#even if part of her will always be a little fearful of the spotlight. of being /found out/. when you grow up hiding you continue to do so

[maretinelli]

ANYONE AGAINST THIS MARRIAGE

Lewis Hamilton X Engineer!fem!reader

Summary: Lewis and his chief engineer, Y/n, shared a forbidden romance that was cut short to protect their careers. Years later, Y/n stands at the altar, about to marry another man, when Lewis makes a shocking decision: he resigns from Mercedes and does the unthinkable to win back the love of his life.

Words: 8.5K+

Warnings: Anguish, Toto a little annoying, separation, heartbreak (of us readers too), mention of marriage and an extremely special ending

Author: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes that may be made in writing and spelling. And this is a good idea, I hope it is good writing too, the idea came from an episode of Greys Anatomy.

MASTERLIST

The romance between Lewis Hamilton and Y/n began unexpectedly, a slip in Mercedes' strict rules that strictly prohibited any romantic interaction between engineers and drivers.

As Lewis’s chief engineer, Y/n was brilliant, dedicated and played a key role in his performance on the track. However, away from the spotlight and the rigours of the team, they found themselves caught in a bond that was impossible to ignore. Their passion grew between technical meetings and long nights working in the circuit garage.

Each meeting had to be carefully planned. To avoid suspicion, Lewis and Y/n chose isolated locations away from the team.

Weekends at country houses became their private refuge, where they could finally breathe without the weight of secrecy. The first time they spent together in one of these houses was magical: The smell of wood burning in the fireplace, the view of a snow-covered forest through the window, and the two of them, lying on a soft rug, sharing glasses of wine and conversations that went from technical details of the car to dreams they never dared to share with anyone else.

Sometimes, Lewis's apartment in Monaco was the perfect setting for romantic dinners. Y/n would arrive late at night, always making sure no one was following her. Lewis would greet her with a smile and a hug that made all fears disappear. They would cook together, with Y/n always making fun of Lewis's clumsiness in the kitchen, while he tried to impress her with improvised recipes. After dinner, they would share dessert on the couch, while Roscoe slept peacefully next to them, as if he knew he was witnessing true and pure love.

The winter months brought even more intimate moments. Wrapped up in blankets on the couch, they watched old movies, but they rarely paid attention. They were too busy making out, kissing, sharing smiles, and laughing at inside jokes. Lewis loved to see Y/n laugh, especially when she messed with his braids to tease him. It was in those moments that the weight of the rules and the outside world disappeared, and all that mattered was the unshakable connection between them.

Despite the intensity of these moments, the shadow of team rules constantly hung over their relationship. Every message exchanged, every stolen touch in meetings was a risk they were both willing to take, but one that also terrified them.

After all, if they were discovered, they could lose not only their careers, but also the opportunity to be together.

The dilemma was constant, but the love they shared kept them moving forward. They both knew they were playing with fire, but as long as they were together, the risk was worth it.

The Mercedes factory in Brackley exuded professionalism. Glass rooms lined the corridors, offering a clear view of engineers focused on their computers, designing parts and analyzing data.

White lights illuminated the impeccably organized environment, and the sound of keys being pressed and technical conversations echoed through the hallways. It was the heart of the team, where dreams of victory were shaped and adjusted.

Y/n walked down the hallway with firm steps. She was wearing her Mercedes team polo shirt, which perfectly matched her dark tailored pants and low sneakers, which echoed lightly on the tiled floor.

Her hair was tied up in a practical bun, a few loose strands framing her focused face.

Upon reaching the room where Toto, the team leader, had summoned her, Y/n stopped for a moment, adjusted her posture and knocked lightly on the door, which was already ajar.

"Excuse me. Hi, did you call me here?" His voice was calm and professional, but it held a slight curiosity.

Toto, who was standing in the center of the room, nodded in confirmation. He wore his classic, impeccably pressed white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and looked serious, with his arms crossed over his chest.

His expression was impassive, almost intimidating, but it was something Y/n was used to seeing in the most tense meetings.

It was then that Y/n's eyes furrowed, noticing that they weren't alone in the room. Leaning against a steel cabinet next to the glass wall, with his arms crossed and his posture relaxed, was Lewis Hamilton.

He seemed oblivious to the tension in the room, though his eyes were discreetly watching her.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat when she saw him there. She knew it was only natural, after all, Lewis was the team's main driver, and they were probably there to discuss something related to the car.

But even so, his presence always had an effect on her that she couldn't control. Feeling the weight of his gaze for a brief moment, she swallowed hard and focused on Toto, who didn't seem to notice her inner turmoil.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Y/n," Toto said, his deep voice filling the room.

"Sure!" Trying to keep her composure, Y/n nodded and walked into the room.

Toto broke the silence that hung over the room with his firm, serious voice.

"You guys really didn't read the rules, did you?"

The dry and direct tone made Y/n and Lewis look at each other quickly, surprised by the statement. A small nervous smile escaped them both, a reflection of the tension that was beginning to accumulate in the environment.

Lewis even let out a short, almost inaudible laugh, while Y/n bit her lip lightly, looking away.

"It's not funny" Toto added, crossing his arms even tighter against his chest, his rigid posture making it clear he wasn't there to joke around.

The smile on Y/n and Lewis' faces disappeared almost instantly. The silence in the room grew even heavier as the two waited for what Toto would say next.

"I know about your relationship."

Y/n felt the ground disappear beneath her feet for a moment, as Lewis uncrossed his arms, his body assuming a more tense posture.

Neither of them said anything; there was nothing to say.

Toto continued, not giving time for any reaction.

"You both know this is strictly forbidden. It's not just about you. And not about what you do or don't do away from the track. It's about the team, about Mercedes' reputation, about how this could be interpreted if it leaks. Do you understand the risk you're taking and the risk you're putting us all at?" Each word carried a weight that made it clear how serious the situation was. "I'm not here to judge you," Toto continued, sighing as he ran a hand over his face, clearly frustrated. "But this can't go on!!"

Silence reigned for a moment. Y/n wanted to speak, to defend herself, but the words simply wouldn't come out. She felt Lewis's gaze on her, but she didn't have the courage to raise her head.

The only thing I could think was that all the effort to keep their relationship a secret had been in vain, and now, everything was about to fall apart.

Toto remained standing, his stern gaze darting from one to the other, waiting for some answer, but neither of them seemed ready to speak.

"Toto, I know we broke the rules. I know what that means, but... it doesn't change the fact that we're professionals. We've never let our relationship interfere with work." Lewis finally realized.

Toto raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated by the excuse. "Professionals?" he repeated, almost sarcastically. "Lewis, this is Mercedes we're talking about. One of the biggest Formula 1 teams in the world. Do you really think that if this gets out, anyone will care how 'professional' you were? No! What will matter is that two team members broke basic rules.

Y/n felt her face heat up, a mixture of shame and guilt consuming her. She finally found the courage to lift her head, but before she could speak, Toto continued.

"You two are brilliant at what you do. No one can deny that. But this... personal situation? It puts everything at risk. If any journalist or competitor finds out, you know it will be used against us. Against you, Lewis. And against you, Y/n."

Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, and the pain in his words hit her hard. Toto was right. She knew it. But hearing the consequences laid out so clearly was like a punch to the gut.

"Toto..." Y/n began, her voice wavering. "I never meant to put the team at risk. We were careful, I swear. But..." She hesitated, her voice trailing off as she looked at Lewis, who was staring at her with an expression that seemed to say he would support her no matter what.

"But?" Toto pressed, his piercing eyes fixed on her.

"But it's not something we can avoid." The words came out almost as a whisper, and she felt a wave of emotion threaten to wash over her.

Toto held up a hand, signaling that he didn't want to hear any more excuses. "This can't go on," he said, his voice firm. "Either you finish whatever you have, or I'll have to fire one of you."

The words fell like lightning in the room.

Y/n's heart seemed to stop for a moment, as her mind struggled to process Toto's ultimatum. Her eyes widened slightly, and she felt a lump form in her throat. Lewis, who had maintained a serious posture, clenched his hands into fists at his sides, his jaw tense, betraying the pent-up anger.

They both knew how much their jobs meant to them.

For Y/n, being chief engineer at Mercedes was the result of years of dedication, sleepless nights, and the sacrifice of personal moments. It was his passion, what gave meaning to his career.

For Lewis, Mercedes was his home, the place where he built his glory, and every race was more than a competition. It was a legacy.

The weight of Toto's threat was almost unbearable. He knew exactly where to hit so they would understand the gravity of the situation.

"I don't want it to come to that. You're both brilliant at what you do, and the team needs you. But you have to sort it out. Now."

He looked at both of them once more, as if expecting them to say something, but silence remained. Then, Toto sighed deeply and took a step towards the glass door.

"Think carefully about what you're going to do. Because I'm not going to give you another chance." With that, he opened the door and left, leaving a heavy void in the room.

As soon as the door closed, Y/n let out a sob she had been holding in, the tears finally spilling over. She brought her hands to her face, trying to muffle the sound as her body shook.

"Y/n..." Lewis immediately approached, his voice soft but filled with concern.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and the simple touch made Y/n fall apart even more. Lewis quickly pulled her into his arms, holding her tight as she cried against his chest. He stroked her back in slow motions, trying to comfort her, but his own heart was in pieces.

"It's going to be okay," he whispered, though even he didn't know how they could fix this. "We'll figure it out, I promise."

Y/n just shook her head against him, tears wetting the fabric of Lewis's shirt.

She pulled away from Lewis's embrace slightly, but before she could say anything, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that were still falling.

"Lew..." She began, her voice low and shaky. "Toto's right."

Lewis froze. The weight of those words seemed to pull him to the ground. He looked deep into Y/n's eyes, sadness and disbelief written all over his face.

"No..." Hamilton whispered, barely audible, but Y/n continued.

"I don't want either of us to leave Mercedes. This job... it's our passion. It's what we love to do." Her voice wavered, but she kept her gaze steady on his, even as tears filled her eyes. "But I don't want to break up with you either, Lewis. It's too painful..." Her voice broke, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to keep calm. "But I think we need to look after our reputations, the team. We can't risk all that."

Lewis took a deep breath, feeling his chest tighten as if something was being ripped out of him. He knew she was right. He had known it since the moment Toto confronted them. But accepting it was another matter.

"What do you think?" Y/n asked, her voice a whisper.

Lewis looked away for a moment, his hands still holding her face. He wanted to scream, to fight the entire world if he had to, but he also knew there was no choice.

"I'd do anything for you, Y/n," he replied, his voice husky. "As long as you're okay... If you think that's what's best, then... we'll break up." The words felt surreal as they left his mouth, and he hated every single one of them.

Y/n let out a sob as she heard his confirmation. She nodded slowly, tears falling harder now.

"I just want you to be okay too" she murmured as he slowly released her face.

Lewis swallowed hard, the sight of her so vulnerable before him breaking his heart into pieces.

"I'll stay..." He said, though tears began to stream down his cheeks. "I promise!"

Slowly, she turned towards the door, each step feeling more difficult than the last.

"Y/n..." Lewis called, his voice low but thick with emotion.

She stopped, turning just enough to look at him over her shoulder.

"Be okay, okay?" He asked, his voice breaking at the end. "I'll have your things sent to my house by the end of the week...if that's okay."

Y/n nodded again, forcing a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you... for everything. Really."

And with that, she left the room, leaving Lewis alone, tears streaming freely as he stared at the door she had just walked through.

The silence that was left behind was deafening, and he knew that the pain would stay with him for a long time.

•••••••••••••••••••••

After leaving the classroom that day, Y/n ran into Toto in the hallway. She stopped in front of him, took a deep breath, and told him that she and Lewis were over. Toto just nodded, his face expressionless as he thanked her briefly. There was no comfort or kind words, just the coldness of someone who knew she had made a difficult but necessary decision.

After the breakup, both Y/n and Lewis faced a period of adaptation. The work, previously full of complicity and discreet laughter, became tense and uncomfortable.

They both avoided direct contact whenever possible, and when it was unavoidable, their interactions were brief and professional. The air between them always felt charged, as if something unsaid lingered there, but over time, that tension began to ease.

The days turned into weeks, and eventually, they found a balance, albeit distant, to keep the professional dynamic intact.

Months passed, and Y/n slowly began to rebuild her personal life.

Eventually, she met Andrew, a passionate chef with a warm personality and a smile that seemed to light up any room. He was completely different to Lewis: more laid-back, with a career away from the pressure and glitz of F1 racing. Most importantly, physically he was nothing like the driver. He was blond, blue-eyed and taller.

He treated her with affection and dedication, always paying attention to the little things that made her smile. It was clear that Andrew loved her deeply, but he was not Lewis.

Lewis watched from afar. He saw Andrew accompanying Y/n to the races, always by her side, showing support and affection. In everyone's eyes, they seemed like a perfect couple, but Hamilton knew something was missing.

Even after months since the breakup, he still missed Y/n, and seeing her apparent happiness with Andrew was like a knife to his heart. He knew he had no right to feel this way anymore, but that didn't make the pain any easier to bear.

Y/n liked Andrew. But he didn't love him like he loved Lewis.

Deep down, she knew he was just an attempt to fill the void Lewis had left. Even in the happiest moments, she found herself thinking about what it was like to be with Lewis, the connection they had, and the feelings that never quite went away.

About a year after the breakup, rumors started circulating around the team that Y/n was engaged to Andrew.

When Lewis first heard it, he dismissed it as gossip, but confirmation came abruptly.

He was in the garage when he saw Carmen, George's girlfriend, approach Y/n with a wide smile, holding her hands and congratulating her.

"The ring is beautiful, Y/n! I'm so happy for you!" Carmen's words were full of enthusiasm, but to Lewis, they were an unexpected blow.

His eyes immediately sought out Y/n, who smiled at Carmen in thanks. She raised her hand, and the glint of the ring on her finger was unmistakable.

Y/n and Carmen have always had a close relationship. Ever since Carmen started accompanying George to races, Y/n was one of the first to take her under her wing, helping her feel at ease in a predominantly male environment. This friendship grew stronger over the years, making Carmen one of the few people Y/n could vent to and fully trust.

After that scene, Lewis excused himself from the staff, saying he had to make an important call. And as soon as he got to his driver's room, he cried. He cried a lot, called his mother and vented.

After hanging up the call with his mother, Lewis remained seated, staring into space. The pain he felt seemed to overflow as he unlocked his phone and began to review the photos he had of Y/n.

They were happy moments: shared smiles, knowing looks, the reflection of a love that, for him, was still so present.

He slid his fingers over the screen, but his vision began to blur as tears fell, one after another.

He quickly tried to dry them when he heard a knock on the door. When he opened the door, he found Russell. He was there to call Lewis to a meeting, but seeing him in that state, George didn't need any explanation and with a simple and spontaneous gesture, he hugged Lewis.

And for the first time, Lewis allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of a friend, without having to say a word.

Months passed, and Y/n immersed herself in preparations for the engagement party.

It was an event that was supposed to be filled with loved ones, and she made sure to invite almost all of her teammates. Andrew, her fiancé, encouraged her to include Lewis, since He was an important part of her team and her routine. What Andrew didn't know was that Lewis had been much more than that to her.

An invitation to an engagement party arrived in the mail, and when he received it, Lewis stood motionless, staring at the envelope. He opened it carefully, his eyes scanning the printed words. He read and reread the invitation several times, the weight of the situation hitting him hard.

In the end, he decided not to attend. He sent a short message to Y/n, apologizing and saying that he would be spending the weekend of the party at his mother's house.

It was a lie, of course. He just couldn't bear to see her so close to someone else.

As she planned the details of the wedding, Y/n couldn’t get Lewis out of her head. Every decision she made seemed inevitably linked to him. The flowers they chose, the soundtrack for the ceremony, even the location of the reception, everything seemed to echo the conversations they had late at night, when they talked about what their perfect wedding would be like.

One afternoon, Y/n invited Carmem to help her choose her wedding dress. They visited several stores, and the engineer tried on several models, but none of them seemed right.

"You look stunning in this" Carmen said excitedly.

"I don't know... I guess it's not exactly what I want," Y/n replied, discouraged, always finding a flaw.

"Y/n, you look amazing in all of them! What's the problem?"

Y/n shrugged, but inside she knew the reason. None of those dresses felt right because none of them were like the one she had described to Lewis years ago.

After hours of searching, Y/n was about to give up, but something caught her eye. She stopped abruptly in front of a display window. And there it was: The perfect dress. The dress she had described to Lewis. Every detail was exactly what she had dreamed of.

Carmem, who was walking a little ahead, noticed that Y/n was no longer by her side. Turning around, she saw her friend standing there, her eyes teary.

"That's it" Y/n said, her voice breaking.

Without questioning, Carmem held her hand and pulled her into the store. Y/n put on the dress and, upon leaving the fitting room, she saw Carmem and the attendant smiling from ear to ear.

"It's perfect! It feels like it was made for you."

Y/n stared at her reflection in the mirror, tears sliding softly down her face. "It was made for me," she murmured, her chest tightening.

Because, deep down, she knew that that dress symbolized much more than her wedding day: It was a reminder of the love she could never forget.

One month until the wedding.

Y/n was sitting at her desk at Mercedes HQ, her fingers tightly wrapped around the invitation she was supposed to give to Lewis.

The sheet of paper gleamed elegantly in the office light, with the names 'Y/n and Andrew' engraved in gold letters. It looked perfect, but at the same time, wrong. She read and reread the words over and over, hoping they would magically change to 'Y/n and Lewis'.

The invitation weighed heavily on her hands like a cruel reminder of what could not be. For a moment, memories of a past filled with laughter, touches, and stolen glances flooded back. But a sudden knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in!" She said, quickly putting the invitation away in one of the desk drawers.

One of the younger engineers appeared, carrying a clipboard covered in graphs and technical reports. “Sorry to bother you, boss, but we need to review the suspension parameters for the next stage. There’s something odd about the telemetry data, and we’d like your feedback.”

Y/n smiled despite the turmoil in her chest. "Sure, I can take a look. It's probably some calibration-related error. I can check in the chart room."

The young man nodded, thanking her with a shy nod. "Okay, we'll wait for you." He said, and then began to close the door, but Y/n interrupted.

"Do you know where Hamilton is?"

He looks up, thinking for a moment. "That's the last time he and George were in the break room. He should still be there."

Y/n nods and mumbles a quick thank you, making the boy smile gently and close the door to her office.

As soon as he left, Y/n opened the drawer again.

She had a battle. While it felt wrong to call the love of her life to watch her marry someone else, her brain was telling her that delivering the invitation was just another way to be kind and professional and not rude to his feelings.

The hope that Lewis could react, that he could stop her, even if it was madness, took hold of her.

Y/n stood up and walked with determined steps to where he would probably be, holding the envelope tightly in her hand. Each step felt like a challenge, her head telling her to forget the idea, while her heart whispered to continue.

When he reached the hallway that led to the living room, he saw Lewis from afar, leaning against the wall and laughing at something George had just said. The sound of his laughter brought out a wave of emotions, and Yin stopped for a moment, gathering the courage to call out to him.

But before she could take the next step, Carmen appeared beside her, smiling radiantly.

"Y/n!" Carmen called, not noticing her friend's slight startle. "George and I received the invitation last week! Everything is so beautiful, the design is perfect, and I loved the sweet message. I was so excited to be your godmother!"

Y/n smiled, feeling relieved. "I'm glad you liked it," she replied, while discreetly tucking the invitation into her coat pocket.

"It's really beautiful, you know? The color palette... you nailed it" Carmen continued, while Y/n just smiled.

The mention of colors made Y/n's heart clench, for she knew that those soft shades of blue and white were exactly what Lewis had suggested when, years ago, the two had joked about what their wedding would be like.

As Carmen continued talking, Lewis, standing next to George, began to catch fragments of the conversation. He heard enough to understand the topic: The Wedding. And like a sharp blade, pain cut off his breath for an instant.

The invitation. The wedding. The realization that she was actually moving on, with someone else, seemed like something he couldn't quite accept, even though he knew it was inevitable.

He looked away from George, who was still talking about upcoming race strategies, but Lewis couldn't focus.

"Lewis? Are you listening?" George asked, arching an eyebrow at his friend's lack of attention.

"Hm? Yeah, sure," he replied, but his voice was vague.

Before George could insist, Carmen called him, saying it was time for them to go. George nodded, quickly saying goodbye to Lewis, and as he passed Y/n, he gave her a friendly pat on the back.

"Hey, thanks for the wedding invitation. Everything looks really beautiful." He smiles genuinely and friendly.

Y/n smiled back, but the sparkle in her eyes didn't hide the sadness she felt. "I would never leave you aside at such an important moment." She replied, sincerely, but with a voice full of something more.

Lewis watched it all, feeling his heart sink deeper with each word. The weight of reality was crushing.

As soon as the couple walked away, Y/n looked up and noticed that Lewis was starting to walk in the opposite direction.

“Lewis” she called, her voice soft but full of intent. He stopped, turning to her with that sweet smile she knew so well, but which now seemed distant. “I need to talk to you.”

"Sure, yes. We can go to my office."

He probably thought it was about the car, because for the past year and a half, all their conversations had been about work. This emotional distance they had created made the moment even more difficult.

Upon arriving at Lewis's room, he opened the door, holding it so that Y/n could enter first. The room was small but cozy, with a dark wooden table covered in technical notes, charts and a small Union Jack flag.

Y/n barely had time to look around before something specific caught her eye: A picture frame on Lewis's desk. She recognized the image immediately.

It was a photo of the two of them, taken three years ago, during a weekend at a circuit.

In the photo, Y/n was smiling broadly, standing behind Lewis with her arms around his shoulders. She was wearing a Mercedes cap, but she wasn't wearing her uniform. Unlike Lewis, who was wearing his dark overalls, but had a smile that lit up the entire city.

For those who didn't know about their relationship, I would say it was just a friendly photo of the engineer with her pilot. But for them, that photo had a great emotional impact.

Lewis noticed where Y/n's gaze went and, in a quick gesture, walked to the table, picking up the picture frame and lowering it discreetly, as if trying to erase that memory. He thought Y/n hadn't noticed, but she saw everything.

She looked away from the living room window, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. It wasn't just the image that hurt. It was symbolism. That photo represented everything they had been and what they would never be again.

"What did you want to talk about, dear?" Lewis asked, his voice low, almost fearful.

But Y/n still needed a moment to breathe before answering.

Lewis waited patiently for the engineer's response, his eyes searching hers, but the hesitation on his face was evident.

"I..." She began, but words failed her for a moment. "I needed to deliver something to you."

Lewis frowned curiously, but remained silent as he watched her reach into her coat pocket. With slow, reluctant movements, Y/n pulled out the invitation. Her hands trembled as she held it for a brief moment before holding it out to him.

He took the paper carefully, as if it were something precious, but at the same time a weapon that could hurt him. Upon opening it, he saw the golden letters highlighting the names 'Y/n and Andrew'

His eyes roamed over the palette of blues and whites, so familiar, so intimate. It was like a punch in the gut, a reminder of what he imagined they would one day be.

