's on wafer-thin ice with you, but even so, he can't help but love the attention you’re giving him and the fact that you’re away from Jimin.

The image of you and Park on the rink is still vivid in his memory, stirring the tinge of jealousy that resides inside him. So, as you rummage through the cabinets, Jungkook pulls you close to him. “C’mere,” he whispers.

“Hold on, I have to find something for your lip.” Your body extends in the small space. Your arms are outstretched while you rummage through the cabinet for bandages and antiseptic cream, and your lower half is awkwardly bent, thighs wedged between Jungkook’s, and his hands support your hips.

“Forget the cream. I know a better way to have this healed quickly.” His arms engulf your waist and pull you completely to him. You turn to tell him off, but before words can leave your mouth, Jungkook slots his lips to yours.

Before things could escalate, you begrudgingly pull away. “Nuh-uh. You think you’re so sly, huh?” You pinch his chin. “I still need to interrogate you on what exactly happened with Jackson back there.”

Jungkook deflates. “You know Jackson. He was spouting nonsense, and I guess he just got on my nerves.”

Curiosity peaked, you push Jungkook to tell you more. “What nonsense?” Your willful streak shows in your furrowed eyebrows. On most days, he loves it, but on a day like today, he wishes you knew when to get the hint and just drop it.

Jungkook groans. “I’m just really having one of those days, Y/N.” Arms still wrapped around your waist, he leans forward to rest his head on your chest. Instinctively, you run your fingers through his hair, fingers massaging his scalp. Your best friend moans, and for the first time since you pulled him away from the bleachers, you let out a smile.

“Make me feel better,” he breathes. His face now burrowing into your breasts, and his fluffy hair tickles you.

“Gguk,” you giggle. “We’re in the clinic, and I'm pretty sure there are people nearby.” You softly pull at his hair to remove his head between your tits, but he just moans.

Oh.

“Don’t care, baby. Just focus on me,” he proposes with a kiss on your neck and his hands make soothing work on your back. When the only response he gets from you is a satisfied hum, he sits up further on the table. He lowers his hand, tapping your ass before he pulls you by the backs of your knees so you straddle his thighs on the table.

“Fuck, I love it when you wear skirts.” Jungkook’s hand disappears inside your clothes, palms once again making contact with your ass before he claws at your tights. “This I hate, though. Fuck.” he grumbles at the sheer garment.

“Oh, that's a shame," you pout. "I actually thought you'd love it. It’s crotchless," the last sentence coming out in a whisper. Cue another curse from his mouth. You momentarily pull away to get off the table and shed your safety shorts. “Need those off, Jeon," you command with a shoot of your brow towards his pants. “Wanna feel you. Don’t you want to feel me?”

You're a fucking tease, and Jungkook loves it.

You watch him struggle to unlatch his belt clasp—he’s roughly pulling at his padded pants and while you want to help, you decide to enjoy the sight before you as his thick thighs come into view. You climb back on top of Jungkook, his eyes following your movement until you plop your ass to his growing bulge.

Jungkook flips the front of your skirt and goes breathless at the sight. “You’re a fucking minx, you know that?”

“Only for you.” Hands gripping his shoulders as an anchor, you drag your wet pussy to his bulge, and you both moan. “Wore this for you," you pant. "I knew you were practicing today and thought you'd need a cooldown after." You’re full-on humping him, drawing pleasured gasps from the man below you.

“Well, fuck me,” Jungkook throws his head back, eyes up on the ceiling and he thanks his lucky stars for you. You pull at his tight underwear, and his hard cock springs free—swollen red and leaking. Your mouth waters at the sight, and your pussy clenches at nothing.

“Please, Jungkook,” you plead. You’re beyond turned on. Your arousal mixes with Jungkook’s precum, and you can smell the sex permeating the air. It drives you feral. You spit at his cock before stroking it.

Jungkook revels in your neediness. This is what he wants—for you to need him, want him. And someday, he hopes it goes beyond sex. His arms pull your waist closer as you sink down on his cock in one drop.

“Shit, Y/N, you okay, baby?”

You respond with a breathy yes as you start bouncing on his dick. Your focus is directed on chasing your high and, at the same time, making sure Jungkook feels the same intensity of desire and pleasure you feel. With a roll of your hips, you clench around his shaft. He claws at your arched back as he sucks your tits with playful nips. Each sting heightens your arousal.

You play around with the angle of your hips and attune to Jungkook's reaction. But you struggle and near complete submission with each bite to your breast, every kiss to your lips, and slide to your folds. Once again, you’re rendered pliant and submissive on top of Jungkook.

Feeling you slow down, Jungkook taps your burning thighs. “On your back, baby,” he rasps. You shake your head but move to get on all fours—you raise your hips, shuffling to snuggle his cock in your ass and stretch your back. And to top it off, you clasp your hands on your back, giving him something to hold as he pounds into you.

Behind you, Jungkook is gobsmacked. What are you doing to him?

Presenting yourself for his use, Jungkook doesn't hesitate to hold your behaved hands with one grip, and his other hand guides his dick to smear your slick from your folds to your ass. He preens at the noises you make.

"Please," you drool. "Please what? Tell me what you want, baby," his voice matches the slow and soft movement of his tip on your folds.

With one last teasing push of his tip to your puffy clit, he completely bottoms out and holds.

“How’s that for feeling me, baby?” His lips ghost the shell of your ear, and it tickles you just right. You clench around him and reclaim one of your restrained hands between your now folded bodies to draw circles on your clit. You hear Jungkook chuckle before leaving a quick peck on your cheek. As he straightens up to pull out his dick, he reaches to swat your naughty hand on your clit and replaces it with his.