"Thank you" Lewis said, a forced smile that didn't reach his eyes. His voice was low, trying to sound gentle, but it failed to hide the pain that filled him.

Before he could say anything else, Y/n interrupted him. “I… I didn’t know if I should call you,” she began, her voice shaking. “Because of everything that happened between us. Because of everything we had. But… Andrew insisted. He thinks that since you’re my colleague and teammate, you should be there.”

Lewis looked up from the invitation and stared at Y/n, his expression a mix of surprise and sadness.

"He doesn't know, does he?" Lewis asked, his voice coming out in a whisper.

Y/n shook her head, a bitter smile playing on her lips. "No... I never told him. I never could. How could I explain? He's... He's an amazing man, Lewis. A good, kind, patient man..." She paused, and her eyes filled with tears. "But... I can't feel with him what I felt with you. What I still feel."

Lewis felt a lump in his throat at that. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know if he should. She continued. “I’ve tried, Lewis. I really have. I thought that if I put my past behind me, I could build something new, something that would make me forget. But I can’t. And yet here I am, trying to move on from something that feels so wrong…”

The pilot took a deep breath, the invitation still in his hands. He looked at her with an expression that mixed pain and tenderness. "Y/n..." He paused, as if trying to organize the words. "I just want you to be happy. That's what matters to me. It always has been."

Y/n let out a short, almost humorless laugh, wiping away a tear that was running down her face, "Happy!"

He frowned. "What's up?"

"Nothing, forget it." She shakes her head, trying to keep the tears away. "But... he's not you, you know. As safe as I feel with him, Andrew isn't you..."

Lewis looked away, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "And why didn't you tell me this before, Y/n?"

"Because it wouldn't make a difference," she replied quickly. "Because we both know that...that things would never be simple for us. They weren't then and they wouldn't be now. I thought moving on would be better for both of us."

"Did you think... or were you afraid?" Lewis asked, his eyes returning to hers. He sighed and took a step closer. "I've never wanted anything but your best interests, Y/n. Even now, even now that you're marrying another man. If that's what you want, I'm happy."

“It’s not what I want!” Y/n cried out in a whisper, her emotions finally overflowing. She covered her face with her hands, trying to hold back her tears. “But I feel like I have no choice.”

Lewis hesitated before stepping even closer, touching her shoulder. "You always have a choice, Y/n. Always have. The question is: What does your heart truly want?"

She looked up at him, her face wet with tears, but she couldn't answer. Because at that moment, what she wanted most was right in front of her, but it seemed as impossible as a dream she could never achieve.

The engineer just shakes her head and starts walking to the door. "Look, it's okay if you don't want to go. But thank you for everything. You know!"

Lewis smiles and before she can leave, he calls out to her. "Y/n!"

"Try?"

"Can I give you one last kiss, then?"

Y/n sobbed, tears falling faster now. She nodded, smiling and approaching the pilot.

With slow, hesitant steps, she approached him. Lewis stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on hers, as if trying to record every detail. When she finally stopped in front of him, he raised one of his hands, gently touching Y/n's face, wiping away one of the tears that were falling.

It was as if time had stopped, and in that moment, nothing else existed. No pain, no doubt, no wedding planned. Just the two of them, in that moment.

When their lips touched, it was as if all the weight that Y/n was carrying disappeared. The kiss was slow, filled with a love that had never disappeared, with a longing that they both tried to ignore, but that consumed them. His hands delicately held her face, while Y/n's rested on his chest, feeling his heart beating strongly under her fingers.

The love, the pain, the desire to go back in time. It was as if they both knew that that moment would be their last, and so they gave themselves completely.

When they separated, Y/n kept her eyes closed for a moment, as if she wanted to keep that feeling forever. Lewis rested his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"If this really is goodbye..." he began, his voice breaking, "I just want you to know that you were, and always will be, the love of my life."

Y/n opened her eyes, tears streaming down her face again, but she smiled. "And you will be mine." A sad smile, but full of truth. "I love you."

Lewis hugged her. "I know. Because I love you too." He kissed her hair and then let her go. Let her go so she could marry someone else.

Y/n smiled and then left the room, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Meanwhile, Lewis stared at that invitation, feeling his chest boil with emotions.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

November 10th - Wedding Day

It had been weeks since she had last seen Lewis. After that kiss, she had withdrawn completely, taking a few days off to prepare for the wedding and avoid any contact with him. It was better this way, she told herself. But even now, as she adjusted her veil, it was impossible to avoid the memory of him.

What should have been the happiest day of her life had a weight that she couldn't ignore. The smile that should have been plastered on her face was nothing more than a facade. And, despite the eyes of everyone around her full of expectation, she knew, deep down, that this wasn't the happy ending she had dreamed of.

The sky was covered with gray clouds, so heavy that they seemed to reflect the state of mind of someone who was silently fighting against memories. Despite it being a day important in the lives of two people, there was something in the air that seemed to say that not everyone was at peace with what was about to happen.

Y/n was in the dressing room, looking at her silhouette in the mirror. Her dress was definitely a work of art, it was a strapless design with a waist-hugging silhouette that flared out into a voluminous skirt. Delicate embroidery of flowers ran across the satin fabric, almost as if they had been carefully embroidered by hand.

She felt a few tears fall, but quickly wiped them away when someone knocked on the door and it opened.

"Hey, my girl. Is everything ready?" Her father asked with a soft smile. Y/n just nodded, unable to speak without her voice betraying the emotions she was trying to hide.

He noticed. Of course he did. It was her father. He knew what had happened between her and Lewis months ago, he knew everything. But he chose not to talk about it. He understood that those tears she was trying to hide were not tears of happiness for the wedding, but of regret.

Regret for not having fought harder for something that now seemed lost.

Gently, he reached out and took her hand. "Come on, honey. It's time."

Walking down the stairs together, her father comforted her with soft words and funny stories to distract her. He did his best to dispel his daughter's dark thoughts, and she, trying to reciprocate, smiled slightly as they walked to the car.

Across town, amid the chaos of cameras and journalists, Lewis was leaving a press conference that had everyone going crazy. His tone was firm, but his eyes betrayed an internal struggle. He had made an important decision, but the world still didn’t know what it really meant.

And now, he drove to the church to make his second important decision of the day.

Meanwhile, Y/n was already in the car, sitting in the back seat. Her father continued talking, telling stories about when she was little, making her smile as the driver drove to the church.

They arrived earlier than expected. Her father helped Y/n out of the car, and they headed to a private area where no guests could see her. She held the bouquet tightly, as if it anchored her to reality.

But her eyes wandered around the room, and then she saw him. The person who should perhaps be there with her, at the altar.

Lewis stood next to George, heading toward the church pews. He looked radiant, but his eyes were slightly red, as if he had been crying recently. Even so, his presence seemed to fill the entire space.

Y/n started to cry. They weren't silent tears this time; they were sobs that escaped uncontrollably. Her father quickly approached, holding her shoulders and trying to calm her down. "It's okay, sweetie. Take deep breaths. You can do it."

With that, the bridesmaids, groomsmen and bridesmaids entered the church. Carmem, unaware of what was happening to her friend, walked down the aisle until she reached her place at the altar.

The wedding planner ran over to Y/n, worried about her delay. "Are you okay? It's time to go in."

Y/n shook her head, trying to control her tears. "Just a few more minutes, please."

The wedding planner hurried back inside. She approached the groom, Andrew, who was looking anxious at the altar, and whispered something to him. "She's excited. She just needs a moment more." Andrew sighed in relief, thinking Y/n's tears were tears of happiness.

Outside, Y/n took a deep breath, trying to gather strength. Her father, always by her side, squeezed her hand. "If you're not ready, we can stop. It doesn't matter what others think."

But Y/n just smiled, a fragile smile. "I can do that."

When the wedding planner returned, Y/n nodded. She was better, or so it seemed. Her father looked at her fondly and offered his arm. "Come on, my girl."

The church doors opened, and the music began to play. All the guests stood up, turning to watch her enter. Y/n walked along the carpet she had chosen months before, holding tightly onto her father's arm. Her face displayed a smile that seemed natural to everyone, but inside her it was just a mask.

And then, just a few feet from the altar, she saw him again. Lewis. He was smiling at her, but that smile carried so many emotions that it made her stop. Her body froze for a moment, unable to take another step.

Her father leaned over to her and whispered, "It's okay, honey. Keep going. I'm here with you."

She smiled weakly and resumed her walk, step by step, until she reached the altar. There, her father handed her hand to Andrew, who held it gently. And so, the ceremony began, but inside Y/n's heart, the real storm was just beginning.

The priest began with his traditional words, speaking about love, commitment and the union of two souls who have decided to walk the same path.

Y/n heard every word, but her mind seemed to be somewhere else. Her breathing was controlled, but her thoughts were far away, as if trying to escape that inevitable moment.

And when it was time for the vows, Y/n told Andrew everything she had saved for Lewis. She said every word imagining Lewis there, and the pilot who was sitting a few feet away from her noticed.

The priest gave the couple his blessing, wishing them to be blessed with happiness and prosperity. The ceremony was almost over when he said the phrase everyone had been waiting for:

"If there is anyone against this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace."

The church fell silent. The guests looked at each other, some even chuckled, thinking that no one would dare to interrupt something so perfect.

But then, the sound of footsteps echoed through the church. Someone stood up. All eyes turned to the back. And there he was.

"I have something to say."

The guests looked at each other in shock. George, who was standing next to him, widened his eyes and grabbed his friend's arm tightly. "Lewis, what are you doing?" he whispered, trying to pull him back to the bench.

But Lewis just smiled, as if to say that everything was fine. He calmly let go of George's arm and began walking down the aisle. Murmurs grew among the guests as everyone tried to understand what was happening.

Y/n's eyes were wide, her heart pounding so hard she thought everyone could hear it. She was in disbelief. He was really there. Fighting for them. Something she didn't have the courage to do, something she deeply regretted.

But inside, an unexpected feeling began to grow. Relief.

Lewis stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning directly to Y/n. His expression was a mix of determination and excitement. He took a deep breath before speaking.

"I know I shouldn't do this here, I should have done it a long time ago. But I couldn't let you go on without knowing... without knowing what you mean to me. Y/n, you were the starting point of my happiness. Since the day I met you, I knew you were different. You are the person who changed my story, who gave color to my life."

He took a step forward, without taking his eyes off her, who was still frozen, holding the bouquet with trembling hands.

"In the timeline of my life, you have always been my most special moment. The before and after of you was the biggest transformation I have ever experienced. And even with all the mistakes, with the distance, with what separated us, my heart never left you. How long have I been waiting to find someone like you, who would fit into the plans I made for myself." Everyone in the church was silent, only the sound of Y/n's sobs and Lewis's words echoed through the room. "I know I should have fought harder, but I won't let this happen again. Not today. Not now." He sighs. "I... I resigned from Mercedes!"

Y/n's eyes widen, Carmen and George hold back a muffled scream in their throats and Lewis sighs, smiling, before continuing.

"The rules said that we had to separate or someone would have to leave for us to continue seeing each other. So, I decided to leave. I'm going to Ferrari next season... Because I've already suffered enough, but away from you I'll suffer even more. When I get home, and I don't see you, my desire is to call you running. And little by little, loneliness and silence embrace me. My joy has passed, only the memories of love, they don't pass. I really love you Y/n, and if you don't want me anymore, just go ahead with the wedding, and I'll leave, but if you still have a little bit of the feeling inside you, I want you to fight. Fight for us!"

Y/n felt her heart tighten, as if it were trying to burst out of her chest. Lewis's words echoed through the church, resonating within her in a way nothing else could. 'Fight for us.' That was enough to break the last barriers she had put up around what she felt.

She wanted to run to him. Hug him, shout that she loved him, that she had never stopped loving him, that he was everything she had ever wanted. But there was Andrew, standing beside her, looking at her with an expression of curiosity and, at the same time, acceptance.

For a moment, Y/n's eyes met Andrew's, and she saw something she never expected to see: Understanding. He sighed, his lips curving into a sad smile, but kind.

"It's okay if you want to go..." Andrew said, his voice cracking but sincere. "I see the way he looks at you... and the way you look at him. Eventually, I realized that you two had something in the past." He took a deep breath, wiping away a tear that was falling, "Of course, my heart breaks, because I love you too. But I can't hold you back from something that clearly makes you unhappy. You deserve to be completely happy."

His words were like a balm to Y/n's soul. Her heart felt lighter, as if a huge stone had been lifted from her shoulders. She smiled at Andrew, her eyes filling with tears, but for the first time in a long time, tears of relief.

"You're an incredible man, Andrew," Y/n said, holding his hands for a brief moment. "Kind, loving, someone anyone would be lucky to have by their side. But I... my heart has never left the place where it has always been. Thank you for understanding me, for being so good. And I hope you find someone who loves you with the same intensity that I love Lewis."

Andrew smiled, his eyes still shining with tears, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Go on," he whispered.

Y/n turned to Carmen, who was taking the bouquet she had just handed her, and her friend just smiled, encouraging her with a slight nod. Her parents were sitting in the front row, and their eyes told her what she needed: Unconditional support.

With her heart lighter than ever, Y/n took a deep breath and began walking down the steps to the altar. Every step seemed to echo through the church, every gaze was on her, but none of that mattered. All she saw was Lewis.

He was standing in the hallway, his eyes red and wet, but a shy smile on his face, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. When Y/n finally got close to him, he took a step forward, but he couldn't contain his emotion. Tears of relief and joy began to fall down his face.

Y/n smiled at him, crying too, but for the first time in a long time, she felt whole. Without hesitation, she ran the last few steps, throwing her arms around Lewis, who held her as if his life depended on it.

"I should have never let you go," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"And I should never have left you without a fight," she replied, pulling her closer as the people in the church watched the scene with eyes shining with emotion.

With a radiant smile on their faces and a feeling of freedom in their chests, Lewis and Y/n ran out of the church, leaving everyone behind. George and Carmen, who were now in the background, watched the scene with knowing smiles. They knew how much Y/n and Lewis loved each other, and the happiness of seeing the two finally together filled their hearts with joy.

Lewis opened the car door in a hurry, Y/n got in, pulling her dress inside and smiling like never before. The atmosphere in the car was one of pure happiness, the road ahead seemed endless, but that didn't matter.

The feeling of freedom and love was what mattered now. They had no specific destination, they were just together, enjoying the moment, making silent vows of love as the road took them wherever fate wanted.

After some time, with no destination in mind, they found a small, isolated chapel in the countryside that looked like something out of a fairy tale. Without any great plans, but with a full heart, they decided that this would be the place to start their story over again. Only the priest and a forest ranger, who seemed to be the only ones present, served as witnesses to what would be the beginning of a new journey.

The ceremony was simple, but full of meaning. They exchanged knowing looks, full of love and complicity. When the moment came, Y/n declared: "I take Lewis Hamilton as my lawful husband." Lewis, with tears in his eyes, responded with the same intensity: "I take Y/n as my lawful wife."

The simple wedding, without any great ostentation, was exactly what they had always dreamed of. After all, what really mattered was not the luxury or the party, but the fact that they had each other. And with that, the whole world seemed to be within their reach.

After the ceremony, when they left the chapel, Lewis held Y/n's hand as they walked back to the car, both of them smiling as if nothing else mattered. He turned to her, a smile on his face, and promised, "I'll throw you a proper wedding party, Y/n. The biggest party you've ever seen."

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes shining with love. "I don't need anything else but you, Lewis," she said with a calm certainty.

Lewis kissed her, feeling that everything he ever wanted was there, in her arms. But before he could do more, Y/n looked at him with a mischievous smile and commented: "So, Ferrari next year, huh, handsome?"

Lewis laughed, his eyes full of affection. And together, they walked to the car, ready for the next stage of their journey, knowing that any future, no matter how uncertain, would be perfect because they would face it together.

[vullcanica]

ONCE YOU'RE STRIPPED CLEAN WHAT'S AT YOUR CORE?

behind the mask

you aren’t slick about whatever you think you’re hiding. glass shatters in your midst, blood spills. like some of your friends, your personality of choice is entirely artificial. the difference between you and them is that you can get away with it. you’re unknown, perhaps even to yourself, and your goals are complex and unknown. anyone stupid enough to fall for you is setting themselves up to be frustrated and confused, owing to your being ultimately unknowable. i hope you can find an identity that makes you comfortable.

Tagged by: stole it from @vilestblood 💕

Tagging: @bhrathair @princguard @vhgr (gimme ali? 👉👈) @feretra @korinthiakos @s4ints @viciousgold

[taegularities]

entertainer | jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut!! ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, a shit ton of sexual tension, sexual fantasies, some jealousy from his side, he is very VERY attracted to her, mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, difficult past(s), (mention of) sexual harassment, mentioned past death of a side character, crying, fear, manipulation, confrontation and fighting, aggression, cursing, cocky and selfish kook, overthinking, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content: kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, dom jk, oc is odd, oral (f. receiving), spit stuff, handjob, manhandling, orgasm delay, lip ring…, light choking, bit of hair pulling, a spank or two, coming on oc, some cum tasting mmmh, ass stuff, protected sex, rough sex, various positions, masturbation; as always THE ENDING!! lmk if i forgot something!! ➳ wc: 32.4k ➳ a/n: MHMMM, it's finally time!! i experimented with the trope a little; def not a professional when it comes to this genre, but i tried my best. both oc and jk are odd in this one, and you might be on either's side and hate either of them, i can't say :'D very curious tho, so come and drop a message to lmk what you think. let it aaaall out :P <3

➳ listen to the Entertainer playlist! 🖤   

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs 

Jungkook has always wanted an audience to perceive him.

Not just to perceive him, in fact. To worship him.

Jungkook doesn’t consider himself a bad person. Spoiled, a little selfish, but not necessarily bad. He enjoys attention, no matter how temporary or who the giver of it. Feasts on it like an incubus.

What’s wrong with that? Nothing.

Or. 

Maybe there is. Maybe he’s coming on too strong.

Because you’re not part of his audience, sitting over there, middle row, middle spot, with your eyes lowered to the notebook. And when you do look up, there’s nothing but indifference in your eyes.

It irks him. Maybe he is a little narcissistic, and maybe he can’t quite deny it after all — but as part of his future team, you should at least fake a smile, right? Display a certain amount of enthusiasm, the joy of working with aspiring artists.

But no.

You’re occupied, scribbling into your notebook. Jungkook, cognisant of the fact that he hasn’t issued much of significance today, understands that you cannot be taking notes of his words. And he also understands that… if that is true…

You’re not granting him as much fascination as he’s used to.

General admiration thrown into the same bucket as his unwavering talent — that he’s well aware of — might just be the reason he climbed up so high in no time. Sometimes, gentle livestreams and vlogs do the trick — locals have found reasons to adore him already.

At times, a good song and strong vocals aren’t necessary to woo people.

Jungkook, however, is insatiable — that’s what keeps him pondering at times. That it’s just the locals, and on an international scale, there’s still much to achieve.

But he’s not a quitter, he’s a conqueror.

And he’ll reach that mind-boggling status of a well-known, global icon, name flowing as naturally through the seam of people’s lips as a still-lying, tranquil lake.

Jungkook knows it’s cocky of him to praise himself to the skies and to rely on his resolute hopes so much. He knows life backfires sometimes, and that endeavours don’t always pay off. He only started as an insignificant city boy, too.

Survived the cruelty of elementary and middle school; shared a room with his brother, relying on him until he grew and learned to finally rule over high school; every single soul at his beck and call. Then, trudged through college before any of where he’s standing even existed.

But he’s here now. And people acknowledge it.

Except you.

And it throws him off his balance. Which is probably why he shortens the end of his speech, close to slurring distracted syllables before he realises he’s forgotten a prepared sentence or two.

No matter; the relevant and main message should have been delivered by now.

So he leans back in a chair in the back, flashing a captivating smile and waits for the applause. Somewhat proud when the praise needs a moment to cease for his manager to reclaim the mic, freeing the metaphorical stage, much in the form of a simple pult, for the CEO of the company.

Taehyung is savvy of how to regain control over a stage; Jungkook doesn’t know whether he fucked up his final remarks, but Taehyung summarises his ideas well. But the clapping does say a lot.

And between those raising their hands to appreciate Jungkook’s speech, you were, too. He knows because he looked directly at you; still is. And when your eyes drift to his, the two of you hold each other’s gazes for at least a couple seconds longer than the others.

And your smile, while present, is somewhat tight-lipped, a bit awkward but confident, too. Odd, as well; hard to explain, but as though you know what you want. As though you have your priorities set straight and cannot be swayed by anything the world might throw at you.

He doesn’t have a word for it. Poised? Self-reliant? Fearless? Can a single look even say this much or is he being delusional?

But this can’t be true, honestly. Nobody is this unperturbed or passive. He’ll find out.

Your stare aligns with his a couple more times over the next minutes, staying there before continuing the journey over the crowd. Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch just a little whenever your eyes pierce into his, so tantalising and deep, big sweet ires, but so conniving at the same time.

He doesn’t know your name, but he’s sure that it defines intrigue. And maybe, just perhaps, it might serve as the synonym for drop fucking dead gorgeous, too.

When Taehyung leads you to Jungkook’s stuffy studio, the latter hears your voice through the open door several seconds before you come in. Or actually, it’s not quite his studio.

More like a collective office that a couple of the newcomers use. Jungkook has been part of this crew a little longer, but he needs the additional success, more prosperity; he’s been told to yield more results to earn his very own four walls. Carrying his signature flavour.

But it’s okay. For now, this suffices…

The stench of coffee and the sound of the AC. The pot and plants that always rest in some corner of the room, courtesy of Taehyung who insists on some colour in the grey-white, small room. Jungkook has gotten used to it all.

Which is why it’s strange, seeing your splendour enter the small space, delighted by whatever Taehyung might be explaining. Your grin is the widest Jungkook has seen since yesterday.

He didn’t get to meet you properly yet, so he can’t say where your humour lies. Nobody introduced you, despite your new position as his very own, personal work partner. A second manager, here to guide and aid him when Taehyung can’t; and apparently, you’ve found some charm in Taehyung that you didn’t see in Jungkook during the stupid meeting.

Not that Jungkook would ever dare to doubt his friend’s appeal, but you’ve stormed into his life like a present, and so silently, too; and he wanted to be the one to open it. To reveal it.

Not Taehyung. Even if it’s his job.

Okay. Calm down. Jungkook sighs. That again.

A motherly blanket of praises and fatherly pats of pride. That’s what’s gotten his head so riled up. He was coddled too much as a child. Made felt special. That’s over now, Jeon, you’re in an industry filled to the brim with competition.

Chill chill chill.

But now?

With that alluring smile staring up at Taehyung, only hints of it left when your eyes move to Jungkook. Fuck.

But Jungkook’s stance remains steadfast and self-assured when he greets, “Hi there. Welcome at last, huh?”

Jungkook notices when your mind snaps out of the conversation with Taehyung and into the one he started; a gentle hand frees your face off your hair to enable a proper view to it. The other is still dug deep in the pocket of your leather jacket, covering parts of the white top underneath.

Semi-long, silver earrings rest right below your ear, against your neck when you tilt your head a little; your expression so respectful and inviting when you smile. Jungkook inhales you in that one split moment, details stinging into the eye without much effort.

And perhaps he’d observe more, appreciate your stunning, obvious beauty and elegance further; but time passes as it does before you finally utter your very first sentence to him, “Hi. Didn’t think I’d ever be saying this, but… thank you for having me.”

That’s sweet.

Your words are reminiscent of the adoration his fans grant him, but your expression is as cool as a refreshing autumn wind. The perfect balance, possibly.

Jungkook gestures to a small couch in the back, right next to the door, but you raise a rejecting hand, claiming, “Been sitting all day observing Taehyung. Need to walk a bit.”

And you do. Deliver a last farewell nod to Taehyung who waves a little, gripping the handle and locking you in the room with the younger man nearly drooling over you.

The hand hidden in the jacket before has emerged, arms loosely folded as you take in the interior of the studio, allowing no more insight into your thoughts than, “Nice.”

Jungkook hums in distracted agreement, standing at the wall, watching you roam around the humble space in small steps. It’s odd, being in here with you; the atmosphere fizzles, a little less like electricity, just a bit more than carbonic acid.

But the moment was to arrive anyway; you’ll be a close link to Jungkook from now on. Of course you need to familiarise yourself with his space, too. So far, you seem to have an opinion on it already.

“Easy to trigger claustrophobia, but,” you walk through the open door to the darker recording room, tapping the mic for a moment, “cosy, too. Very cool equipment.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Pause, eyes dropping to your fingers grazing the stand of the mic. Then, “I would’ve come to you today… or yesterday for that matter, but things were so chaotic and—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure, waving his concerns off, “I could see people rushing around and preparing the moment I got here. I’m probably not the main concern right now among everybody.”

“Nah, that’s not it. We have a great team here.” You step out again, hands folding behind your back until you’re leaning against the wall opposite of him, mirroring his stance. “I’m sorry you arrived at such a stressful time, though.”

“Not your fault. I decided so myself fully knowing you were in the middle of something.”

Ah. So you’ve seen his interviews, read the news. You came here with sufficient knowledge about him, alright.

“Really though,” you continue, blinking slowly, “I’m just glad to be here at all.”

Ah. Yes — about that.

“What brought you to our company anyway?” Jungkook asks, coating his voice in sugar to decrease the risk of unintentional and prying rudeness. “I mean — it’s been a while since somebody joined the main team, is all.”

“Oh. What brought me here…” You slide down the wall just a few inches, staring at your feet before you meet his eyes again. Something flashes in them for a miniscule second, albeit too brief to be caught and analysed. Then, you say, “Sentiments?”

Jungkook gathers words of confusion the moment you utter yours, a question already on his tongue. Has he been here long enough to evoke sentiments in his followers? Or do you veil a whole different connection to this company than he might understand?

Who knows. It doesn’t feel too deep, at least, when you speak again, elaborating when his eyes reveal his bedazzlement before he can, “I mean, I like your work.”

Okay. So much he interpreted; and he must admit — the feeling of pride is a thoroughly unique one.

“I think you’ve been deserving of your growth, and I just,” you speak, shrugging your shoulders, digging one heel into the solid ground, “I could never stop thinking of what I’d say or do if I was here or how I’d try to help, even though I’m not a true musical genius like you.”

This is so excitingly new.

How poised you remain as you talk about your fascination for him; how carefully you choose your words. He’s met fans before, but he doesn’t think any of them has ever practised such control over themselves.

And harbouring such emotions for a tiny little celebrity like him while simultaneously treating him like a human being is an art you’ve well mastered. Despite Jungkook’s urge to feel loved and worshipped to a dependent degree, you’re an incredibly attractive change in pace.

Ugh.

Dependent degree.

Although, he does wonder what you’d be like if you fawned over him.

Jungkook contains the fantasy; suppresses his sigh.

“So,” he starts, “you’re here because you’re a fan.”

“Mmmh. Kind of. My friends started it and then pulled me into this. Honestly, at first I couldn’t imagine ever getting into your stuff.”

Your gaze moved down to your trainers a mere moment ago; whether to hide your expression or give into a habit, Jungkook can’t say. But the honesty surprises him; even stings a little as he voices, “Oh?”

Your head shoots up, lips forming a circle before you imitate, “Oh. Wait. That was… pretty rude.” You seek confirmation or denial in Jungkook’s eyes, and when his slightly wrinkled forehead, tight-lipped smile reveals the answer, you immediately opt for an apology, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?”

“Just that.” You fiddle in your position, bringing your digits to waist level. Then, you laugh; a rhythmic sound. “Okay, don’t hate me, but. I was one to judge a book by its cover, and you had this young adult too-confident-too-sly something about you. But your music’s surprisingly sentimental.”

Jungkook halts for a moment, moving his head to side-eye you; producing a hoarse Uhhh before he admits, “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting me or fully destroying me.”

Another lovely laugh. “I am complimenting you. To be fully transparent, I was probably, uh, biased? Because my friend. They have a knack for usually pulling very questionable men, so I probably just didn’t entirely trust their intuition.”

“Fair enough. I guess?” Jungkook matches the softness of your giggle, nodding towards you, “And now you do?”

“Mmmh, well, we’ll see.”

Jungkook must be stupid. Of course you won’t be able to deduce much from the first meeting yet; perhaps the flirting needs to slow down for just now. You seem the patient kind; much like now, letting the quick silence prevail without much struggle.

No sign of awkwardness surrounds your aura; only a hint of… suspicion? Flashing into your eyes when you let them move through the room again, freezing right next to Jungkook’s head. You’re not looking at him, but at something past him; but you don’t question nor voice anything.

Merely return to his stare with a smile, and he uses the moment to pour some courteous manners into the mix, asking, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee, water? A Red Bull?”

But you immediately raise a hand, shaking your head, “Oh, it’s okay. I’ve already got caffeine flowing there instead of blood,” you slide a finger along your arm, indicating a vein under your layers, “I just mainly came to say hi and to introduce myself. And to ask if I can help anyhow.”

“Ah… well, uh,” Jungkook halts mid-sentence, throwing a look around as though he’s searching for something to appear before he concludes, “don’t think so. I was in the middle of some production work, but don’t think I need much.”

“I see. Okay! Then I’ll leave yo—”

“But,” Jungkook intervenes immediately, adamant on keeping you around. Maybe he can wrap up work earlier today? Bring you home? Probably not — not on Taehyung’s watch. “Maybe you can tell me what you think once I’m done?

“Of course. It’d be my pleasure.”

“Would have an excuse for your company, too, then.”

The laugh that follows is so subtle that Jungkook barely hears it. It doesn’t leave your throat, stuck in there, just a tiny sound reminiscent of amused bafflement. 

Jungkook knows his way around words — understands what his utterances and implications usually apply. But somehow, not too many people have been the calmer ones in the room; aside from his superiors at work, not having the upper hand is new to him. 

So you set a fuse loose in him; destroy a nerve in his brain, changing up his communication habits. Because he certainly did not mean to say this out loud. And not in such a sense either.

He adds quickly, “I mean, it gets lonely here.”

“Right…” you concur, albeit weakly and with somewhat… entertained mystery in your eyes? He can’t say. It’s as though you’re wearing your face as a mask, undecipherable. “I get it. Even though your studio is cosy enough to enjoy your own company at times, right?”

“Not mine. But we’ll work on that.”

He cards his fingers through his hair, aware that he is probably more than an open book right now; his usual perfect poker face does not work with you.

Why? 

Weird.

“Got a couple things here that are mine, though. Yoongi and the others allowed me,” he adds.

“Ah… Like…”

Surprisingly enough, you take another look through the tiny room, possibly trying to detect something you didn’t see before. Regarding details. Then, you settle next to his head once again… and once Jungkook moves his eyes off you for the first time since you came in, he sees what you see.

Which is to say, nothing much out of the ordinary. In fact, the most trivial thing in the room.

“Like that?” you voice, pushing yourself off the wall to near his relaxed body. The scent of your perfume wafts through the room before you’re close enough; tenderly grazing his senses. “What’s that?”

Focus.

Your finger points to the object next to him, hanging at a nail at the wall; dark blue with white letters on it. Pretty mundane, pretty basic design.

“Just… a cap I bought back in college.”

You read out the name, pronouncing it perfectly, yet slowing down as if you’re learning a new foreign term. The sudden inquiry is strange, too: you don’t seem as truly curious about it as your question did; perhaps you’re playing for some time with him, too?

He wouldn’t hate it if you did.

“Do you know that one?” he questions.

You nod; a main hint as to why you wanted to know, yet indicating that the knowledge wasn’t of much significance. You say, “Isn’t it a popular one? I had a few friends who went there.”

“Hm… yeah, I mean. I guess it’s a known one. I got a degree there in broadcasting and entertainment like… four years ago.”

You exhale a barely audible puff of air before you whisper-murmur the most infinitesimal, petite, “Damn,” underscored with one indecipherable tilt of your head. He can’t see your eyes too well, so the reaction remains as transparent as you have been thus far.

Until he raises a thick eyebrow, confusion hidden in a somewhat relaxed yet awkward smile as he wonders, “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, just. It’s impressive how much you’ve achieved in just four years, right?”

“…Well. If you say it like that, it does sound pretty neat.”

The bubble of pride expands alongside his ego; right beneath his chest. Somehow, the feeling changes his posture, makes him feel bigger. 

Perhaps you notice what your praise elicits; perhaps you’ve already fathomed his persona that he usually doesn’t dare to reveal this fast. But whatever he conceals with his fans, lies in front of you with an open access.

You make it easy to feel comfortable; he doesn’t need to know you too long to acknowledge this much.

“I graduated not too long ago, too. Three years?”

“Oh… then look at you,” Jungkook compliments, using the moment as an excuse to examine you further; head to toe and back. Your legs are crossed, upper body and face confident, but the position somehow delicate. Hm. “You’re quite awesome, too, don’t you think?”

“I mean— took a while to get here.”

“Right. So what have you been doing during this time since graduation?”

Whatever distraction you have found in the cap seems to break as you silently forage your brain for a response; possibly attempting not to divulge too much. And your answer is accordingly hesitant, though never dubious.

“Saving up? Preparing for life, I guess. And waiting for a good opportunity.”

For what? Do you usually keep your statements in fragments?

He prods, “To do what?”

“Well, to do,” you gesture to the wall in front of you, albeit clearly hinting to the situation, “this. Hoping to change everyone’s lives around here.”

You smile wide, the joke obvious as can be, but Jungkook can’t help but think that you might not be too far off. Unique minds alter brain chemistries; there’s something unforgettable and magnetising about them, and Jungkook steadfastly believes his intuition that you might just be one of them.

For the first time ever, he murmurs your name, delighted by how easily it melts on his tongue. It falls out breathier than he intended to, but when you tilt your head, the intrigue in your pupils inexplicably matches his tone.

He adds to your name, eyelids drooping just a bit, “So… you’ll turn out a long awaited surprise, huh?”

And you, against all expectations, lean in for just a minimal, not too inconsequential moment, hands back in your jacket. It’s a playful, harmless motion as you move back on your heels, then steady yourself again, bodies and faces still far away. You could’ve just as well given him a pat on his shoulder.

But there’s something in the way you look at him, tempted and ominous at the same time. He can’t say what you’re thinking because every feature in your face implies something different.

Even more so confusing what methods for success you came into this company with when you finally say, no pretext or further clarifications, “I really do hope so.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Everywhere he goes, the lights are bright.

The white walls in the rooms of the company building reflect the sun in the summer and maintain a sense of optimism in the winter. They’re what Jungkook imagines waiting halls before Heaven to look like.

Then the fluorescent vibrancy in his apartment. And the sunlit sky, albeit cold in this winter, giving way to the planetary system’s star through the floating, parting clouds.

Even this modern art museum with its complex design, winding staircases, glass walls and high ceiling. It lets through an abundance of light, unaware of the balance Jungkook usually craves.

Dark and light — a healthy mix.

It’s why he cherishes the comfort of the recording studio so much. Its dim walls and the silence, so unlike the hallways outside of it. Or why he prefers his apartment unlit, often merely allowing the few lava lamps to illuminate his rooms.

But again… it’s only a balance he usually craves.

Today, he doesn’t mind the brilliance.

Because you’re part of it.

Clad in a beige long-sleeved cotton top, slight turtleneck included. It doesn’t fully cover your neck, still revealing a mole similar to his. It’s tucked into your light brown skirt; your legs are covered in sheer tights, crossed. A gentle hand holds the strap of your bag. Light academia at its finest; somewhat soothing, and somewhat radiant.

You look at him with an initially neutral expression, surprised that someone spoke to you, but more relaxed when you realise it’s him.

“Oh,” you voice; the faintest autumn-tinted smile tugs at your lips. “Hey! I, uh…” Your gaze flits to the painting in front of you, then back to him. “Not at all actually. Which… surprising.”

You gesture towards him before you grant him more of your silky voice, asking, “Do you? Come here much?”

Your eyes are indecipherable to him, cheeks dusted in natural make up. All the damn time, you sport this relaxed, unbreakable mask, and he can’t quite guess what you might be thinking about.

It’s so easy with anyone else. You’re like a scene from BBC’s Sherlock, embodying Irene Adler’s mystery.

But maybe your guard can be broken, too.

“Not really,” he admits, “only when pretty people are around.”

A weak attempt, but it makes your eyebrow cock in amusement. He knows you are, because the hint of mischief that scurries over your face resembles his own.

“Ah, and you happen to know when pretty people are around. Or did you follow me here?” you, however, ask.

It’s an obvious inquiry, but weirdly enough, he didn’t expect it. You exhibit the first sign of a proper, humane emotion. Delivering three quick blinks, voice quiet, suspicion swims in your eyes, slightly irritated.

Or even… scared?

You can’t truly be.

So he backtracks, slightly angling his head. He sighs — hiding how much his lungs crave a breath of air. He doesn’t want to scare you off just yet.

“No,” he defends, “of course not. I was just joking.”

“So… I’m not pretty?”

Oh. Oh?

Perhaps he misinterpreted your expression. Perhaps you’re merely a good actress; messing with him as he is with you. The smirk suggests this much, at least.

Perplexed, he holds his breath before letting out a choked laugh; the head tilt and click of his tongue carry a sliver of scolding before he admits, “That’s pretty frustrating, I won’t lie.”

“I’m just kidding, too. It’s a big exhibition. I expected a familiar face here.”

Why is there something so devilish about you?

He can’t say; maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s enough to join the game, to be just as cocky and see how you react. 

Perhaps he’s being selfish and too certain of himself, and in the worst case, he might just be imagining the tension buzzing between you like sparks off an electric fence. But does he have anything to lose, really?

Barely ever.

“Then,” he begins, “is it a good face?”

“All the art around us and you want me to admire you, huh?”

“…The art won’t be mad if you do.”

Jungkook is bold, he’ll admit. He hasn’t always been — he remembers a time spent in the back of classes, preferring to eat lunch alone. Did college tug him out of his shell? Was it senior year?

Then again — did that one kill the timidness in his heart or rather the last shred of humanity?

Maybe his cold matches yours, too. Is that why he feels so drawn to you?

Because you’re as bold as him; you don’t sugarcoat words and thoughts. And Jungkook appreciates the honesty, the ingredient to actual success — even if it’s achingly direct.

Like now.

You uncross your legs; your hips move in an elegant curve, and Jungkook attempts his best to keep his eyes off the arcs of your body. Focuses as you say, “You shouldn’t be flirting with a coworker, Mister Jeon.”

“Wait. I thought we were warming up to each other. Don’t demote me from Jungkook to Mister Jeon now.” You chuckle; that’s something, right? “Besides, I was just conversing. We need to spend all our time together now, so better get along, right?”

Right. Right; of course he’s right.

But… what is that?

It lingers for the faintest of moments, just a glimpse of an unspoken feeling, gone with the next blink. In this crowd of unsuspecting visitors you’re the closest to him physically, but your thoughts are miles and centuries away.

“Maybe you’re right,” you still say, as if whooshing away all unwelcome sentiments, “then I should not… dodge your conversation, right?”

“Sure.”

“Behave, though.”

He’s so confused — but not deep in this enough to question it. So he merely shrugs his shoulder before he responds, “I have been. I can converse, alright.”

“Right.”

“Like… first of all,” he steps closer, raising a hand, gesturing for you to walk on as new admirers of the modern piece approach, “tell me, have we met before? Feels like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

You halt in your steps, but immediately resume to the stroll when a stranger nearly bumps into you. “You’re doing it again.”

He’s honestly not. The aura surrounding you like an ominous fog is omnipresent and eerie, yet… you carry a sense of familiarity. But you’re a presence too distinct to ever forget.

Which doesn’t help his case.

“Yeah,” he still agrees before potentially embarrassing himself, kissing his teeth, “sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done this a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices when the two of you halt in front of another piece. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me that way?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“Then,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only sees a calm ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is gentle, but wrapped in dark mystery. How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly strange things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“And it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must have been a trigger, or a thought about something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A soft hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ohhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibit made me realise how this colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking now. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who earn it.”

Earn it? How? 

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack. 

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your stare. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like that when you were in his office, or at the meeting. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the mystery away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this open?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Yeah. I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Out of the blue, too. Strokes his ego, though. And then, unexpectedly again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely seen half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps it’s enough for now, sitting in this overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh,” you make, “don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as heck. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for the two of us.”

You laugh — a sweet, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip in his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. It’s always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, two perfectly prepared lattes and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge slice. You thank her with a gentle smile, tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing the dangling earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head, through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance at snail's pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sounds around him come alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You see him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try it.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — then again, maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

But making you smile must be an achievement. If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him relax, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… it’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you lovely. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t quite budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest in peace. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel. Makes him want you more.

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before. No matter what it is; Jungkook merely understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants to be the colour green for you. 

“Ah—” you voice.

“In fact, I’m not supposed to hang out here with you.”

“…How come?”

“I should be with Tae,” he admits. Maybe he’s revealing more to you than he should — maybe he should adjust to your level of secrecy and wait. But this is frustrating him. “He dragged me here, so I could get inspiration from all sides.”

You listen; perhaps not quite loving the idea of seeing him in such a way?

Fuck. Maybe it really was a mistake. No turning back now, though.

“He said artists find motivation in art, too, and I do like to paint, so…” He looks at his cup, still left to be tried from, and then stares up from the cream leaf that the barista formed in his coffee. “I didn’t wanna come here, though. I already have an idea of what I want to do.”

“And…” you start, still not addressing the issue on hand; choosing to talk about something else for now, “he doesn’t like what you’ve come up with?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t know about it yet.”

You take a sip of your coffee, softly smacking your lips once to relish the taste. You’re living proof that subtle gestures can make a mind race. Then you say, “Maybe you should introduce it to him then.”

“I will. Just… mmh, need a better grasp on it.” He throws a nod towards you. “I can’t wait to show you either.”

Another sip of the seething liquid.

If the gentle hint of him being bent on your presence flatters you anyhow — stirs anything in you at all — you don’t let it show. Are you, by chance, used to being swarmed from all sides?

Are his advances kindergarten to you?

You don’t budge as he waits for you to respond, setting the cup back on your saucer before you inquire, “Where is Taehyung, anyway then?”

“Uh, I’m sure he’s going around admiring the art?” Jungkook guesses, head reflexively moving to the side, as if his friend and co-worker could materialise out of thin air. “He enjoys it even more than I do.”

“And you separated from him because…”

Because Jungkook ascended a spiral staircase. Because he turned right and halted in front of the second instead of the first room. Because he recognised the familiar curves and edges, as intriguing as ever, from this far distance.

And told Taehyung to continue without him; that Jungkook was going to explore a different corner of the museum.

He tilts his head; his left eyebrow raises just a twitch, fingertips tapping the hot surface of the coffee cup. And then, charisma gathered in the middle of his pupils, he tells you—

“Because I found you.”

There it is.

The slightest of reactions.

Your eyes widen barely an inch, but he sees it. How your lips part a bit, even though you should’ve expected his answer after the conversations hitherto shared. Hm…

“So you did follow me,” you say.

He can’t say if you’re joking or not. But all of a sudden, he wonders if he’s creeped you out. He opted for flirting so clearly, but… maybe you interpreted it vastly differently.

But he keeps himself relaxed; not faltering now when you aren’t either. Answers, “If you want to call it that. I call it finding you and then sticking with you. You’re interesting, Miss Manager.”

You smile.

Genuinely, thoroughly, wholeheartedly.

The beam reveals more than any word could’ve today — that humanity slumbers somewhere in the crevices of your heart. Your eyes suggest it as much as your stance on art did.

Whatever might have scarred you in life, behind all that ache, you hide a delicate soul.

Green, green, green.

And your cryptic worry, uttered a moment later, doesn’t bring him down from his sense of victory. No. Not now.

“Yeah?” You cross your legs, letting out a breathy sigh. “Then I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”

[6:43PM] Jeon Jungkook: i’ve been thinking about something. and of you

For a bedroom as sparsely decorated and light-coloured as Jungkook’s, he should be surrounded by a brilliant glow. And usually, he is.

The windows occupy half of the wall, the bedsheets a perfect white; had he texted you a couple hours prior, he would’ve found himself in the gleam of a pale blue late winter sky. But if he’d tapped your name on his device earlier, he would’ve indulged in a whole different mood, too.

Wouldn’t have given into fatigued, delirious fantasies. Daydreaming about the curves of your lips and about the single strands of hair kissing your cheeks. Or the way you love exposing your neck, as if to taunt him.

It’s right there, but you can’t touch it, Jeon.

And…

And the mounds of your chest, slivers of it visible whenever you put on those heaven sent dresses. Their cuts are almost as deep as the ones damaging Jungkook’s brain. And not much for the sake of his sanity, the thirst isn’t quenched just yet.

Crossed legs badly hidden under your see-through tights. The movement of your hips when you walk into his studio, placing yet another gruesome schedule onto his desk. Your scent when you lean into him, pointing to another meeting he barely recalls.

You… you…

If Jungkook hadn’t already cleaned up the sloppy mess previously covering his knuckles, trickling down his thighs, he’d possibly give into the urge to sneak his fingers back to where he craves them to linger.

No, you made that mess.

Of his sheets, of him. And you never needed to be here in the first place.

Jungkook is no fool — unlike many of his friends, he doesn’t deny the way his body winds. He knows what he wants; and right now, he hungers for you. Wants you to eliminate the drought on his tongue; wants you to replace it with some taste instead.

“Fuuuuck.”

The word drags into the emptiness of the room, filling the silence that someone else should be lifting. But you’re not here, and you’re not answering. Not yet, at least. Has it been seconds or minutes?

Too long, is all he knows.

His digits are cleaned thoroughly, but he can’t shake the persisting feeling of sheer, dirty lust as they reach his phone again. Lighting up the screen, then curling inwards in frustration.