And it feels better.

His fingers play with your nub and continue to plunge in and out of you. The sound that echoes around the tiny room is pure filth—guttural groans and whiny moans harmonize.

“Baby, cum for me,” Jungkook hastens his rhythmic thrusting, and with a soft flick to your clit, you come undone. His movements quicken and cum-soaked hands travel upwards to your body to fondle your tits like it's his personal stress ball.

“Shit Jungkook. Feels good," you blabber. You love how you can feel his weight on top of you; the pressure makes his pounding harder and deeper and it overrides your oversensitivity. The pleasure is too good, too strong. With a bite to your shoulder to muffle himself, you cum with him.

“Don’t forget your shorts. Can’t have you skating with Park wearing just that."

"Right," you giggle and put on your shorts. "Can't be traumatizing my partner this soon."

"Good girl." Jungkook pats your ass.

"Hey," your hands pull Jungkook before he can leave. "What really happened back there?"

"Y/N, I told you it was nothing."

"Nothing? Jungkook, had the fight been longer, you could've been dismissed from the upcoming game."

"Well, we're fine. Plus, Jackson's not going to do anything or tell the coach. It's both our asses on the line."

"That doesn't mean you can go around throwing punches now. What if—"

Throwing his head back, Jungkook lets out a bitter laugh, cutting you off. As he returns to face you, he sees the focused glare on your eyes—lids sharp and brows knitted. You're annoyed.

But so is he.

“You really wanna know? Fine. Jackson called me out. He said it was fucking comical how I wait around you like a lovesick puppy. It's actually a fucking running joke in our team that when you call, I come running." Words and feelings overflowed out of Jungkook's mouth, but he was not close to being done. "And as much as I hate to admit it, it’s actually true, and someone like him throwing that to my face just struck a nerve. He deserved the punch for running his mouth and calling you a bitch, too. Y/N, if you've heard the names he's called you, comments he made—"

"I don't care about that, Jungkook," you interrupt. One moment, you're in bliss, and now you've been hit with an accusation. "I don't care if he calls me a bitch or paints me however he wants. It's you I care about. I worry that one day, he manages to push you to your breaking point, and you do something that kicks you off the team." You feel like a bubble filled with emotions burst inside you, leaving you conflicted with what you feel. You're angry at Jackson, but also, if you think Jungkook is saying what he is saying, then half of you blooms in hope, but the other wilts at the revelation that he said it like he resents what he's feeling.

“So, do you resent me? For, I don't know, calling you? Wanting to be with you? Being friends with you?" The last question left your lips in a murmur. You've ranked low in competitions before, but you've never looked as defeated as you do now. To make it worse, you stand pathetic in front of Jungkook.

“I’m not saying that," Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose. "I’ve been in love with you, Y/N,” he can’t believe he’s saying it out loud.

Jungkook imagined his confession to be far from this wreckage. This moment was the polar opposite of how he wanted it to go, but the words flurry out of his mouth before he could think of them. “I love you, but you’re always too hung up on every new guy that comes along to even see me…” he swallows the sob rising in his throat. “Sometimes I wonder if you keep me as a placeholder until a new guy comes.”

“A placeholder?” You're horrified. Jungkook's breaking your heart, and the thought that you apparently broke his shatters the pieces further.

“Aren’t I? When Jackson joined our team, all he had to do was wink and throw a cheesy line at you, and you’re all about him. And now Jimin—”

“Jimin?” Now, you're confused.

“Yes, Jimin. All he had to do was skate with you, and suddenly, I’m on the backburner.”

“Jungkook, where is this coming from? You’re making me out as someone who’s never been a friend to you.”

“Oh, you’ve been a friend, alright. But you can’t deny you’ve strung me up all along. Sometimes I wonder if you knew how I feel and you—”

“Stop," you plead. "Oh god, Jungkook, stop talking, please.” The tears you were holding back now freefall to your cheeks. “All this time, this is how you felt. You have been resenting me—"

"That's not what I'm saying! Do you not understand me?" Jungkook grows frustrated.

“No, I understand, Jungkook. Perfectly. I understand I’ve been selfish, teetering between wanting to keep you close to me and keeping you at a distance to protect myself." You don't want to invalidate his feelings, but he also needs to know where you're at. Thousands of thoughts are drowning you, and you're nowhere close to navigating your feelings; you're still conflicted and lost. But most of all, afraid. Will you lose Jungkook now? It frightens you that one wrong decision could crash your friendship beyond fixable. "But Jungkook, I’ve never seen you as someone I can set aside for anyone else because you’ve always been the first person I look for and reach out to. Even when I always thought you were so close yet so far to me, but still I—"

A knock pops the bubble you’re in. Rushing to wipe your cheeks dry, the door swings open to a clueless and shocked Jimin, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Shit, sorry," Jimin fidgets between wanting to close the door and leave but decides he'd rather not get in trouble, so with eyes on the floor, he calls for you.

"Coach is going ballistic looking for you, Y/N. And him, too. I mean, their coach is looking for him. He heard of the fight.”

More worry rushes to you. You try hard to stay afloat and level-headed, but you're sinking and sinking. “Right,” you clear your throat. “We were just cleaning up. We’re done here anyway.”

Once again, you feel claustrophobic. You need to leave. You don't trust yourself to make any decision in the state you're in. The last time you made a decision from what you were feeling, you made a selfish proposal to Jungkook. And look where that's gotten you now. You can't think, so you rush to leave the room, folding your arms before Jungkook can grab your wrist.

“Wait, Y/N—”

You linger briefly at the door, just enough so he can catch the defeated words that you speak, “We’re done, Jungkook.”

>> Page 5

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