He repeats the desperate attempt of manifestation a couple times until he throws the device aside, nearly missing the mid-air vibrations, indicating the long-awaited message. Jungkook’s heart falls out of his ribcage and squeezes his guts; your name elicits far more than it should.

And he feels just a little guilty.

Because he doesn’t deny himself any pleasure — so he knows this isn’t love. This isn’t starving for emotionality. Not for sentiments. What you pull out might be his ugliest, beastliest side; his mind is filled with images of you that he shouldn’t be having.

You’re so respected. So tender and kind. Intriguing, a riddle, but inhabiting secrets probably far darker than his thoughts. So he feels odd about the wanton desire; feels guilty.

But just for a bit. Just a little.

The message you sent back is too humble, too innocent. Sometimes he reckons you’re aware of your power, and sometimes he assumes you think of yourself as… ordinary.

But you’re not. And he wants to show you.

Just one touch, please.

“Fuck, shut up, you creep,” Jungkook whispers to himself, scolding his treacherous mind before he reads again.

[6:52PM] You: Oh? Why would you be thinking about me? Of all people?

Should he wait? You did, too.

Or should he make as crystal clear as he can muster that he’s been waiting for you?

Screw it.

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: what else should I be thinking of?

Your next response is immediate — you’re online. Waiting for him to answer.

Good.

[6:53PM] You: Your music?

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: my music doesn’t talk to me as much as you do these days

He smirks. Keeps the beam plastered to his face until the waiting becomes a little too long. Message on read, you leave the chat room empty of you and full of a nervy Jungkook. He opts out of it the same second, keen on patience before it fades again, bit by bit.

Because then, the thoughts flood in.

Are you rolling your eyes? Throwing the phone into a corner of your couch? Has he fucked up before anything could start?

But it’s been going so well. You talk to him every single day. Ever since the museum, the two of you have been orbiting each other; partly due to work, partly because he’s caught you smiling, too.

Your words are too sickeningly often accompanied by a soft touch of yours against his shoulders; against his arms. Sometimes, you brush his back, his eyes wide awake, the smile timid yet crushingly losing against your confident gaze.

All this must mean something.

“Nah. Fuck it,” he mutters again, sighing over his own constant use of curses. “Come back.”

[6:55PM] Jeon Jungkook: actually… I did come up with one tune. It’s just a skeleton of a song tbh, but I need a sounding board.

It takes another one minute for you to come back, and Jungkook angles his legs, relying on the movements of his body to ease the impatience. But then—

[6:56PM] You: Oh, and? [6:56PM] You: Sorry, I had to step away for a sec

Sigh of relief. Even though embarrassment annoyingly adds itself to the mix, an uninvited guest.

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: …do you wanna come to the studio?

[6:57PM] You: Right now? It’s like… [6:57PM] You: 7pm

Unconsciously, Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, unbothered to the bone, just craving, craving, craving…

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: a true artist never rests. [6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: and I’d rather die than stop hustling for my passion

As the next message appears at the bottom of the screen, Jungkook can’t help but bite into his lower lip with a certain pride. He nods as if he caught his prey, trapping it between his fangs.

[6:58PM] You: 😂LOL. now that, I admire, mister Jeon :) [6:58PM] You: I’ll finish my wine and be on my way

Oh.

Are you tipsy? Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but the emoji seems so unlike you; yet, you somehow manage to capture the core of what and who you are in the rest of the message. Six coherent words. That’s all it takes.

Goddamn.

You’re so thoroughly you.

[6:59PM] Jeon Jungkook: wait. really?

And that’s it. You disappear.

Perhaps you’re joking; perhaps you’re messing with him. The sun has already set; and he doesn’t think he’s ever stayed with you much longer than dusk before.

If he met you in the evening, or on other nights, would you make more sense than you usually do? Are you the type to unravel when the world quiets down? Or the one to blend with the darkness more, drawing back further?

If there’s pure truth in what you just said, devoid of all mockery you could revert to… he might find out. And it seems you’re in the right mood today, earnest with your intentions when he feels his phone vibrate against his thick thigh again, making him flinch.

[7:11PM] You: Yes? I’m already dressed. Get your ass up

Oh shit.

Despite your order, his limbs still shut down. His muscles and bones melt into the bed, a fleeting image of your sly smirk crossing his mind and an assured voice surrounding his eardrums.

And if he didn’t overthink each of your movements; didn’t fantasise about the possible rise and fall of your voice, he would’ve discarded his phone and gotten dressed a lot earlier.

How embarrassing.

The fact that his mind doesn’t want to categorise this as a crush, no matter how much he asks. That his body responds to you like that, superficial and intrigued.

Embarrassing. He should focus on more important things.

Yet, he can’t be bothered with the intruding sentiment, shame shoved aside and trampled under his feet as his car turns into a parking lot, perfectly in front of the building’s entrance. Your form is crystal clear in the dark; not even the shadows and lack of light can hide your silhouette.

The radar sensor beeps when he creeps too close to the hood of the car behind him, and he mumbles a curse, averting his eyes from your unmoving self to focus on proper parking. Letting the roaring engine die.

Your shoulders are slightly raised when he approaches you at the door. One hand is stuffed in the pocket of your thin, baby pink coat, the other curled into a fist, possibly resisting the urge to enter the building and combat the cold.

You could’ve waited inside, too. Unless…

Maybe you’re excited to see him, too.

You smile, lips reaching far up; he tries his hardest to believe he’s right. Takes the gesture as a good omen, and the hair pulled up in a loose bun as a sign of hurry. You look domestic, comfortable in your skin, no matter who’s around.

But somewhere between the comfort and the softness, there’s that everlingering intrigue, too. And… some timidness. Showing in the crossed legs his eyes drift over, up to the short skirt barely visible underneath the coat.

And your face… so natural. More than usual. Mascara only? He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he needs to say something.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you throw back, tilting your head in tease, “where were you? Took you long enough to get here.”

He steps closer; fiddling with his jacket’s pocket, fishing for the keys. And his proximity changes something about you so subtly, a miniscule movement. Hand digging deeper into your coat.

You’re on guard for some reason. And he can’t help but admit he’s on guard with you, too, albeit in a less physical and more mental way. The unfathomable, dichotomous sensation of wanting you near, wanting you far is killing him.

What are you hiding?

If he could, he’d speak it out loud.

“I had to freshen up,” he finally responds, “I honestly didn’t expect you to say yes.”

Your body might be in protection mode, but your voice is as composed, even somewhat amused, as always, “Well.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why. But I’m here now, and honestly… a little cold?” Nodding towards the door, “Should we go inside?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He sniffles, fishing for the chip to unlock the door. For an ephemeral second right before walking inside, your breath lingers incredibly close to his own, grazing his lip ring. “Don’t forget to dress warm this season.”

Near enough for his fingers to succumb to the impulse and sidle to you, skimming your thigh so featherlightly. He thinks he hears the sharp inhale you suck in. His skin tickles, the shiver icy on his body. He watches you smirk, lowering your head; his fingertips insist on the vicinity just for the tiniest seconds before he says,

“Okay. Let's go inside before you catch a cold, silly.”

But the bitter frost permeates the hallways of the company in the same ruthless manner. Perhaps somebody’s still lingering around in the daunting dark. Revising steps in the mirrored practice rooms or hovering above lyrics and tunes, neck bent and back tired.

But the building isn’t heated; and it shows in your rather quick steps, an arm wrapped around your chest to rub the layers above your arm. The guarded demeanour doesn’t match your usual confidence; aside from the hollow hallways, it seems that you’re scared of more than just the cold.

He doesn’t point it out. And he doesn’t stare for too long.

If he did, you might realise.

Instead, he saunters to the elevator with you in tow, delighted about the light that never changes in the small rectangular space. You let your hand drop to your purse, lazily toying with its zip, and turn your head to observe the closing doors.

And Jungkook observes you. 

The glow of your cheeks in the bright beam, half of your face devoid of the hair tucked behind your ear. As you breathe in, your lips split a fraction, and their gentle, soft curves mesmerise him for a moment too long.

It’s difficult and cruel, being around you. Haunting, agonising, aggravating.

And when your eyes align with his again, sparkling a little in line with your tender smile, Jungkook realises that he’s been holding his breath. Because it escapes between the seam of his mouth in a sudden push, his knees nearly buckling.

He resists the urge to bite into his fist, instead disguising his thoughts when he covers his mouth, teeth digging into his plump, lower lips.

“So,” he quickly adds, leaving no space for you to question his eccentricity, but you initiate another convo in the same tiny second, “It’s…”

You pause, withholding your statement in order to listen to his. But he shakes his head, lifting a hand to sign for you to continue. So you say, “It’s a little scary here at night.”

Okay. Not that tough of a topic.

“Right?” he confirms. “I always imagine getting here and hearing a hum that’s not really there.”

“Uh…” You blink in disbelief, lifting your eyebrows, but when he shrugs your confusion away, your hesitation marker turns into a chuckle. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“It’s just something I imagine. It’s terrifying, but my mind goes places, and I never ask it to.”

“Well, it’s a mean thing of your mind to do.” The ding of the elevator distracts you, and when you step out, your thoughts remain at an afar spot. Kept inside your pretty little head until you whisper, “And? Have you ever heard it, then?”

“Hm? The hum?” You nod, and he suppresses the snicker your curious, cocked eyebrow nearly elicits. “No. Only myself. Humming helps me control my breathing, so I do it to practise.”

“Weird. It’s so different from how I’d imagine you.”

Huh. Seems he’s not the only one sketching your entire being to keep himself awake at night.

“How would you?” he asks.

“As a rockstar?”

“Oh?” That’s new. “As a future RnB slash pop sensation I find this officially peculiar. Why a rockstar?”

You cock an eyebrow; either digesting the confident prophecy or pondering his question. The crooked smile matches his own signature smirk a little, and you puff out a breath before your sombre yet sparkling eyes wander an inch further down, right to his mouth.

Your eyelashes are endless, on their way to brush those delicate apples of your cheeks — in reality, it’s an impossible fantasy written in novels and poems, but it’s exactly how it looks. Exactly how much your curious gaze drops.

Only, the tingling sensation in his chest soon subsides, freeing a path to the realisation that he’s yet again misunderstanding. Because you’re not drawn by his lips, but rather considering a response.

He sighs in subtle disappointment when you point to the shiny metal encircling his lower lip, telling him, “Gotta be the piercing.”

“Ah. Ahhh. Well. First off, this is a very stereotypical assumption.” You shrug your shoulders in amusement, watching him cram for his chip until he halts in front of his studio, keeping you in his vision. “And secondly.”

The lock of the door clicks as he swipes the chip across the reader, defined knuckles paling a bit when he pushes the handle down. He raises his chin by a fraction, pulling out the most-assured smile, and asks, “Do you like it?”

And you, composed as ever, respond, “It suits you. I always wonder how comfortable these are, though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, like. Do they have a metal taste? Do you ever get hyper aware of them and then get annoyed and want them off? Are they… cold?”

He laughs. There’s something endearing about how your voice quietens further the more your curiosity grows. You’re not quite looking at him, pupils focused on a random spot, hands expressive as you vocalise your thoughts.

“Let’s see,” he mutters, jacket thrown over a chair, “sometimes and, again, sometimes. It feels a bit cold right now because it’s cold outside. I mean…”

He rubs the chill off his tattooed arm, fingers diving under the short sleeves of his white, oversized t-shirt. Attempts never faltering, he leans into you in intrigue, parting his lips before running his tongue over the jewellery.

“Do you just. Wanna touch it and find out for yourself?”

You blink, frozen in place.

The room isn’t too spacious; Jungkook will get his very own studio, name tag and all once he reaches a clear peak. For once, he’s glad about the crowded room, girded by a guitar on the wall, chairs standing side by side, a little couch leaning against the back of the wall.

As ever, he can’t decipher your mood; as ever, you’re still quick to answer, “I… no. It’s okay.”

Why don’t you want him?

Goddamn it.

“Okay,” he simply utters, shrugging his vexation away. “Let’s get started then.”

The excitement in his tone dips, seemingly aloof, but as he walks into the dark square of silence, reaching for the headphones he placed right here mere hours ago, wordless curses dangle off the tip of his tongue.

He makes sure you don’t see the clench of his jaw or the fast and steady fall of his ego, but you’re shoving back the chair and adjusting anyway. Crossing tight-clad legs as you place your coat on your lap, throwing your mane to one side to free that damned neck.

It must be on purpose.

He waits for you to settle, the headphones on the table in front of you enveloping your head. They look way too big on you, and Jungkook can’t decide whether to tut at his anguish or swoon at your stellar being.

Jungkook uses his headphones to communicate through the glass, raising a thumb to ask, “Ready?” You nod, matching his gestures with your own. “Be honest, how professional do I look?”

Carding the fine hair back, he pushes a hand into the pocket of his pants, taking a stand in front of the boom microphone. He mimes a typical grimace of an immersed artist, letting out an immediate, sweet chuckle that you chime in joyfully.

You lean in, long earrings brushing your jaw, pressing down the button for the talkback mic to assure through the intercom, “You look like a born star.”

He rolls his eyes, playfully clicking his tongue, “Ahhh, that’s a nice yet basic thing to say, but. I’ll take it.”

“Why did you go in there anyway? Weren’t you just going to show me a song?”

“Adlibs, baby. I’m still missing those.” He adjusts the headphones again, clearing his throat, almost in position. “But I didn’t warm up my voice, so I’ll need to re-record them anyway.”

“And still you’re straining your voice because…?”

“We’re here to impress you, so let me.”

Your finger lifts off the button, but the movement of your lips suggests to him undoubtedly what your teasing self might be mumbling.

Oh damn. Sorry then, boss.

You raise your hands in defeat until you detect his beguiled smile, raising your eyebrows in a clear question that he answers with two words; a simple title of a song, not as glorious as the tune itself but hopefully as memorable.

Eyes scurrying across the now opened laptop screen, you search for the instrumental until you stumble upon it. 3:54 minutes of what Jungkook prays to be blasted everywhere in a couple week’s time before the big concert, chiming in his ears.

The initial guitar riff drowns the room in a mixture of intriguing anticipation and uncurbed sentiments immediately. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your face, attempting to decode a reaction. And when you notice, hands on the headphones, you nod approvingly.

Most of his vocals are already recorded to perfection; a silky voice laments about a lost time with purity. Jungkook largely listens in, searching for wonky bits or moments to be re-tackled. Of course, he will need to discuss the details with Taehyung tomorrow, but whenever the passion burns the hottest, he can’t help but add an adlib here and there.

As he sings, his eyes reflexively close, and for a couple dozen seconds, the melodic current pulls him towards a bigger ocean; the sense of freedom and possibility is astonishing. There’s a certain ardour he feels towards music that nothing will ever be able to elicit.

Do you feel the same?

As somebody spending day in, day out surrounded by musicians, does that phenomenon make your heart surge, too?

Maybe.

When he looks at you again, it’s at least something fervent he detects in your gaze. A bit like the longing he feels. Intense fondness, or perhaps, even zoning out — until you’re barely blinking anymore.

Your features relax a little more as the song proceeds, bit by bit, the calmest when the ending notes arrive. Jungkook observes you; freezes at his spot. The change from the built-up chorus to the suddenly calm ending, instruments dying, are as forgotten as the last touches… because you, behind the glass, are much more interesting.

Just staring. Looking at the screen, its brightness reflecting in your pupils. When you blink again, most of the preceding smile is gone, something indecipherable in your eyes.

He doesn’t know whether you actually enjoyed the entire thing or became consumed by memories he doesn’t know of. Some the song might have drawn out but shouldn’t have. There’s… a past in your stare.

He knows because much like the vast existing humanity, he’s been tending to faraway memories for years, too.

And he wants to know about yours.

Gently, Jungkook grasps the headphones covering his ears, the mane victim to the impact before his fingers fix it again. He frees his eyes off his strands, never directing them away from you, and when he opens the door to the small room you drifted off in, you look up.

Your emerging smile is unsuspecting and polite as always, and you deliver a tilt of your head. Jungkook could sign the previous oddness off as just this, or a sinking into arts just as he does sometimes.

But what’s enough is enough; brushing questions off his mind has become tedious.

So he rolls back the second chair next to you to take a seat, placing his arm on the one of the furniture before folding his fingers; leaning in, asking, “You okay?”

You react with a soft nod, a tender hum, “Yeah! I was listening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“You zoned out.”

“Which is a good thing, I promise.”

Jungkook looks for a moment. Waits for you to break or admit that the truth you display might not be as pure as you think; waits for his instinct to wind up correct.

But when you do nothing of that sort, eyes a resolute and solid statement, he sighs. Tongues at the lip ring for a moment before he clears his throat and questions, “Good thing, yeah? What else do you think?”

“It… goes deep,” you confess, an impressed declaration in your expressions, “what are you talking about in that one? I mean, I know, but… it sounds so personal.”

“More or less? I’ve spent most of the last few years dedicating myself to this job. The training, the late night sessions, the failure and lost time. I wanted to depict those hardships.” He nods, emphasising his points. “I want this song to help me look back one day…”

He shrugs his shoulders, thumbs slowly circling around each other, “And comfort my older self that despite the hectic life, things are okay.”

“I see.”

Your tone is neutral, but your chest rises and falls a little too slowly. Your sorrow is quiet. He closes the distance further, nudging your arm, “Hey. Did you not like it?”

“I did,” you defend, honesty and reassurance in your voice, “I do. You have an amazing voice, come on, what’s not to like. And the sound is incredible. Should you manage to release it, it will be celebrated a lot.”

“I will manage to release it,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, resisting the urge to touch your elbow again, but settling on simply calling your name instead, “you’re part of my team. Let’s be optimistic.”

“I am. Teamwork makes the dream work. Etcetera.”

“Right,” Jungkook breathes, word close to a yawn. He throws his body back in the cushioned chair, manspreading as much as the space allows; stretches his arms until his muscles crack. “Ahhh… I really want this to be good.”

His gaze falls to the darkening laptop, soon giving way to pitch darkness, potentially to some screensaver. The title of the song remains still in the opened audio file, and he smacks his lips, blinking only when you voice an approving, “Mhmmm.”

His head darts to you the moment you deliver a subtle nod towards the computer, deducting, “You really strive to be big.”

Well, yeah. That’s been the plan. Always, always.

“Shouldn’t I?” he argues. “It’s a dream.”

“It’s good to have dreams.”

“That’s right. Mine is to… Stand on a bigger stage. I think I’ve reached a solid group, but I think if I keep working hard and with the right team, I can make it?”

“This determined, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he responds with a hint of obvious self-evidence, slight confusion shadowing his mind — have you never wanted something so badly? “The audience’s eyes glued to me. Don’t you have a dream?”

Another deep inhale of air, chest working hard, as if you’re breathing out fatigue. He prepares for another vague answer that might leave him guessing; and albeit clearly seeing the usual curtain veiling your true thoughts, what you say next makes his ears perk up.

“Honestly. I’ll allow dreams again once I’ve moved on. That’s all I want.”

What?

Did you actually want to say that? Was it on purpose? A slip of the tongue?

Because it seems so unlike you. Reveals too much. He doesn’t think you’ve exposed your innermost thoughts like this before, even if still not quite transparent.

“…From what?” The previously relinquished distance dies when he inches closer again, digits sneaking close to your knee. A fingertip floats over your tights. “Hey. Is something bothering you?”

“Ugh,” you say; the sliver of sadness seamlessly transitions into an expression of nonchalance when you wave your concerns off so quickly. “Young adult stuff.”

Nevertheless, you speak on. The biggest development in this friendship between the two of you yet. “I once had a friend that moved away. We were pretty close, and now she’s far away. Which sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

Jungkook offers to listen, but he doesn’t necessarily deem himself the most expressive guy when it comes to emotions like these; even if he so deeply wishes to read your thoughts. Music is different; speaking to an audience is, too. Articulating gratitude isn’t as difficult as extinguishing someone else’s grief.

And while not quite confronted with anguish, he houses demons that still haunt his nights; he can barely obliterate them.

Maybe he doesn’t need to.

Maybe he can comfort you in the only way he’s ever known. The stupid, selfish way; offering relief and distraction in the most sinful manner.

“Listen…” Jungkook starts, but in all honesty — there isn’t much to say.

Only to crave. To look.

At the curve of your lips. The distance between them. The bare wrist needing to be held, tired eyes wanting to replace the sorrow with something else.

Is he an asshole for wanting to annihilate your heavy breaths of dejection and replace them with sighs of his name instead?

He doesn’t know. He barely hears his thoughts. Only the blood rushing to his ears, and then away from his head, down his body.

Fuck.

The levitating finger drops an inch; you gasp almost inaudibly when the tip touches your knee, skin separated by the tights only. Jungkook loves fashion choices like these, but hates the hurdle right now.

His warm palm opens, placing right above your knee, approaching the meat of your thigh. He knows you’re not breathing because he can’t hear the exhales; and when his eyes, hooded and possibly insane, flit up to you, he recognises the change in your pupils.

You gulp; and then finally push out some air again. Your hand moves to his inked wrist, touching lightly, unsure what to do. But when you don’t resist, his other arm lifts, touch moving to your face, holding it.

The world spins, moving like an earthquake as his mouth draws nearer. You let out a miniscule sound that punches him in the guts; sweet and pure.

He wants to shatter and wreck you so bad; wants you to feel the same poison you’ve fed him. Irresistible, deadly.

But just as the metal of his jewellery grazes your lips, the softness and warmth radiating towards him, your breath shakes. Your face budges enough for his upper lip to feel a brush against yours, but that’s all he gets.

Because you retreat without giving in. And he doesn’t know why.

He clenches his jaw. God fucking hell. What’s your problem?

The sense of failure overwhelms him. Failure. Failure.

That’s not the term his mind should conjure. He knows the moral compass hides somewhere in his dark heart; he knows. Yet, he can never give into it. Is he a bad person? He doesn’t know.

Control was never his domain, after all.

But he keeps those intrusive thoughts inside, intending to not scare you off more than he already might have. So he accepts the dodging of the kiss, moving back, immediately leaving you safe from his touch.

And then, he says, “Uhm— I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer, still catching your breath, back to the heavy sighs that he was going to help shove back. Once again, he tries, “Honestly, I apologise, I just…”

“No, no. Please, don’t be sorry,” you reassure, slightly touching his shoulder. A wave of relief washes over him. “I’m just. Not in the right mindset for it yet. But I’m flattered, really.”

“Okay.” He nods. His eyes drop to his fingers; he still feels your heat on his skin, basks in it for a moment. But when the awkward silence lingers, he suggests, “Then. Let’s call it a night and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. I’m definitely getting tired.”

“Me too.”

Jungkook rises from his seat, still unable to wrap his head around what happens — or almost happened. Maybe another time. Grabbing your coat from behind you, he helps you into it, avoiding your eyes, trying not to showcase his frustration.

Uncertain what to say, he reverts back to small talk, stating, “Thanks for still coming so late. You really do like the song, yeah?”

“Jungkook… it’s honestly very good.”

You smile; there’s something about your honesty. About the way you say his name. And how hopeful you truly seem for him. How much you seem to mean it when you say—

“If there’s anyone who can manage to wrap the world around their finger, it’ll be you, Jungkook.”

“Alright. I think I have an answer to your question now.”

You down the sip of red wine with a delicate smack of your lips, blinking at the change in topic. The evening has followed a pleasant pace so far, conversations well balanced; even though you still carry a sense of caution that Jungkook sees no reason behind.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after weeks of subtle, flirty undertones and advancing attempts you’ve taken the seat on his couch as he’s imagined for so long now. Maybe he still exudes something that screams for caution; maybe that’s just who you are.

Jungkook, for one, is just glad to receive any kind of recognition from you. But he’d be a fool to not insert all his effort into tonight, from the food to the type of drinks and conversations. He knows where he needs to be and he wants you to want it, too.

“What question?” you ask.

It’s just.

Despite the lightness with which you carry your talks, some of your movements feel off, detached from your body. Not quite matching the grace your face portrays; just that one hint. The one hiding in your fingers, tapping the dark screen of the phone resting on your thigh.

As if you’re waiting for a call or something to happen that Jungkook isn’t aware of. Who knows. Nothing has happened in the last hour, so this might be an unconscious gesture reasoned in nothing but an absent or distracted mind.

Yeah.

You’re probably not even aware of it and he’s just overthinking it.

He takes a breath, inhaling the aroma of the almost finished wine, “What I’d do if I could spend a day in a virtual reality.”

“Wait, does the Wembley Stadium doesn’t count anymore?”

Jungkook smirks, dismissing his own prior answer with a click of his tongue. “C’mon. Does it really? You can ask literally any artist ever and that’s what they’ll say.”

You ponder his response, pursing your lips in thought, and then shrug one shoulder. Nodding along, you acknowledge, “Right. So what is it then?”

“I’d just.” He sucks air through his teeth sharply, leaning back with a signature smack of his lips. “Get into a reality in which this damn song is already finished and mixed and ready to be released.”

This song referring to the concoction of sounds he showed you earlier, yet to be concretised and burnished to what he truly envisions. It’s the only song left that shackles him to the studio; at the upcoming concert, he’ll just sing the demo version as a sneak peak if needed. What a source of stress.

But you don’t see it as much of a struggle; you’ve told him a dozen times that hard work justifies a slip-up. That the progress on his album balances out the artist’s block.

Possibly why you laugh his worry off without mocking it, merely throwing back, “I’m disappointed.”

Oh?

“Why?”

“Just because — the Wembley answer was better.”

Unexpected and sudden — much like the snicker you elicit, throwing his head back just a little. Concurring, he sighs, “Okay, okay. What about you then?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me what you’d do.”

“You didn’t ask,” you remind him, already slurring your speech a bit, though still remaining a stable and solid stance, “dunno. You want the sappy or the basic answer?”

“Is the sappy one a tear-jerker? Sounds like it.”

“For sure.”

“Then the basic one. Don’t dig being sad.”

“Thought so,” you answer, and Jungkook holds back from prodding again this time, despite wondering what image he gets across, “alright. I’d do things I’m unsure of in real life. Like bungee jumping.”

“Oh? Kinda did not expect this.”

“No?”

“Just having a hard time imagining somebody as calm as you jumping off a building. Or yelling.”

You roll your eyes. “Anyway. I’d love to go, but I’m too scared of the risks. Like, rope stuff. Don’t want to be jumping for the last time.”

“Okay, yeah, but,” Jungkook starts, hesitating, “I mean, you could say that about anything. You leave your apartment and get hit by a car and then you’d be going out for the last time.”

You begin shaking your head mid-sentence, already drawing a breath, ready to disagree. Then, “That’s a bad comparison. These things are a once in a lifetime experience.”

“I’m just saying! Why hold back from things that excite you.”

“…Maybe you’re right.”

Jungkook’s proud nod and hum are reciprocated with a soft smile, fleeting when you roll your eyes back to your phone briefly. Absent-mindedly, you drag a fingertip across the device’s side as Jungkook follows your movements.

Yet, unsure what you might be harbouring in this pretty head of yours, he doesn’t ponder but asks, “What was the sappy thing?”

It’s as if you live multiple lives, hiding them in your innermost parts; because once he finishes his question, your sparkle returns, and you smirk a little, suddenly leaning forward.

Wordlessly, you fish a tissue out of the square, wooden box, puzzling him for a second until he understands right before you clarify, “For the upcoming tears.”

His titter is immediate, a reflex. You might be relaxed as a calm river, but your humour does shine through among your other million traits. He shakes his head in rejection, smile still plastered to his lips, and watches you lean back again, clearing your throat.

“Mhh, I’d say,” you muse, “I’d try to get into a simulation of Heaven. Try to meet those I miss.”

“Oh… damn.”

“Yeah.”

“…I don’t know what to say.”

But despite the dumbstruck silence, his mind does conjure prompt associations. Like when the two of you sat in his studio just two weeks ago, you engrossed in his music yet somehow dissociated from reality.

You spoke about lost and faraway people back then, too. And he didn’t ask then, either.

In the depths of his mind, he wants to believe that you’re trying to lead him somewhere, fishing for his hand but never quite reaching it. Drawing back right before pleading for help; or perhaps wanting to make him understand a thought he can’t fathom in the way you form it.

The pattern is repetitive, loud — but he knows you’ll retract the moment he does lean into you, offering his ear to your worries and thoughts.

He can’t win.

“That’s okay,” you say, making up for his lack of proper empathy, and that’s where you leave it. Not hesitating, not indicating another hint to lead to your mind.

Yet, he clears his throat quietly, licking drying lips, and asks in attempt to grip the truth, your whatever-truth, “And, who’d be there? Do you want to talk about that?”

“Mmmmh,” you hum, pondering, before you treat him with the same disappointment he’s suffered throughout the last weeks, “no. I think I’m good.”

Unbelievable, and truthfully, frustrating.

Are you playing this side of yours? Is it an act? Are two sides of you fighting within you?

“Okay,” he simply responds, clearly agitated but unsure whether you notice. You’re looking at your phone again. He sighs. “And… Do you believe in that stuff? Heaven, Hell, stuff like that.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. “Dunno. I like to think there’s something, but then again I don’t.”

“How so?”

“The way I see it, it’s kinda simple,” you explain matter-of-factly, “some people are good enough to deserve a place in Heaven once they’re gone. And some people are terrible enough to burn for eternity.”

Coming from your sweet mouth, uttered in an equally soft tone, the sentence feels jarring. Jungkook has had these thoughts before; he’d be a hypocrite to judge you for yours, recalling moments when he wondered where he’s destined to land once he’s left this realm.

And somehow, it was never the prettier option.

Still, he utters, disguising his own past pondering, “Wow. That’s dark.”

“It’s true. There’s some serious crime in the world.”

Agreed. Perhaps, compared to the extreme sins, he can be forgiven. Right? Maybe…

“Yeah,” Jungkook accords, “then, why did you say that sometimes you don’t like believing in it?”

“I mean, if there’s actually something like Hell, and I happen to fuck up throughout life… I don’t wanna end up there.”

It’s like you’re mirroring his thoughts.

Even if he never quite thought about it to such an extent. Even though his idea of the afterlife built on what he’s already done, and not what he’s still going to do.

But your words give a subtle hope that redemption is possible. Who knows. Who really knows.

Perhaps it’s easiest to stray away from these thoughts and focus on you at this very moment. Even if it’s you triggering innermost fears; he doesn’t quite have a clue how you do it.

No matter. He’ll focus on you. Altruism might be the first step to vindication. Karma points. Karma points.

“Valid,” he says kindly, “can’t imagine you fucking up, though.”

“How would you know?”

“The company grapevine whispered a lil something about you.”

“Ahhh—”

“Good things! Other than that, I just think. Don’t know.” A small gap, well-hidden so far, grows in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the very front of his mind. Before he’s thought it through, he blurts, “I’ll be honest with you.”

Your ears perk up, eyes suddenly wide.

What was that?

Okay. Whatever. Can’t stop his speech now, “Uhm, I’ll be honest and say that I’m not the best person I know. Like, I’m aware of that. It’s why sometimes, I don’t really understand how people can be as genuine as you.”

…Has he said too much? Or not enough? Because he could swear your face deflates, expression dimming, as if you expected something else.

And all you say is, “I understand.”

A flicker of slight panic creeps into his overthinking head, not usually a trademark of his personality. But you look dispirited, even if just for a second. He tries further.

“And from what I’ve seen, you go through life gently. The way you do anything is how you do everything, right?”

“Hmmm,” you voice again, pupils hidden until you look up. And when you do, he breathes a sigh of relief; deep and obvious, and he doesn’t care if you notice. Smiling sweetly, you tell him, “You said that really well.”

The way you say it is riddled with woe, but within a second, your eyebrows relax, mouth forming an authentic grin. Displaying real emotions suits you better than the mask of the frigid ice queen you keep plastered to your face; you look different right now.

Vulnerable.

And it makes him want you more.

Does it have something to do with the warm light he chose for this room? No. It doesn’t shine brightly enough to really illuminate your face that much. With the intensity lowered beforehand, some of your features hide in the dark when you lower your head a little.

And it’s not the decent amount of alcohol the two of you slurped.

It’s the usual, mysterious shimmer in your eyes, begging to take off more of your mental layers. The fragility behind the pretence of invincible strength. No doubt, you’re still a textbook definition of a femme fatale.

Still, there’s some sweet urge to surrender, visible in your stance. A fragrance luring him in. Warm skin close to his; calling for his fingers.

And he’s at your beck and call, ready and motivated; giving into your wanting eyes — or is that his own desire he’s confusing? — and leaning in. A little more with each tiny moment, advancing until the tips of your noses meet.

Your warmth consumes him; your breathing quickens, resulting in fitful exhales that he takes in with vigour, much drowning in his own head until you gasp and he realises—

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not yet retracting. His hand touches your knee, carefully but with intention. Waiting, he asks, “Is that okay for you?”

“…I’m not sure.”

Your answer takes a seat on his ego and weighs it down. Harsh, sudden, perhaps not unexpected but definitely breaking a string of patience within him. But consent is consent; he understands. He’s grown now.

Yet…

“Fuck,” he whispers under a faint sigh, dejected and confused.

And you hear it. Bambi-eyed, you ask, “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He’d lie if he suppressed the disappointment. Working towards you for weeks was supposed to end in realising his fantasies into a palpable, actual feeling, with a side achievement of a deeper connection.

You don’t seem to want to provide it; he understands, but the agitation courses through him like a fire burning up a forest. The trees are his nerves; alight with different emotions. You’re fumbling with the soft cotton of your winter dress, and he averts his eyes.

Shutting them for a moment, he ponders his options; does he continue the awkward conversation? Or perhaps, ask you for your opinion straightforwardly? Maybe, after all this while, it wouldn’t be so stupid to swap a penny for your thoughts.

And his mouth opens, but it seems you’re faster. Crushing his questions and uncertainties when he hears you gulp, witness to another change of mind as your knee shifts forward. His eyes open rapidly, and when he looks at you again, you’ve moved closer.

Your leg touches his thigh; your eyelids half fallen, lips an inch apart and fingers hesitating, yet advancing towards him. Hope sparks and sparkles in him anew, and he suppresses the cheeky, triumphant smile.

He feels like an asshole. Oh, he feels so selfish — but he can’t be the only one. He cannot possibly be the first or last to give into deepest desires out of self-interest.

Carefully, he matches your pace, moving into your direction much like you are drawing into his. His hand lifts to your arm, and you suck in a breath as he touches your skin, your chest rising and falling deeply.

And his eyes observe. The motion drives him crazy. He wants to pilot his touch to this spot, wrap his palm around your mounds, desperate to feel your nipples perk up under his skin, your mouth fall wider.

Should he? Maybe, maybe—

Not yet.

Instead, he draws an invisible line with his fingertips, up your arm and to your shoulders until he reaches your neck. The sound you let out is so tiny he barely hears it, and you tilt your head to the other side, giving him free reign over your skin.

A spark lights up under his finger, as if he’s touched a defective bulb. He wonders if you feel the same flame when he charges for your jawline, tracing it for a moment before he moves to your seething hot cheek.

You’re burning up.

So he asks in a quiet, gravelly voice, somehow much lower than usual, “Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows are furrowed, and he starts to worry again; but maybe that’s just the same tension unleashing that he’s felt, too. The temptation runs deep; he could scream it out of his lungs and it wouldn’t be enough.

Relieved as you nod, he mimics the movement, whispering an, “Okay,” before he then dips forward, exhaling close to your neck hotly and… leaves a small kiss right there. He doesn’t know about you, but if you did that to him, he’d possibly faint.

One more kiss, and suddenly, your hand is on his knee. His head spins. Must be the alcohol. Must be you.

And you’re probably in no better state, judging the hot cheeks and the slight sway of your body. Must be the wine. Must be him.

And when his lips graze your jaw, your fingers curl in, clawing onto his knee, and his inner voice celebrates, “Jackpot.”

But not really. He’s going with the flow, exploring your preferences, but this needs to be the night of your life. His mind and ego want you to perceive it that way. So what should he do? What do you like?

Are you one to push him into the bed, holding his shoulders down? Straddling him keenly, pouncing on him, eyes rolled back?

Or do you give away all the power you usually emanate; hands bound with a tie, legs struggling between a rope, screams muffled under a gag? Do you wind and go crazy when somebody has their way with you, edging and then overstimulating, refusing a touch and then slapping your ass wound…

Should he let your siren eyes tempt him into submission or will you be the one drilled into his mattress with a hand around your neck and a trail of black mixed with tears under your eyes?

He doesn’t know. Because you’ve disguised all of you; hidden your mind behind a mask of absolute neutrality, hard to decipher. He can usually read women so easily. They lick their lower lips when they want him under them, and quiver when vice versa.

He’d oblige to either for you. So what does it matter in the end, anyway?

No, it doesn’t.

His tongue that lashes out, however, does matter. Tasting your skin as it drags over your chin and then to your mouth. Insane when he reaches your lower lip and you sigh, then back to your neck, blowing, teasing, still not kissing you… touching your thigh, moving inwards…

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

And this time, while still a little quiet, you finally say, “More. You can do more.”

“Yeah?”

You nod as if starved, relieved when his hands leave your leg and venture further in. It’s hidden under your dress, but somehow, not seeing your full glory just yet, but observing your reactions to his movements, stirs his thoughts. If any were left, that is.

The touch to your panties is light, tender as he reaches the hem, driving a finger underneath it in exploration. You don’t say much, but he sees the zeal in your eyes, murmuring a little, “Mhm…”

And when he finally presses against the fabric slowly dampening, lightly as he rolls his digits right where your skin so incredibly softens… you moan. You moan.

It doesn’t sound the way he imagined. But it kind of does. He doesn’t remember what he imagined — doesn’t know much at all. Just that he wanted this sound to echo within his walls. For him to be the one to drag it out. Not for anybody else, but him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Okay. What if he does… this…

Thought so.

Sometimes, human beings have a fantasy unmatched, don’t they? Able to form and reform expressions on people they know that they have never seen. For example, he can imagine what you look like when you cry. Or when you’re mad. Or…

He knew you’d press your lips together, along with your eyebrows, muffling your sound once he sought out your clit and pressed against it. And not because he’s seen other women contort their faces like this; no… it’s an entirely new sensation with you.

You don’t compare to anyone. Nobody compares to you. Nobody, ever.

Sick of watching the invisible movement under your dress, he lets his eyes wander to yours, and you notice, do as he does. Eyes hooded, staring at him as if drunk — possibly, probably drunk.

Just once, he gapes down again, trying to adjust without crushing your knees with his. Comes closer. Then looks back at you. Absolutely astonished by the coloured lips drying up. Seeing your tongue peak behind your upper teeth, pushing against them.

Then you’re blinking, several times, not rapidly, but enough to indicate that you’re losing yourself, too. And then there’s some melancholy behind your gaze; he can’t say where it derives from… you seem to be coming out of a room that you kept dark for long enough.

He can’t say whether he’s further dimming the light in that room or lightening it up — and as he advances, gauging your reactions, he inwardly hopes it’s the latter.

So inwardly. So desperately.

Patience only persists for a moment; Jungkook barely believes in it. People always break. And he does when you lean forward as he drags his finger between your pussy lips, still over the clothing. You balance your weight with your arms, holding yourself up.

And then…

You so tantalisingly, softly, quietly, whisper his name.

Okay.

The snap was expected. The sigh he lets out was expected. And the way his lips finally crash against yours, making you almost fall back onto the sofa was expected, too.

But your taste… Why did he know you’d be as sweet as a cliché, like a perfume made edible? Matches your mystery and your elegance.

And the mellow, yet wanting sounds fit every move he makes. Like the moan-sigh combination when his bold hand wraps around the bun you’ve arranged your hair into. How you breathe into the kiss when he tilts your head a little, and then proceeds to loosen up said bun.

Releases it. Lets your hair fall. Pulls you in, pausing the make-out in the process, and then diving back in with a greed he’s never been met with before.

And as he kisses you, his index finger still dips into the uncharted territory below, ruining your panties some more as he soaks them; fucking loving how you whimper as a result.

No… this is ruining him just as much.

So he draws back from your body, attempting and probably failing not to look at you like an animal glaring down at his prey, ready to devour. He’s never seen this expression himself, but one or two girls have uttered quiet, “Oh-oh,” in such moments before — do you see the danger, too?

Or is he being cocky? But it’s not his fault. You make him cocky because he can never fucking say what you think! Of course he’d need the mental praise to himself — your opinion on him is too difficult to decipher.

He’ll keep the energy up. Make you shrink in his hold.

Hands under your ass, he lifts your lower body a little, amused by your wide eyes and how you wonder, “What are you d—”

Silencing the moment he uses his palms’ position to grab the hem of your panties and pull them down your legs. Over them and then on the other side of the table. The two of you won’t need those tonight.

“What does it look like that I’m doing?” he teases, smirk effective and permanent.

He likes that about himself. Maybe you’ll do, too. If not, then you at least do like how his fingers, impatient, find their way back home again, not before lifting your dress to your hips until you’re bared to him the way he’s craved.

And he pauses.

Oh, this treasure…

“You…” he starts, moving two ring-clad fingers between your folds. Testing the waters. “I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight. You’re staying right here…” He leans forwards, body on body, whispering against your lips. “Trapped under me.”

You want to answer, he thinks. Your eyebrows relax for a second, an inebriated smile playing around your mouth. If he knows you well enough, he’d guess you’re urging to dive back into your witty remarks.

But none of it is possible just yet. Because when he caresses your pussy again, increasing the pace without being too unreasonably fast, you bite your lip. He urges you to release it with his tongue. And when you do, his finger plunges in; as deeply as it can. So easily, too.

He kisses your clavicles the moment your nails get ahold of his arms, wiggling underneath him, but still caged in. And he sees the built-up frustration; how you kept yourself at bay, but can barely do it now. How you yearn for just one or two more right touches here and there before…

But before he can, he stops. Immediately, unexpectedly for you. Once again, mean, but…

“You’ll thank me later,” he utters — and with those four measly words, something awakens in you that was hidden for just the last ten minutes.

“Oh? You… you’re confident like this.”

“Of course I am.”

“Jungkook…” you say in such frustration that he thinks you’ll beg some more. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head and say. “Men rarely manage to…”

“This isn’t rare. I’m not giving you rare, ‘kay?”

“I…”

“How…” he readjusts your body, pulling you down the couch, shifting until his knee keeps your legs apart. “How fucking insulting.”

Do you hear any of this anymore? Because your eyes are closed again. Hands still holding on; and… and body winding in order for your cunt to shift closer to him, suddenly rubbing against his knee.

It’s all you can get at the moment since his hands are so far out of reach. And the satisfaction of knowing that you’ll strive for anything at all is cosmic.

“You’re ruining my jeans,” he mocks, clicking his tongue as if to reprimand.

“Then…” You hook a finger into one of his jeans’ loops, pulling and then releasing again. “Take them off, coward.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. They say that if you have waited for so long, what’s ten more minutes? But no more. Not another second.

So he obliges immediately as he mutters, “‘Kay,” offering a helping hand when you work on his shirt. Off and to the ground. Pants off and to the back of the couch. He already knows he’ll be finding them all scattered the next morning.

But that’s the problem of just that next-morning-self.

Boxers still on, he returns to give you another initial taste of what’s to explode. The dress moves up from your hip as he slides it over your skin, stopping right under the mounds he’s still so curious about.

He needs to keep this balanced. Rush as much as might be appropriate, but not too much to make things embarrassing. This… the way he leans down again, opening your legs, erection grinding against your pussy and offering the bare minimum… this is good enough for now…

Or maybe not. Because merely a couple seconds later, you halt mid-moan, letting out breathy words that he struggles to understand until you repeat, “Is that… all you’ll be doing tonight?”

“Hmmm, you want more?”

“I— I don’t know.” Pause, a gulp when he presses his clothed length between your cunt. “Are you going to tell me your secrets if I say yes?”

His secrets?

You must be kidding. He has been an open book to you, chasing you around; if anything, he needs to unravel your mind.

But for that, he needs to play along. So he feigns the same mystery you emanate, teasing, “What do you wanna know?”

And you don’t hesitate. “Everything.”

…Hmm…

You’ve never seemed as interested as you are now. Never dove into his thoughts and the dim heart like now. If he agreed now, would you blurt out something specific? Questions that you formed when he wasn’t paying attention?

No idea. Maybe that’s something to worry about later. Pillowtalk. The morning after talk. Just anything… just not now.

He removes the obstacles currently standing between the two of you. The cushion standing against the back of the couch, constantly falling into your face. He throws it on the ground, so you don’t have to keep swatting it away.

Then, the dress covering your body. He gives a sign of wanting to proceed, and you play along, lifting yourself, chasing his lips as your outfit follows the cushion. And then, the phone right underneath the small of your back, having snuck there, undetected until you yelp, “Oh!”

“What?”

“Cold. Don’t know how it got there.”

He fishes out the device, watching it light up, a notification at the top that he can’t decode and that he doesn’t pay any mind to. Puts it on the coffee table. Then… last but not least… the uncertain atmosphere.

He says, “You want to know everything? Then make a list. I’ll tell you if I feel like it… deal?”

“You’re so…”

“You gotta make me. No other way out, baby.”

An answer lies on your tongue, ready to disrupt the moment. He knows because you look distracted all of a sudden, possibly still thinking about the same thing you did before, dissociating as he sat next to you, wine in hand.

It’s probably about work. Or about Taehyung — God, nobody at work but Jungkook would know, but you mention that guy all the time.

But tonight is not the night to think of others. So he shakes your upcoming inquiries away, giving you no time to think about it further as he, thirsty and impatient, picks you up and off the couch.

Right into his lap. Right onto his cock.

Still a layer between the two of you, watching you grind immediately. For a moment, you put him under your spell, urging him to stay right there and not move away until he’s shot buckets of cum into his boxers.

But…

But he’d rather do it in you, with you, because of truly you.

So he wastes no second as he executes his former plan, large hands sprawling over your ass before he stands with willpower and strength. He throws you a couple inches into the air, making you adjust, and then moves.

Away from the couch, stepping onto the clothes on the floor, careful not to stumble and hurt the two of you. The way to the bedroom seems endless, and you so naked… so… so his for the night. Like what, he still needs to wait those couple square metres?

Fuck, how…

No. It must be a primal instinct that hankers him to give up already, having made it halfway through the room and almost to his bedroom when he suddenly stops. Pinning you against a random free spot at the wall, right under a silent clock.

“What are you…?”

Your voice is trembling, for some reason so incredibly small. For the first time since you lay beneath him on the couch, he sees your eyes properly, and they flit back to the couch as if you’re looking where you just departed from — and then back to him.

“What are you looking for?” he whispers. Tantalisingly, he brings his fingers to your chin, pinching it lightly as he raises your head. “Hm? I’m here. Do you want to go back? Missing the couch? Wall might not be as comfortable, huh…”

“No… that’s not a problem. I’m just… surprised by the change.”

You do look surprised. A little cheekier again as your tone rises, your head falling to the side, lips smiling as if to distract him from something bigger. As if there’s anything bigger in existence right now than you.

“It was just sudden,” you conclude.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all. I’m just curious.”

He doesn’t need to ask what about. He sees it in this expecting gaze of yours that you want to read and decrypt his next steps. And you can have them.

Because he lets you go, making you fall silently on your feet, kissing you once before he falls to his knees. You groan when he grabs your leg, placing it on his shoulder, restless when his lips charge for your open folds.

He offers you, “Curious, huh? No need,” before kissing your clit, adding another, “Just indulge in it… no need to use your pretty brain today,” and then attaching his mouth and tongue to your dripping pussy.

Digging his large nose into you, tickling your nub, he swirls his tongue around, slurping you up like his favourite drink. Holy fuck, you taste good. He could eat you up, down you in one like a shot. Stay right here all night.

You get ahold of a patch of his hair, but don’t pull — somehow, he wishes you would. Instead, you seem to focus on your body, trying not to fall, keeping it upright. You’re winding, your leg moving, and he soon wraps an arm around your thigh to keep you from stirring too much.

And with the other, he targets your cunt, mouth moving up to make space for the digits to easily, effortlessly slide into you. You gasp, just a bit louder when the metal touches your hot sex, calling his name — and for possibly the first time, he hears you curse, “Fuck. Fuck, I’m— I’m going to pass out.”

Oh my God.

If he could lick you to unconsciousness, he’d feel shocked and proud at once. He wants to see you become weightless, wants to catch you in his arms, and then bring you to his bedroom, still delirious, and fuck your brain out of you.

He wants you so bad. He wants to fuck you so fucking badly. His cock aches, godfuckingdamn.

As he rolls his tongue, lips kissing yours, moving his head left and right as he makes out with your pussy, he almost pulls all the way through. Nearly gives into your body language, nose moving over your clit, fingers pumping in and out, breathing into your pussy hotly.

But he has other plans. He wants to see your damn tears; wants you to unleash all your desperation. So, just when your sounds change, less pauses between them, high-pitched, heavy breathing, he stops.

Draws back, watching you press your ass into the wall, head suddenly hanging low. You whisper, “No…” as he looks up in satisfaction, waiting for you to say more.

You’re out of breath, exhaling through half gritted teeth, a palm on his chest as he rises again. You declare, “I’m going to blueball you, too.”

But the adrenaline has poured buckets of confidence over Jungkook already, and he’s drenched in it as much as in your scent, cocking an eyebrow as he challenges, “You can try.”

“I’m gonna suck your dick so fucking slow.”

“Do it,” he keeps the mask up, wondering how much of the effect you saw upon gracing him with such a provocative image, “let’s see if you make it this far. Might just fuck you into space before that, you know?”

He lets out an unsteady breath, a strand of your hair swaying upon impact. His hand taps at your thigh, testing whether you’ve closed your legs again; and as he realises that you haven’t, much to his pleasure, he palms your pussy, heel of his hand pressing against your clit.

“You’re trying to set me off, because you know you can, right?” he questions, for a split moment distracted by the teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “Smart of you. You are truly smart, babe… but you’re also mine tonight. So don’t play games.”

A slap lands on your vulnerable pussy, and he understands your frustration as you open your mouth, the lower lip previously captive rolling back into place. Soft and gorgeous.

No matter the fading distance, there’s still something inexplicable in the air, as if he can’t really separate a dream from reality. As if he needs evidence that this isn’t yet another figment of his imagination; the ones he’s awoken from several times, underwear threatening to burst.

The hand just torturing your cunt wanders up your body and settles around your neck, like a chain or a necklace or a motherfucking leash. He feels home here, just like this. With your fingers on his wrist, gulping under his touch.

Pinned firmly against the wall, he looks down to where you’re dripping and he’s standing tall, gripping the ever-twitching length that is begging for more. Begging for relief. He’s doing this to himself — because his body is burning up, as if scorched by sun flares.

He’s doing this to the both of you.

The kiss underneath your ear as he leans in. And the still harmless yet sinful touch between his tip and your folds. How he holds the shaft firmly, leading the head between your pussy lips, teasing until just an inch intrudes your awaiting hole.

He moans the moment you do, moving, fucking just the first of the tip into you; scrambling his own thoughts as he says, “God, I could just slide in… you’re so, so wet.”

“What… why say this if you won’t do it?”

Guess you’ve figured him out well enough. Guess that’s the cockiness you implied when you called him a fuckboy in that stupid museum. Or how you kept a safe distance — because thinking about it, maybe Jungkook could be someone to break somebody’s heart.

No. He knows he is. But…

He shakes the thought off his brain, returning to this very moment where you’re waiting for his answer, a heart made of steel. You won’t let him hurt you; you know better than that. You could dodge him easily.

Mentally, at least. Physically, you’re under his mercy.

So he uses this weakness, muttering under his breath, “I will, I will… but not here. We can do better than here.”

Wasn’t this just a pit stop after all? What he’s seeking is still waiting in his bedroom, soft sheets spread over the cold mattress, waiting for a body to warm it up. Or two.

Already hot and bothered, Jungkook lets you go entirely; and the next minute happens in a blur, as though he’s struggling with recognising his own apartment. Suddenly self-conscious about everything and nothing at once.

With you in his grip, he walks along the dark, small corridor; then past the paintings, through the door, into a well-managed, tidy bedroom until he’s sat your ass down. It happens within the tiniest moment — he could narrate how you got here but he can barely recall it.

Dick at the same height as your mouth, he wraps his hand around it. You don’t initiate anything of what you promised, looking into his eyes with a question; he knows you want to avenge yourself and provide the same vanity, but you’d rather skip to the best part.

He wants to, too.

So he doesn’t ram his cock into your mouth, hitting the farthest spot until you gag. Instead, he relishes the image mentally and quietly, fantasising about the warmth of your spit, about the tongue swirling around.

And then… then he goes a step further and imagines the even extended pleasure if he dug into your pussy now, maximising whatever your mouth could make him feel.

Are his thoughts too straight-forward? If he spelled them out like this, one by one, would you find him weird? Too eager? Obsessed?

Maybe he should slow down. Just a bit.

Which is why he holds his shaft closer to you, still surprised when you don’t open up, hints of the past confusion alternating with your confident, mysterious, teasing self. It’s weird to witness. But your eyes are still hazy at least. You don’t seem to want to stop.

God. He can’t figure it out. Not figuring out is agitating even in this moment.

But… good energies. Good energies. All the pent-up frustration needs to be morphed into sheer craze. He can do that.

“Spit on it,” he orders.

You only hum. Something in your gaze changes again, eyelids fluttering, as if awoken from trance. But you’re willing. Immediately mimicking him as you bring a thumb to a mole on the protruding veins. Tracing them, all the way back to his balls until you touch them just lightly, but enough for him to nearly lose his shit.

“Fuck, I said,” he reprimands, though delighted by the sudden rapture, “spit on it.”

You nod as if carrying out a task given by your manager; perhaps used to the last days and weeks when he’d command you around. Ask for another meeting, or for your opinion on a song, or just to keep him company to keep him productive.

Or, to keep you close to him. Lost in thoughts. Many thoughts. And even though none of them became a reality in that room, none of the equipment shoved aside to sit you on the desk, this… this right here is more than enough.

You suck in your cheeks, collecting spit, and when you lean forward… you make such a mess. Spitting onto the tip, a string still connecting your lips and his dick, leftover saliva dripping down your chin and then on your tits.

The view is… worth diamonds.

Do you even know?

“Okay,” he utters, no real direction in his mind, no real sentence to utter. “Okay.”

But you’re equipped with ideas, immediately getting onto the trail you left, spreading the spit over his cock, down to the base. The tip and the slit glisten, traces of precum mixing with your drool, but it’s not enough to cover his length all over.

So he mutters a mental, “More,” to himself, tapping your lips until you open, sticking two of his fingers in and pressing against your tongue. Lubricating his digits, he rolls them over your tongue, far enough to nearly make you gag until he draws back.

Watching you work on him rolls a wave of satisfaction over him. He’s proud, enduring like this. Because judging from the creature you are, as if jumped out of dark mythology, he truly expected to give up way earlier.

But he remains steadfast; eager to not explode until he’s filled you up first. Drawn out your own highs.

“Sweetheart, aren’t you a good one?” Jungkook praises, helping you out with whatever his fingers gathered in your mouth. Then, grabs your wrist, pushing you away, hovering above you with a, “Turn around.”

You gulp again. Then shift back on his bed, sighing as you feel the soft silk underneath your skin, kissing and hugging your body. The sight is gorgeous, with you fleeing to the back of the mattress, obliging so easily. Prey.

And…

“Holy fuck.”

Holy fuck, how you look when you finally get into position. Ass up, upper body down. And the arms over your head? What in the world.

Okay… okay…

Wait. You’re saying something.

His knees dig into the mattress, hand unconsciously pumping his cock — he doesn’t even know when he started — as he moves closer, over your body. Kisses your shoulder, bringing his ear close to hear before, “Huh? What’d you say?”

“I’m already so spent.”

“Ah… do you want to stop?”

“No… you made me feel spent. But you’re not done, are you?”

Pause. Bright smirk. Then, “Of course not. Does it feel like it?” Another kiss to your shoulder, wet this time. “Condom or not?”

“Oh.” Seems you hadn’t even thought about this yet. Kind of nice. “I’m… I use an IUD. Have you… slept with many people lately?”

No answer yet. He thinks. Thinks back to the several weeks since he met you. Should he say it? Would you back away if he did? Years ago, there’d be no debate about it — he wouldn’t have told you. Kept it to himself.

Perhaps there’s still a part of him that’d dodge your question, but he somehow feels like you’d see through him. Hear the insincerity. 

Fuck, is that selfish? Maybe. Doesn’t he already know that he is? But he’s not bad; and people are selfish.

So a second later, he truthfully admits, “Once. Two or so weeks ago. Nothing special though, just dumb, drunk shit. Some girl from a club. And I tested after.”

As soon as the sentence finishes, he wonders if you deem yourself just another one of those. But… in all honesty. She was a one night stand whose sounds, name, dirty talk did nothing to him.

All he could imagine was you. Perhaps not out of loyalty, but surely out of curiosity.

He can’t fathom his thoughts into feelings yet; he still wouldn’t describe his attitude towards you as falling in love or anything. That’d be too far stretched. But he thought about it — that maybe he liked you too much.

Yet, his heart remained empty; but his body never did. He feels bad; and still, he won’t deny whatever his skin and mind whisper to him.

Other than that, he could probably declare with quite a firm certainty that you don’t feel any different about him. You can’t be.

So maybe this is good enough for now.

“But know what?” he says, voice lower, repeating his thoughts. “Could only imagine what it’d be like if it was you. This pussy,” strokes his cock along your cunt, “and this body,” touches the small of your back, “these thoughts got me going. And you’re so much better in reality.”

“Mmmh,” is all you utter, nearly hiding your face in the pillow before you say, “maybe… maybe we can still use a condom then.”

Shit. Expected it.

But okay. Okay.

Where are the condoms again… bedside table? No. He used the last one ages ago, before he knew you. He gets up; walks to the closet; somewhere near his socks, there must be a new pack. A moment to think.

For a second, he looks back at you. You’re still the same, only with the ass having dropped again, losing balance and energy. And maybe, you’re still drunk, too — probably, because even he still feels the world spin, careful not to close his eyes for too long.

Okay. One… no, two foils out. As he turns back to you, nearing you, his head is just a little calmer than a minute again, and he wonders… were all the thoughts his own? The past half an hour or however much passed, didn’t he spiral more and more?

Did you notice? He shakes his head. Who cares?

Not him, not right now. He keeps telling himself that with a goddess waiting in front of him on all fours, he probably doesn’t need to worry about anything unless there’s a reason to. You’ve been cooperative and the night has been successful, minus the strange gazes you keep throwing at him periodically.

“Alright, baby. Up you come,” he mumbles, bringing your ass back to his crotch. His hands are already trained and incredibly skilled; doing work on the condom doesn’t take him more than a couple seconds. “I should tell you now.”

You pause. Suck in some breath, as if expecting something in particular. You agree with an unmatched thirst for knowledge, “…Tell me.”

“I don’t tend to go easy. If you need me to be, you’ll have to tell me. ‘Kay?”

“I… I can take a lot more than you think.”

Fuck. He’ll wreck your shit. “Perfect. You’re honestly a good one, huh? Such a good girl for real, no— no, you’re the best.”

Is he just saying whatever now? Perhaps he should stop boring you and get to it. Right? Please, the goddamn, blood-filled tower down there is desperately imploring him to.

He collects spit like you did before, targeting your glinting pussy, one blob right onto it. Then, he brings his fingers back to where they love to be, distributing the filth between your folds. And then, two fingers into the tightening hole.

Right before moving north, between your ass cheeks, thumb rolling over your other clenching hole. 

And you tense immediately, without saying a word, taking it quietly. Then… then he finally starts.

Brings the annoying rubber to your soaked pussy, poking for a second before he gets serious and eventually dips in. The free hand raises your ass some more, and he shifts forwards, your butt backwards, helping him get in further.

He hears the reaction. Hears the almost-screech in a second, nails biting into the pillow over your head. You hold onto it for dear life as he slowly bottoms out, your sporadic breathing and high-pitched moans mingling with his own bursts of lust.

Deep creases appear between his eyebrows, lips bitten sore, and once his waist has finally connected with your ass, he takes a deep, long inhale. Watches your face disappear deeper into the pillow, sounds muffled.

Enjoys it for a moment before he starts moving slowly. Out, in. Concentrating before he might spill too early. Beads of sweat shimmer on his forehead, dampening the hanging strands of hair. You feel good. Too fucking good—

He wants to go off right away. But… focus.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Stop… stop talking.”

Oh. Bold. But a good sign, isn’t it? If you wanted him to stop, you’d say it. So he keeps going… dares just a little more, courageous, encouraged by your cooperation. Explores your ass and what lies between the cheeks more, groaning before he says, “You stop that.”

His hand reaches for your wrists, keeping you from tearing his pillow and leading your fingers to where his touched your ass before. You keep your touch there, unmoving until he says, “Keep them apart.”

And you seem to understand. His thumb returns to your unoccupied hole as his cock impales your pussy whole, still going at a tormenting pace. Thick and soaked, he’s splitting you in two; maybe that’s why the slow plunges are such a plague. Because both of you know there could be more.

Pulling your ass cheeks apart, you remain with your face in the sheets, arms trembling as he circles your hole again. He doesn’t know if you’re into this; doesn’t know if you’ll protest. So far, he’s been pretty obvious with his intentions, and he’s sure you must understand this one, too.

And you’re not fearful; if something bothered you, you wouldn’t hesitate to voice your displeasure. So he spits one more time, right onto his thumb, using the lubrication to carefully, curiously dip the tip of his thumb into your ass.

You yelp immediately; as your hole tightens around the little bit of his thumb, your pussy narrows around his cock, too, and he nearly loses it. Nearly drools onto your back as his mouth drops open, blinking rapidly for a second.

God, your body reacts with such intensity. Still, he makes sure, “Too much?”

And you, candidly, reply, “I don’t know. I… think so.”

“Okay. Then I’ll sto—”

“No. No, wait… I want to— I want to know what it’s like.”

Thought so. He knew that underneath all the chic charade, you crave just as much as he does. And if it’s him that you long for, then what even stands between him and the rocket shooting his ego to the sky?

This feels good. Really good… not just physically. You lift his spirits.

Ready with an exhale, he dares his thumb deeper, letting more of it disappear in you. Out of all the women he’s ever been with, not more than a handful has been willing to venture into this part of sexual desire. Most of them can’t stand the discomfort, and some of them don’t feel any particular way about it.

But you lay open to him in every way possible. An open book for once; easy to read, as if calculating how you wind, planning how to sound, guiding him fearlessly.

Soon, he’s adjusting his thrusts to your moans, and you’re adjusting your moans to his thrusts. Synchronised, the two of you groan and cry out together, and he makes sure to keep you filled to the brim, reducing the pauses between the shoves bit by bit.

Until…

“Hey,” he whispers, waiting for you to react, but as he pumps into you, slowly yet balls-deep, you don’t do anything much but scream into the pillow. So he just continues, “How much do you think you can take, baby?”

“I… I’m—”

You’re attempting your best, but you’re tongue-tied. With each push, he catapults your body forwards, but your mind is long lost in the stratosphere. With gritted teeth and a rising, heavily breathing, golden chest, he leans in close to you, hand snaking under you and around your neck as he retries, “So?”

“I don’t know,” you blurt, and as you raise your head and look back at him, he sees a sight to behold — mascara underneath your eyes, lipstick smeared, a quivering chin. He’s fucking you so good; he must be, because you soon add, “Just do an—and I’ll let you know.”

“Good idea. Very good idea.”

He’s fucking you good. But it’s not all he’s got; not all he’s wanted for days and weeks.

No. If he unleashed all he’s been fabricating in his mind, he’d drench your cheeks in tears. And now that you permitted him to, he might just go ahead, right?

Right.

Which is why the next steps come easy to him, naturally, as if you pressed a button he’s been waiting to smash. A big, red one, like the ones in games urging you to not touch or you’d lose. But by God, right now, he’s not losing.

If he looked into his reflection in the dark window, he’d see a winner through and through.

A fiery rage courses through his burning veins. A face contorting when he lets you go, only to move his fingers back, wrapping them around the back of your neck. Shoving you into the mattress, ramming his cock into you, once more keeping the familiar pace and then—

And then he closes his eyes. Matches an expression to your yelps. Drives into your deepest core and picks up speed until, all of a sudden, it turns jarring.

Jungkook doesn’t get enough. He doesn’t know if he ever will; damn the approaching end of this. There shouldn’t be one; he should be capable of ruining you forever. Maybe he will be.

For now, he directs his thoughts fully on how you feel and how you sound, uncaring about the jagged breathing that burns up his chest. Leaning forward, he attempts twice until he catches your ears, nibbling at your earlobe.

At first, he doesn’t know if you register the touch, given that he’s occupying you with far crazier sensations. But then you reach out a hand, panting into the pillow, grabbing a patch of his hair. 

And he, fired up and insane, leans back, gripping your wrist, removing it from his mane and pinning it to your back instead. Your face moves to the side, not muffled by the pillow anymore, and you gasp for air before you beg, “Please, I’m about to—”

That’s all you get, because he soon interrupts with a cheeky, “You can hold on for a bit longer,” pausing on purpose. He wants to see you when you come. Wants to wipe more of your make up across your face. Wants to kiss the colour of your lipstick onto his own lips.

Letting your orgasm fade, he waits, just a couple seconds, allowing you to catch your breath until your eyebrows furrow. You blink repeatedly, then looking up into his eyes, and it’s all he needs to feel his patience dissipate again.

Jungkook gets into a new position, leaving one knee deep in the mattress while angling the other leg, planting its foot on the sheets. He keeps his cock from falling out, leading the tip and the shaft back in before he resumes to fuck you wound.

Your arm is still hostage to his grip, the nails of your other hand gripping the sheet for dear life. It’s gorgeous, the view from where Jungkook looks down at his meal. Crazy how you purr and whine when he leans in, touching your swollen clit, electrifying you. And he keeps looking at you.

At the upper body waving a white flag, too weak to keep yourself upright anymore. And then, the ass in the air staying firmly at its place, his dick aiding you, the flesh of your cheeks wobbling with each thrust, like an ocean wave. Whenever it collides with his hips, the slaps resound temptingly, and Jungkook soon mimics it by letting his hand fall hard on your ass.

You mewl, calling out his name twice, the second cry half uttered, half of the Jungkook omitted. And when you catch the tiniest of your breaths, still working with drying lungs, you say, “L-let me come, please—”

“Wait,” he says again, still sadistic, still masochistic, absolutely out of his mind before an idea lights up his mind. “This isn’t it yet.”

The finger working on your nub was an evil tactic, he’s got to admit. Perhaps he led you to believe something he’s not ready to give you yet, and once you seem to realise, you let out a sob.

And he’s positively delighted once he stops. Lowers his head to look at you. Sees the dark, smeared mascara on his pillow when he digs his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back as he says, “I know. You thought we were done, right? We’re not done, though.”

“Wha—”

He lets his body fall onto the mattress, right next to you, and pulls you in, back against his chest. Hand under your tits, pressing against them, moving them up and down before pinching your nipple once.

“I said,” he repeats, probably unnecessarily, because he doesn’t think you actually demand an answer, “I’m not done. Understand?”

And as expected, you don’t nod or answer. You only push your body further into his, and he reckons that’s a mighty sufficient implication already.

As you lay sideways with a breath as heavy as his, his exhales hot against your ear, you let out sounds reminiscent of marathon runners. You’re exhausted, sweaty, and so is he — but neither of you are finished, and he’d be damned if he permitted the night to end like this.

Diligently, he throws your quivering leg over his; your impish remarks have lessened since he took over, and in turn, his own insolent emotions are reigning supremely. He leads his submerged, rock-hard, twitching cock to your battered cunt, pushing in so easily he thinks he’s dreaming.

It’s like putting a key into its lock.

“Ahh, fuck.” It’s hard to fully bottom out in this position, but he can touch you so much better now. He lets his hands explore your bare body, fondling with your tits, kissing your ear and jaw. “Hold tight. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

It’s cruel, he knows; the gentle praises as he wreaks havoc down there. He crosses your wrists against your tummy, holding them tight, and you close to him. Fucks you dumb and stupid as you wail in his arms. Moves to your clit and gives it pleasant, gentle rubs, so opposite from the rest of his ministrations.

And the pressure builds. His balls, hard as steel, prepare to shoot their load into you, his cock impossibly stiff, but… but…

You haven’t come yet. And this position won’t do. Can’t do, won’t do, he needs to see you.

So he echoes, “Won’t do,” as he gets up again, keeping the previous position short lived. Doesn’t stay away for too long before he’s on his knees, pulling your legs apart, after the briefest interruptions deep inside again before he leans into you.

And then, everything happens crazy fast.

How he keeps you from wrapping your arms around him; instead, capturing your wrists once again, raising them next to your head. How he moves to kiss you for the first time after quite a while, intertwining your tongues, moaning hard as he feels his high approach.

The fast pace changes a little as he loses his mind and focus, one of the strokes stopping as he almost pulls out, and then plunges in again. Your fingers curl in, nails sharp enough to dig into the digits that hold you, and he cries out in delight, letting a breathy chuckle fall.

He says, “Alright, yeah. Next time… we’re tying you up. Love how you whine.” He lets one hand go, gripping your face again and you move your touch to his shoulder immediately, gasping. “You always p-play the mysterious girl, huh? But you’re so pathetic right now.”

The inhibitions are out the window. The overthinking, too. Whatever he thought might make you run away from him has long exited his mind, because he’s got you right here, under his control, nearing the end.

There’s no going back. No return to his yearning, because you’ve satisfied it so thoroughly.

Time to give it all back to you. One last time before he submerges himself in all his glorious egotism.

“There we go,” he says as he watches your expressions change. You open your mouth but don’t say anything. He doesn’t know what your orgasm feels like, but he knows you’re going through it. “Let it all out. Cream my cock, I fucking dare you.”

He’s saying whatever now, he knows. But he doesn’t have the capacity to think much as creases appear on your forehead and between your eyebrows, tongue mingling with his for a short moment when he goes in for another kiss, barely succeeding.

You’re trembling, lifting your hips as much as the weight above you allows, wanting more friction, more of a touch inside your pussy, on your clit, everywhere. And then, when you do come… when he brings the stars from the sky into your eyes…

Yours roll back into your head. Throwing it back, giving him access to your neck. Lips still apart, and he uses it to push a finger into your mouth, on top of your tongue. And fuck… how your pussy constricts. How it tightens so fucking much.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him.

So much so that his head spins; and as he feels himself getting dizzy, he buries his face in the pillow next to your head before moving it to kiss your shoulder. Barely looks at you anymore; doesn’t care, it’s his high now, he wants to fucking come, and that’s it.

Finally, finally he’s gotten to this point.

Will he hate himself for these thoughts later? Is this too over the top? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care.

His thoughts are occupied, alright, don’t need another string of questions to intervene. His attention remains resolutely on his movements, vigorous, rhythmic, your sounds perfectly matching each of his strokes.

And your hands, the poor little palms, unsure where to settle. This isn’t new; across this broad back of his, every girl’s touch wanders like this. Your nails scratch the small of his back, then up his spine, across the muscles of his shoulder blades.

The fact that you’re a goner as much as him, giving yourself to him is probably the last of reassurances he needs — as if any more were required. Because still panting into your skin, eyes shut tight, he works towards the peak of his sanity, exhausted but eager as he relishes the wet tightness of your pussy; surrounding him just right, still clenching, unclenching from your orgasm.

And then—

“Ohhh, fuck,” he whispers.

His voice is shaking uncontrollably; he barely recognises it. Which… must mean this is new, right? Experience be damned, apparently you spark off phenomena nobody has ever acquainted him with before.

And oh, how you make it worse once he finally emerges again, as if catching his breath after holding it underwater for too long. Your eyes are hooded as he gets on his knees over your body, caging your hips in between his legs. Gripping one of your tits, you nibble your lower lip for a second before letting out laboured breathing, nose flaring.

It’s all he needs. All that’s left when he rips off the condom and envelops his filthy cock with his veiny hand, stroking immediately and hard. Close to the end as he rushes to ask, “Where do you want it?”

You understand what he’s asking, and nod, back to yourself when you utter mysteriously, “Anywhere but inside…” Okay. No time to ask why not — but he wouldn’t have anyway. He obliges, giving his all, one more second left before you tell him just in time, “Here.”

Your palm rubs across your skin, moving over your tits and your stomach. So he’s quick to opt away from your face and redirect his aim to where you pointed, moaning out a couple last, broken vocals before he finally spills.

Milky white, multiple blotches scattered over your skin, like a modern art painting. He’d rather draw these all day than be stuck with you in a museum restaurant, staring from afar, wishing he could reach out under the goddamn public table.

Going until he’s empty, he senses a relief unknown to him thus far, mind suddenly vacant. Once again, the ocean; he feels like the ocean. Like the water as it stills and calms after a thunderous storm. You lifted the waves of his sea high above and have now turned him into a lazy, peaceful lake.

God, he should fuck you more often; you make him a poet.

Okay. Okay, where was he?

When did he unfocus? Dizzy all of a sudden. He puffs out a breath. Then takes another look at you. Watches as you spread the sticky substance over your mounds, touching your nipple, so indecently messy.

The smirk is unintentional but inevitable, reaching far as he shakes his head at you. You smile back wordlessly, and he lets his fingertip run over his cum, too, bringing it to your lips as he asks, “Taste?”

You don’t answer. Thinking for the barest second before you scoff, stretching out your tongue before he puts the finger on it; closing your eyes, sucking it clean. He groans at the feeling; luckily, he’ll be immobile for the foreseeable future, or he’d bend you over again.

“Okay. That should be enough for now,” he breathes, letting himself fall next to you. “I promise I’m a lot more energised on other days. But…” He turns towards you, pinching your chin, bringing your face close. “God, did you take me out there. I’m beat.”

He doesn’t kiss you; only drops back, still filling his lungs with new oxygen. Pity — he still wants you, but his muscles are aching. Eyes shutting.

Then opening again when he hears you laugh, right before you say, “You don’t need to prove your endurance to me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of it now. Besides— let’s be honest. I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, you did more than enough, sweetheart,” Jungkook retorts with a snicker, giving his eyes some relief. He sighs, and then adds, “Your existence did it for me already. Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

He shoves his arm under his head, the other untidily covering the two of you with the blanket; whatever. He’ll wash it tomorrow. For now, the two of you should probably get some rest. Although—

Did you say you wanted to stay? He didn’t catch it if you did. Perhaps he’s also just inattentive; suddenly remembers that he still has a long way to go socially, remembering that permission is courtesy. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Uhm,” he starts; this is awkward. He doesn’t do this often — not many stay overnight anyway. Strangely, he didn’t question it with you; maybe because he wants you to. “Do you want me to bring you home?”

“In all honesty, I… I don’t think you can drive tonight. We’re both not sober yet, so I’ll just leave in the morning. Need to be in the office by noon.”

“Ah? Why?”

“Meeting with Tae. I forgot that he wanted to go through a few organisational things for the upcoming concert.”

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company.

Jungkook forgot about it all. Responsibilities still exist. Of course, he needs to be in the office tomorrow afternoon, too. This is his dream, his goal, everybody’s eyes on him, the biggest source of entertainment in the country.

Feels so stupid, forgetting you’ll leave at some point. That he can’t flip you over again all day tomorrow, that you’ll be occupied somewhere else, with someone else. Jungkook grits his teeth.

“You wanna come over again tomorrow night?” he asks.

And all of a sudden, despite the last hour, you seem lost in thoughts again. Probably tired, but he can’t help but overthink. You don’t answer immediately, keeping him on the edge, and as he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, he looks over, seeing your eyes open when you say, “Don’t know. Might have a couple things to tend to.”

Ah… okay. Sure.

Where’s your mind right now, he wonders?

Maybe circling around work. Maybe your urge to go is as little as his? All these things, they don’t sound too delightful right now, do they?

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company. Tae.

When did you start using his nickname like this? Weird. Didn’t know the two of you were so close. Then again, does it matter? No. He shakes his head.

Shakes it slowly, making sure you don’t notice, sighing again before he breaks into a smile. It’s okay. You’re next to him. Not next to Taehyung. His friend. You’re covered in him. So he doesn’t let another’s name fog his brain, instead seeking peace and succeeding until—

“Don’t worry, another time,” you say, following up with a goosebump-inducing, “I’ll stick around until my feet tingle.”

Somewhere… at some point in his life… under probably not the best circumstances— 

Wait.

THE FIC ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

as always, tumblr hates content creators and has a 1k block limit. which is why you can read the rest of the story in this reblog hehe we're almost at the end <3

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 1

pairing: you x drew starkey

The sound of Drew’s laugh filled the cozy apartment as you scrolled through your phone, settling deeper into the plush couch. It was a laugh you’d heard a thousand times – warm, genuine and utterly infectious. You glanced up to see him standing in the kitchen, stirring pasta sauce in a hoodie that he’d stolen from your side of the closet weeks ago. The sigh made your heart swell.

“How’s it going?” you asked, setting your phone aside.

“Almost done,” Drew said, flashing you a grin over his shoulder. “Hope you’re ready to be impressed by my gourmet skills.”

You chuckled, pulling your knees to your chest. “If it’s anything like last time, I should probably have the takeout app ready.”

Drew pretended to be offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “That was one time! And in my defense, the oven was possessed.”

Moments like this had become your favorite part of life with Drew – quiet, intimate evenings that felt words away from the chaos of Hollywood. For all the glitz and glam of his career, Drew was just Drew with you.

As you watched him carefully plate the pasta, you couldn’t help but feel proud of everything he’d accomplished. His latest role in the Hellraiser reboot was shaping up to be a major career move. And while you knew the spotlights came with challenges, you’d always been his biggest cheerleader.

Later that night, as the two of you lounged on the couch, Drew’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced at the screen, then sighed.

“It’s my manager,” he said, sitting up. “Give me a sec?”

“Of course,” you said, reaching for the remote to find something to watch.

Drew stepped into the next room, his voice low but audible enough for snippets to carry over.

“…. Press tours…. Odessa …. Chemistry angle?”

You tried to focus on the TV, but your curiosity got the better of you. Odessa A’Zion – Drew’s new co-star. You’d seen her name pop up recently in articles about the movie, paired with glowing reviews of her talent and personality. She seemed nice enough in interviews – bold and charming in a way that made you feel a little plain by comparison.

“Everything okay?” you asked, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, but his tone wasn’t convincing. “Just.. movie stuff. Our team thinks Odessa and I need to lean into the whole co-star chemistry thing for the press.”

“Chemistry thing?” you echoed, your brow furrowing.

“It’s all PR,” Drew said quickly, his hands finding yours. “They’re talking about a few staged photo ops, maybe some friendly banter during interviews. You know how it goes.”

You nodded slowly, even as an uneasy feeling settled in your chest. You did know how it went – Hollywood loved its narratives, and the lines between fiction and reality often blurred.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Drew added, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re the one I love, Y/N. Not Odessa. Never Odessa.”

You smiled softly, but the words didn’t erase the knot in your stomach.

The first set of paparazzi photos hit the internet like a wildfire: Drew and Odessa at a café, leaning across the table as if sharing a secret. Her laugh was captured mid-burst, her hand grazing his arm.

The headlines were just as dramatic as you’d feared: Drew Starkey and Odessa A ‘Zion’s Off-Screen Chemistry is Off the Charts!

You scrolled through the photos on your phone, bile rising in your throat. They were clearly staged, every angle too perfect to be a coincidence. But that didn’t make it easier to stomach.

The worst part was the comments. Fans fawned over the “new power couple”, dissecting every detail of their interactions. People who had once rooted for you and Drew now seemed eager to erase you from the narrative entirely.

When Drew came home that night, you tried to play it cool, but your unease must’ve shown.

“Hey” he said, dropping his bag by the door and crossing the room to kiss your forehead. “You okay?”

“Mmm, fine” you said, forcing a smile.

Drew studied you for a moment before glancing at your phone. His face fell as he recognized the photos.

“Y/N, I –“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, setting the phone aside. “I know it’s just PR. It’s your job.”

Drew sat beside you, his hands wrapping around yours. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said firmly. “You’re the one I come home to. You’re the one I love.”

You wanted to believe him. But as Drew kissed your temple and pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered, whispering doubts you weren’t ready to face.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @hoelesslyt @wtfdudesblog

[teamatsumu]

you are part of me. (gojo satoru x reader)

summary: when gojo satoru loves, he is loud about it. and he doesn’t care if you don’t love him back.

word count: 3604

warnings: fem!reader, friends to lovers, very mild angst, swearing, gojo being gojo, canon compliant storyline

Gojo Satoru enters your life at 16 years old.

His presence suffocates the room, his cursed energy is something not best ignored. Quiet, yet noticeable. Like something that’s bubbling just under the surface. It’s almost as if a very dangerous animal has been reigned in, held back on a leash. That’s how his cursed energy feels to you. You, who is a mere novice. New to the world of curses and sorcery, landing in Jujutsu Tech after everything near and dear to you was ripped from you by this world.

He intimidates you.

He is loud, lean, but very tall. He demands attention when he walks into a room. He is jovial, a little aloof (you're not sure if it’s on purpose), big goofy grin and round, almost comical sunglasses. His hair is so bright, and his eyes are so blue, it’s almost blinding to look at him.

He is everything that you are not.

He is a year older, and your classmate Haibara can never stop talking about him and Geto. Nanami does not enjoy being around them, but he holds them in regard because they are his seniors. Shoko might be the only one he truly respects, and that almost makes you fear her. You make up your mind to try and stay as invisible as possible around them. You do not enjoy the spotlight.

Unfortunately, Gojo thrives in the spotlight, and he has a knack for pulling other people into it with him.

“Oh hello. Fresh meat?” He is grinning down at you, eyes barely visible behind the dark, circular lenses. “And aren’t you cute. You better toughen up sweetcheeks, or the big bad curses are gonna eat you up.”

You don’t know what exactly he means. You’re too caught up in the fact that he called you cute. It makes you heat up under the collar of your brand new jujutsu uniform. And his intense stare makes you fidget.

You do not like it.

You just frown at him and turn away, taking advantage of the fact that Nanami was leaving the room and going along with him. You don’t notice how he stares at the back of your head as you leave, but Geto sure does. The raven haired boy lets out a pained sigh before leaning back on the creaky classroom chair.

“Here we go.”

Gojo hums questioningly, glancing at his best friend once you have left the room.

“You’re going to fixate on her now. And you’re going to be an insufferable prick about it.”

Gojo doesn’t deny it. He merely settles into a chair of his own, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

……………….

Life at Jujutsu Tech isn’t as bad as you expected.

Your room is spacious enough to hold all your belongings. It has a nice view of the gardens, and is warm enough that you sleep comfortably through the nights. Your classmates are easy to get along with. Haibara loves carrying the conversation, and while Nanami isn’t as energetic, he shares a lot of your interests so you love talking to him.

The deep, sorrowful ache in your chest is slowly subsiding. Very slowly. Oftentimes, you remember your old life. You remember the smiles on your parents’ faces, and you shed tears in the late hours of the night. But they are gone. And you are here. You can’t do anything about it.

And then there’s Gojo Satoru.

For someone who is apparently the ‘strongest’, part of a major jujutsu clan and heir to the infamous Six Eyes, you would think he would be a busy person. But somehow, he finds a way to always be lazing around the campus, and unfortunately, he loves engaging you in conversation.

“Fresh meat!” He hasn’t stopped calling you that. He hasn’t even learned your name. Or introduced himself. Of course, you already know who he is. But it would be the polite thing to do, wouldn’t it?

You would soon learn that Gojo Satoru has no manners, and no amount of scolding could teach him any.

“Heard you took down a fourth grade all by yourself. Congratulations!”

You eye him with a scowl, while all he does is grin back at you.

“You’re mocking me, senpai.”

Gojo places a hand on his chest, gasping so loud it was comical, acting shocked at your accusation.

“I would never!”

You sigh deeply, a regular habit you have developed since the boy had decided to shadow you, continuing to make your way back to your room as he trails behind you. While a fourth grade may not be a big deal to someone like Gojo, it is to you, who has never interacted with, let alone fought a curse.

You open your room door, stepping in and looking back to stare at your senior as he smiles down at you. You wait for him to say something cheeky like he usually does, about how you should invite him in so you can hang out, or his usual ‘let me take you out to dinner’, which he loves tossing around whenever he sees an opening.

“I’m real proud of ya, sweetcheeks.” He says instead, and his voice is softer, having lost the sharp edge that it usually carries.

There it is again, the heat under your collar. The little knot in your throat.

You close your room door in his face.

………………

“He likes you.”

“He doesn’t. He just likes to annoy me.”

“That’s his way of spending time with you.”

“I’d rather he leave me alone, then.”

“That’s an impossible ask.”

The chocolate icing on your brownie melts in your mouth as you chew on it, giving a disdainful look to Utahime who is apparently hell bent on proving this nonexistent crush Gojo seems to have on you. You don’t believe her. Mostly because you don’t think Gojo is capable of liking you, of all people. You also doubt his ability to genuinely give a shit about anyone that isn’t his closest friends. You’re just some underclassman that he thinks is fun to pester every now and then.

(‘Every now and then’ in this context means ‘every possible second of every day’.)

Utahime takes a big gulp on her coffee, and you have to wonder why the hot liquid doesn’t burn her throat as it goes down. Your phone pings again, for the seventh time in the last half hour, and Utahime stares pointedly at the unsaved number on your screen. You swipe the phone off the table quickly and flip the switch to ‘silent mode’.

“You haven’t saved his number? Ouch. He’s not gonna like that.”

You roll your eyes and glare at the screen of your phone. How long has he been texting you with random crap?

“I don’t give a shit what he likes.”

“You will. When he whines about it and never lets it go for the rest of your life.”

You sigh defeatedly and give your friend pleading eyes. “Can we please talk about something else? I see and hear Gojo enough during the day. I don’t need to talk about him with you too.”

When your friend agrees, you are blessed with a wonderful, Gojo-free afternoon of chatting, shopping and excessive eating. You’re still buzzing as you climb up the steps to Jujutsu Tech at sundown, rummaging through the tote bag where you had dropped all your little purchases. Just small knick knacks that made you happy to look at.

“Did ya get me anything?”

You yelp and jump, nearly falling off the step behind you but catching yourself before you can faceplant on the concrete. Gojo lets out an annoying cackle at your reaction, making you glare up at him.

“What is wrong with you?! I could’ve gotten seriously injured!”

He scoffs, walking the few steps between you two, hands buried in his pants pockets. “Like I would let that happen. You gotta trust me more, sweetcheeks.”

You ignore the now familiar way your ears and neck heat up, choosing to walk past him and continue your way up the steps.

“So? Got me anything?”

You groan internally, knowing he wouldn’t leave this alone. If you say no, he will complain about how he isn’t important enough in your life to warrant a little gift. If you then say he isn’t, that will result in even worse (and louder) whining, and you don’t have the energy to deal with that right now. You scramble through the bag slung over your shoulder, pulling out a cute carrot shaped pen with a smiley face on it. You had gotten two pens, one carrot shaped and one that looked like corn. You just thought they were insanely cute. It’s okay. You can afford to lose one.

Gojo eyes the pen when you hand it to him. “Why did ya get me this?”

He clearly knows you just pulled a random object out. He just wants to see what you will say.

“It’s…. tall and thin. You’re tall and thin.” You deadpan.

Gojo snorts, seeing through your very obvious lie. “You love me so much, don’t you?”

You stop in your tracks, watching Gojo’s back as he keeps walking, unaffected by your shocked gaze.

“Senpai-”

“See ya tomorrow!” He calls, twiddling the pen around his fingers as he disappears near the landing of the stairs.

Your heart races at his words. You feel angry and frustrated. But you’re not sure at whom.

………………….

When it’s Shoko’s birthday, you are forced to be around Gojo all day.

It’s a harrowing experience, one that can only be withstood by god’s toughest soldier, and god thinks that is you, apparently, because as per his usual habits, Gojo doesn’t leave you alone.

“Oh, this is nothing.” Geto comments, sipping on some fruity punch that you are almost sure contains alcohol. Both of you watch as Gojo tries to tie a conical party hat on Nanami’s head, while the boy in question puts up a valiant fight to try and keep his upperclassman at bay.

“He once had a crush on the daughter of some prominent gang leader in Tokyo. Almost landed himself in jail with the kind of stunts he pulled.”

You blink at him, watching as he brushes some strands of black hair off his face. “Seriously?”

He nods, smirking at your shocked silence, watching the gears in your head turn. “Don’t worry, he won’t do that to you.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “What makes you sure of that?”

Geto shrugs, watching the way Gojo’s eyes flit to you every now and then. You fail to notice it, too caught up in making up scenarios in your head where Gojo does something potentially illegal and lands both of you in serious trouble.

“You’re different.” Is his simple reply. It does nothing but confuse you more.

Later in the night, Shoko forces you to down an alcoholic drink. You sputter on the horrific taste of it, trying to get out from under her hold as she laughs at your reaction. Haibara enjoys your misery just as much, while Nanami’s face is blank. You are sure he is trying to erase tonight from his memory entirely.

The night is cold, but your hands are warm and your head is buzzing with happiness. Your cheeks hurt from the constant smiling and laughing. Every now and then, your eyes would meet brilliant blue ones. You are so cheerful that you even giggle when Gojo makes some lame pun at Geto’s expense. So cheerful, in fact, that you don’t protest when he decides he wants to walk you to your room.

You hum the song you had sung karaoke to, walking without so much as a thought in your head. Gojo is munching on a mini chocolate bar, one hand in his pocket. For once, he is silent.

When you stop at your door, you turn to look at him, trying to search his eyes. You find nothing, and you feel the sudden urge to know more about him. Geto’s words roam through your head.

“Senpai,” You whisper. “Why am I different?”

He smiles then, not his usual toothy grin, but softer, kinder. It makes him look even younger than he is. Somehow, it seems he knows exactly what you mean.

“Because I’m in love with ya, sweetcheeks.”

He leaves it at that. And you don’t ask any follow up questions.

……………………..

Gojo’s love is loud.

He never says the word after that one night. But he never exactly negates his declaration. He continues to be around you as much as possible. He loves pinching at your cheeks until they sting, loves draping an arm over your shoulder and laying a sloppy kiss on it when he can get away with it. He is much taller and stronger than you, so pushing him away does nothing except spur him on even more. You realize that he is naturally a very touchy-feely person, so you dismiss his affection as just him being annoying as hell. Both of you settle into a strange dynamic, one where he teases you endlessly and you try not to appear affected by it.

It’s unconventional but it works. You will even go as far as saying that he is your friend.

When you refer to him as such, he stares at you mouth agape, before letting out a big whoop and crushing you into a hug. You protest his grip and try to free yourself, failing as usual. Deep in your chest, your heart stutters at his proximity.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a single subtle bone in his body.

He introduces you as his girlfriend to curses, claiming it doesn’t matter because they are all stupid and can’t understand him anyway, so he can say what he wants. Besides, he’s gonna kill them mere minutes later. You don’t even know where to begin to fight his logic on that, so you just facepalm and let him do it, provided he doesn’t say it in front of actual people.

“You say it like being my girlfriend would be so bad.”

“It would be the worst thing known to mankind. I would kill myself actually.”

That earns you a very strong pinch on the cheek, one that has you yelping and pushing him away. It leaves behind a red mark that makes you hold back a smile every time you see it in the mirror.

Sometimes you wonder how easy it is for him to talk to you like this. He seems to not have an ounce of fear of rejection, no matter how many times you have told him that you aren’t interested. Like he is confident that it simply isn’t true. He makes it seem effortless, to attach himself to you and declare that you’re his ‘favorite’ person and one day he would be your favorite person too.

You try to ignore how accurate you think that is. And how close he is to actually becoming your favorite person. You can’t possibly let him find that out. He would become even more unbearably smug than he already is.

And so you continue to bask in this…. strange limbo. You warm yourself in the glaringly bright light of Gojo Satoru. And you secretly pray that it never goes away.

When Geto defects, you almost lose him.

You find him on the steps of Jujutsu High, staring out at god knows what, completely silent. In your years of knowing him, you had never seen him sit in one place for so long. He doesn’t even budge when you sit next to him. You don’t say a word. And neither does he.

The wind moves gently through his silver locks. The blue in his eyes has dulled and darkened. You sit on those steps for hours.

Something changes between you two after that evening. Somehow, Gojo is more…. human to you now. You see him struggle to come to terms with what has happened, to truly realise the unfair responsibility that he bears on his shoulders as the strongest sorcerer in the Jujutsu world. You sees how that changes him, how it dims him, and how he matures in that time.

Yet Gojo is still Gojo. Even years later, he continues to love you loudly and proudly. He is still constantly attached at the hip to you, even more so in your adult years now that you live off campus. He is somehow always at your place, even after you take away his emergency key because he never uses it for emergencies. There is a ‘Gojo drawer’ in your storage closet, huge bathroom slippers and an extra toothbrush. His preferred brand of shampoo and conditioner are housing in your cabinet, spares that he keeps for when he crashes in your guest bedroom.

(Let’s be honest. It’s less of a guest bedroom and more so Gojo’s room at this point).

You commute to work together in the mornings, which you think is funny since Gojo can just teleport wherever he wants. He says it’s because he wants to spend more time with you.

Oh yeah, he still constantly says he is in love with you.

Years and years after his first declaration, Gojo has still not budged. At this point you are so used to it that it doesn’t bother you anymore. Like it’s second nature. Like Gojo is meant to love you. Like there was never any doubt about it. Your mutual friends have accepted it too by now. No one bats an eye when Gojo whines about missing you. Or when he waltzes into your on-campus office claiming “two hours is enough time for us to be apart”.

You don’t know when exactly it settles over you. How important Gojo is to you. How you can’t go a day without him. How you get pissy and irritable when he goes on missions overseas that take weeks at a time. The transition is so smooth that sometimes you think you were always meant to love Gojo, just like he was always meant to love you.

‘Senpai’ becomes ‘Gojo-san’. Which becomes Satoru’.

It never occurred to you that Gojo was still, technically, a friend. You were with him so often, bickering and snickering, cuddling and lounging around. He was a part of you, like you were a part of him.

Then you hear words that shock you to your very core.

“In my eyes, you two are already married.”

Never in a million years would you have expected Ijichi to say those words. Everyone else is one thing. But fucking Ijichi?

You stare at the back of his head when he says them, the silence in the car deafening. You know Ijichi well enough to be certain he isn’t saying these words falsely, even if he means them lightheartedly. If this is what Ijichi truly thinks, then….. Is it what things are actually like?

It takes only a few minutes of reflection for you to realise that he isn’t far off. Gojo is so deeply ingrained in every nook and cranny of your life that it is beyond irreversible now. There is no way to untangle your lives. He is part of you, just as you are part of him.

It’s almost as if the universe is nodding in confirmation when you open the door to your apartment and find Gojo sprawled on the couch, flipping through TV channels. He is wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt that looks unfairly good on him, especially since he clearly isn’t trying at all.

He stands up and you notice on the coffee table before him that he has laid out a myriad of snacks, both savory and sweet to cater for your varying taste buds. You spot at least three of your preferred treats in them. Your heart beat slows down, settles. Like you are at peace again. You feel a warmth under your collar. One that you haven’t felt since you were a wee teenager just stepping onto the Jujutsu High campus. You eye the back of Gojo’s head.

“Hey.” He calls, barely glancing back at you, eyeing his treasured snack collection as if contemplating which one he should start with. “Some shitty American reality show is on. You wanna make fun of ‘em together?”

He turns to look at you when you don’t respond, raising an eyebrow. Brilliant blue eyes bore into you.

“You okay?”

You walk closer to him, still silent, until he is mere inches from you, craning your head up to look at him. The background noise from the TV gets tuned out.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Gojo blinks. “I’d kiss you back.”

Your breath hitches. The knot in your throat tightens. No hesitation. No shock. Not so much as a stir. It’s like you’re asking him what to make for dinner.

“Okay.” You whisper. And then you’re leaning up, pressing your lips to his.

His hand reaches up to cup the back of your neck. The other stabilizes you at the waist. His lips are soft and smooth, almost dainty, slowly picking up intensity as he presses closer to you. Your heart is racing a mile a minute, and as you press closer to him, you feel that his is just the same, the only indication that he is affected by you just as you are by him.

When your lips part, you don’t open your eyes. Your foreheads touch and you let yourself feel, truly feel, the effects of his touch on you.

“I love you.”

Gojo’s smile is soft. His touch is tender. Comforting. Familiar. “I know.”

[crssvjb]

A New Light - Lewis Hamilton

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: They had everything: love, achievements and a promising future. But the loss destroyed them from the inside out. Now, Lewis will do anything to rekindle the flame that brought them together, as they fight to turn the pain into a new chance to start over.

Part 1/2

In 2006, Lewis was still a promise on the circuit, an emerging talent who caught attention with each quick and precise lap. But beyond the tracks, there was something else that lit up his heart: it was during an event for fans and sponsors that he noticed you. In the crowd of admiring glances, yours was the only one he couldn't ignore. You smiled discreetly, almost shyly, but something about the way your eyes sparkled enchanted him.

After finishing everything, he decided to get closer. – "Hello, I'm Lewis." – he said, in a gentle tone, trying to hide the nervousness he rarely felt. He knew who he was on the floor, but outside of it, with you, everything felt new and exciting.

- "I know." – you replied, a little surprised, but with a smile that made him even more anxious. – "I'm a big fan of yours, but I think now I'm even more of a fan of your smile."

The words made Lewis blush slightly, and he laughed, lowering his eyes for a moment before replying: – "May I know your name? I think I'll want to hear it more often."

That brief conversation marked the beginning of something special. It wasn't long before you and Lewis started seeing each other. Each encounter was unique; he loved hearing your stories, seeing how you laughed at silly jokes, and the sound of your laughter became something he looked forward to on the tiring days of training. You fell in love naturally, in a way that seemed written by destiny.

When Lewis debuted in Formula 1 in 2007, his life changed completely. Now, the spotlight was always on him, and his fame grew with each victory and achievement. However, her presence was the only thing that made him feel at home. He talked about you in interviews and looked at the crowd for your face during every race. The two of you lived an epic romance, with an intensity that everyone around you could see.

The peak came in 2008, when Lewis won his first championship. The moment he got out of the car and took off his helmet, the first person he looked for was you. When he found you in the crowd, he walked past the photographers, ignored the reporters and walked over to you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you. - "I achieved." – he murmured, his eyes shining with happiness. – "And you were here with me, always."

In 2009, you got married in a private ceremony, with only your closest friends and family. Lewis whispered at the altar, his eyes full of emotion: – “You are my everything, today and always.” – with a smile, you replied: – “You are my love forever, Lewis.”

Three years later, in 2012, when they discovered they were pregnant, the joy was indescribable. Lewis smiled and talked about the baby all the time. He imagined himself as a father, and the two of you spent entire nights talking about the future, choosing names and discussing how the baby could have talent running through his veins.

But then one night, when everything seemed perfect, you woke up with excruciating pain in your lower abdomen. He woke Lewis up in fright, holding his arm tightly.

– "Lewis... something is wrong..."

He saw her fear in her eyes, and when he noticed the blood, he felt his heart stop. – "Come on love, I'm here. It's going to be okay." – he said as he carried her very carefully, trying to remain calm.

At the hospital you waited hand in hand, unable to speak, every second was torture. When the doctor finally found you with a sad look, the news hit you like a brutal wave.

The silence was broken by the sound of your crying, and Lewis, feeling the weight of loss, wrapped his arms around you. The two cried together, feeling the emptiness of a dream that would no longer live.

⎊𝙘𝙧𝙨𝙨𝙫𝙟𝙗 - ²⁰²⁴

[astroa3h]

Lilith Through the Signs ✨

Let’s talk about Lilith, because she’s that dark, seductive part of your chart that you’re probably a little afraid to look at, but trust me—you need to. In astrology, Lilith shows us the hidden, raw parts of our psyche, the things we suppress or even deny. She’s our wild side, our deepest desires, and sometimes, our untapped rage. Wherever Lilith is in your chart, she brings out this primal energy that cannot be tamed. And let me tell you, she doesn't play nice. You’re going to feel it. If you don’t confront her, she’ll push until you have no choice. 

If Lilith is in Aries, then honey, you’re all about raw, impulsive energy. Lilith in Aries doesn’t ask permission. You fight for independence at any cost, and sometimes, that can mean bulldozing through life without thinking about the consequences. People might call you selfish, but really, you’re just unapologetically you. You struggle with authority and anyone telling you what to do. In relationships, this placement is about the constant power struggle. You want freedom, but you also crave someone who can handle your intensity. Here’s the thing: you have to learn how to channel that fire without burning everything down. Maybe take up martial arts or something that lets you express your aggression in a healthy way.

With Lilith in Taurus, you are drawn to the pleasures of life, the sensual side of things. It’s about indulging—whether that’s in food, sex, or luxury. But here’s the shadow side: you can become possessive, even obsessive, about holding onto what you have. You want security so badly that you might cling to things (and people) that are no longer good for you. This placement craves comfort, but you can get stuck in your comfort zone, unwilling to let go even when it’s time. In your love life, you’ll likely attract relationships that push you to confront your fear of losing what you hold dear. Learn to trust that true security comes from within. You don’t need to hoard it; it’s already yours.

Lilith in Gemini? Oh boy, you are a master of words, and you know exactly how to twist them to get what you want. But watch out, because this placement can make you feel like you’re always wearing a mask. You can say all the right things, but inside, there’s a part of you that feels unseen and unheard. You’ll attract people who are intrigued by your mind, but they might not get the real you. In relationships, it’s all about mental connection, but sometimes you use communication as a weapon. You can be manipulative when you want to be, and if you’re not careful, you’ll push people away with your mind games. The key here? Be honest. Be vulnerable. You’re smart enough to know when someone isn’t on your level, but that doesn’t mean you have to hide behind cleverness.

With Lilith in Cancer, you’re dealing with deep emotional wounds. There’s a part of you that craves nurturing but also resents it at the same time. You might have grown up feeling like you had to be the caretaker, even when you weren’t ready. And now? You have a hard time letting anyone take care of you. You build emotional walls, but inside, you’re yearning for someone to break them down. In relationships, you might sabotage things when they start to feel too safe, because deep down, you’re scared of being abandoned. Your healing comes when you stop looking for that motherly figure in other people and start giving yourself the care you need. You have to learn that vulnerability is not a weakness.

If Lilith is in Leo, girl, you’re the queen—and you know it. You want to be admired, adored, worshipped, but you also fear that you’re never enough. This is a placement where ego and insecurity collide. You want the spotlight, but you’re terrified of what people will see when they look too close. Relationships become about power. You want someone who puts you on a pedestal, but the second they don’t, you’re out. The challenge here is learning that your worth doesn’t depend on external validation. When you own your power without needing applause from the crowd, you’ll find that the right people are drawn to your light.

Lilith in Virgo brings a complicated relationship with control. You strive for perfection in everything, but the more you try to control, the more things slip through your fingers. You might have a tendency to obsess over the details—whether it’s your appearance, your work, or your relationships. But this perfectionism is exhausting. You attract situations where you’re forced to confront the idea that control is an illusion. The real work is in letting go. In love, you might feel like no one is ever good enough for you, or worse, that you’re never good enough. But the truth is, you don’t have to fix anyone, least of all yourself. Your healing comes from accepting the messiness of life.

Lilith in Libra? Oh, this is a tricky one because you want harmony and balance, but deep down, you might feel like you’re constantly at war with yourself. You attract people who reflect your shadow side, and it’s easy to lose yourself in relationships. You want to please others so badly that you forget your own needs, and then you resent them for it. This placement has to learn how to set boundaries and stop giving away power just to keep the peace. In love, you might find yourself drawn to partners who are controlling or manipulative, and it’s because you’re not owning your own power. Stand up for yourself. Relationships are meant to be equal, not a battleground.

If your Lilith is in Scorpio, honey, you’ve got intensity for days. This is one of the most powerful Lilith placements, but it also comes with deep emotional wounds around trust and betrayal. You crave deep, soul-shattering connections, but you’re also terrified of being vulnerable. In love, you attract relationships that push you to confront your darkest fears—jealousy, obsession, control. The challenge for you is to let go of the need to dominate. You’re not going to lose your power by being vulnerable. In fact, true power comes from letting others see the real you, scars and all. The key here is to trust that you won’t be destroyed by love. It’s transformative, not destructive.

Lilith in Sagittarius is about freedom—wild, uncontained freedom. You’re always looking for the next adventure, the next thrill, and you can’t stand to be tied down. But here’s the thing: running from commitment isn’t going to fill that void inside. You attract situations where you feel like your wings are being clipped, but it’s because you’re not allowing yourself to fully engage. You might avoid deep connections because you’re afraid they’ll hold you back. In relationships, you crave freedom, but you also want someone who understands your need for independence. Your journey is about finding a way to commit without feeling caged. Trust that you can have both stability and freedom.

If Lilith is in Capricorn, you’re all about power and control. You crave success, but deep down, you fear failure more than anything. You’ll push yourself to the brink just to prove you’re worthy, but this placement often comes with a deep sense of insecurity. You might feel like no matter how much you achieve, it’s never enough. In relationships, you attract people who challenge your need for control, and it forces you to confront the fact that true success isn’t about power—it’s about vulnerability. Learn to let go of the idea that you have to be the one in control all the time. It’s okay to let someone else take the lead. You’ll find that it makes you stronger, not weaker.

With Lilith in Aquarius, you’re the rebel. You don’t like being told what to do, and you’re always pushing against the grain. But this can also make you feel like an outsider, like you don’t belong. You attract relationships where you feel like you have to sacrifice your individuality, but deep down, you know that’s not the answer. Your challenge is to find a way to be in a relationship without losing yourself. Don’t be afraid to stand out. The world needs your unique vision. In love, you might push people away because you’re afraid of being controlled, but real freedom comes from allowing yourself to be fully seen.

Finally, Lilith in Pisces is a placement of deep emotional sensitivity. You feel everything, and sometimes, that can be overwhelming. You might have a tendency to escape through fantasy or avoidance because reality feels too harsh. But this placement also gives you incredible intuition. You attract relationships where you feel like you’re drowning in emotions, and it can be hard to find your footing. The key here is to set boundaries—emotional boundaries. You don’t have to take on other people’s pain as your own. Your healing comes when you learn to stay grounded in reality while still honoring your deeply spiritual side. Embrace your empathy, but don’t let it consume you.

xoxo Ash 💓 Get your own reading at astroash.net

[thebadboyfanclub]

What Would I Do Without You? (Lewis x Reader)

Hey y’all so I’m slowly getting my groove back and I am very thankful that you guys have been so wonderful and patient with me, this was requested by @jenthustiastic and i must say I switched a few stuff but I hope you can forgive me and still enjoy it.

To be the partner of Lewis Hamilton meant to have a spotlight on you 24/7, eyes like hawks watching and judging every move, however (y/n) had this peculiar ability that made it look like a walk in the park.

From the minute Lewis posted her on Instagram and made it official meant that he had sent the dogs that were ready to tear her down, (y/n) took everything with grace and remained authentic to herself, Lewis was nervous about causing (y/n) pain, he knew that some people were ruthless, he feared that it would get too much for her, she was relatively in the spotlight, being a stylist and all yet this meant she was dipping her toes to another ball game.

(Y/n) never complained nor seemed to be phased by the comments or paparazzi, she was a social butterfly and quickly earned the respect of the fans, especially since she had grown a habit of meeting them and taking their little gifts with them to show Lewis after his race, “the fans princess” is what they called her that had started as a joke and then kind of stuck.

“Where’s the lovely (y/n)?”

Had grown to become a frequent question from the reporters when they got a hold of Lewis, Lewis would always bite his bottom lip and slightly nod before his eyes started to scan the room for the lady.

“I’m here baby!”

“Oh there she is”

(Y/n) did not like to watch the games, it caused her anxiety to see her beloved man sit in a car that went faster than the speed of light, her heart beat like a drum and every sharp turn forced her breath to hitch, she was content with hiding in the crowds and spark conversations with the fans until it was over.

“Don’t you care if I do well?”

“I care if you come back to me in one piece, that is enough for me”

She responded calmly once before she got lost in his arms, their naked chests colliding with one another as her head found its place at the crook of his neck, Lewis giggled as her hair fell on his face, and with his free hand, he caressed the strands away.

(Y/n) was scared, the track had taken men’s lives for the longest and (y/n) who was a massive fan of racing was now linked to her lover which meant that she found the concept similar to torture.

Lewis slowly got used to her routine, after the interviews, they would go to a room, and (y/n) would spend about 30 minutes to an hour just laying with him, well… at least for the majority of the time, (y/n) still blushed at the memory of toto having to knock their door.

“Keep it down! People can hear you!”

He scolded them, Lewis and (y/n) had giggled at the time still when the adrenaline wore off and she had to walk out with smudged makeup and her hair down instead of the tidy ponytail she had walked in with she clung and almost hid behind Lewis until they got to the car.

“We are never doing this again”

“Sure love”

Lewis had responded, knowing well inside that (y/n) was just experiencing the guilt of the moment, Lewis relished that he got to tease parts out of her that she did not know existed.

(Y/n) and Lewis were both fire holders, passion brought them together and the minute one even graced a finger on the other's skin it resembled a match lighting up, the one held the other as close as humanly possible and their eyes would speak the dirty words that they could not publicly even whisper even though Lewis was not one to shy away from leaning against her ear while she giggled after she had a bit too much wine at the dinner table.

“(Y/n)! Hi”

“Can you take this for Lewis?”

“Are you pregnant?”

“Can I have a picture?”

“Are you excited?”

Fans stumbled upon one another as (y/n) started to approach them with a grant smile, the Qatar Grand Prix was one of the most challenging among them, Lewis was nervous which caused (y/n) to be a bit wary, so she was always worked, walked up to the fans to take her mind off the track and hopefully time would pass fast.

This time it was different and as soon as her ears got used to the voices everyone went silent then her heart clenched inside her chest, her eyes snapped to where everyone was looking and she was met with a car that looked familiar spin out.

“No”

(Y/n) whispered, this couldn’t be, her hands mashed into fists and thankfully one of the bodyguards that Lewis had hired to keep an eye on her sensed that this would not go well, she had to be taken out of the public grasp.

The man’s arms softly went up to her biceps before he guided her back to the room so she could wait for her love, though her mind would not let her rest and she feared for the worst.

“Is he ok? Do we know if he is ok?”

“Sir Lewis is fine miss, please let us escort you”

(Y/n) complied and the only thing that could be heard were her footsteps until she got inside the room they had told her to wait on, her heels clicking on the floor as she went up and down the room, even if he was alright to be taken out so quickly was not the outcome anyone would have hopped.

The sound of the doorknob twisting forced her to a halt and then before Lewis could walk inside fully (y/n) had thrown herself in his arms, Lewis even if he was taken aback by it and took a step back responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and closing the door behind him.

“You are safe”

“I hope I didn’t scare you a lot”

“No, no, no, I’m fine, I just- what happened?”

“Russel didn’t let me pass him, he took me out”

“Took you out? How?”

“He-“

Lewis stopped himself from getting riled up, he closed his eyes to take a sharp inhale through the nose and then slowly let it out from his mouth, his grip semi-loosened on her and his one hand went up to take the hair out of her face that were misplaced from the force of her running into him full force.

“It doesn’t matter”

“yes it does, talk to me”

A smile appeared on his lips, he took her by her hand and directed her to the couch, (y/n) had always been a person to show love via physical touch, so when she straddled him Lewis did not think of it even for a second, (y/n) placed her cheek on his shoulder and Lewis thought it would be better if he leaned back so he was propped up with the support of the couch.

“It was the first round, I went to get the lead from the side, and then… I was out because Rusell-“

“I’m going to ask you this… are you sure it was his fault?”

“Yes, he should have let me through”

“What if he couldn’t? First rounds are crowded baby, perhaps he didn’t mean it”

“I am-“

“Unharmed, and you have already proved yourself and how skilled you are, Russel is young and your teammate”

“So that gives him immunity into doing whatever?”

“He drove himself into a wall if you recall, remember how embarrassed and disappointed he was?”

“Yes when only you came to see me on the paddock because everyone was consoling him”

(Y/n) lifted her head to be able to look him straight in the eyes, Lewis was feeling threatened, Russell had potential and he was breathing down Lewis's neck, she could detect the certain sense of failure in his chocolate hues.

Lewis scoffed as he lifted her as gently as possible so he could stand up and away from her, Lewis had years of experience on his back, yet when it came to (y/n) he felt powerless, she hadn’t even tried hard enough and he had revealed everything to her.

(Y/n) only followed him and slightly tugged at his hand so he could turn to face her again, a ghost of a smile appeared on her lips after she raised her hand to caress his cheek, Lewis exhaled as his shoulders relaxed once her warm flesh covered his.

“You can’t hide from me, you know better than that”

“I wanted to do well alright, is that so bad?”

“No, that is healthy, but we both know you can get competitive sometimes, give him some grace, you were in his shoes once”

“You should be on my side”

“You did not ask me to be yours because I was a kiss ass”

“No, smart mouth”

“All that I’m saying is that I care that you are here with me, however, it would not be right if I sat here and caress your pride and let you be wrong, is that what you want?”

“No”

“Good”

(Y/n) placed a sweet kiss on his lips that escalated into a butterfly one, her arms snaked around Lewis’s neck while he slid down from her waist and grabbed onto her tightly.

A playful giggle was heard by her before she pulled away a few inches so she could wipe the grace of lip gloss she had left on his lips with her thumb.

“Naughty boy”

“Always”

“No, we are not doing this it’s too damn hot in here”

“We will blast the air condition in the car after”

“I am not sweating out this makeup Hamilton and you have some making-up to do”

“Now?”

“Well I am assuming he is still racing but yes, we will wait together and you will own your mistakes”

“Must you always go against me?”

“Must you always be so difficult?”

Lewis kissed his teeth at her comeback, (y/n) had become Lewis’s lighthouse at a fast pace, she was a person he would seek every time something would not sit right with him, her hug, her wisdom, her smile of reassurance, her addicting scent as she wrapped herself around him at night.

Something about her soothed him to the core to the point that he could not rest well if she was not laying next to him(y/n) was his second in command and he secretly admired her calm attitude.

Lewis would often think about the times (y/n) would reminisce over her past self, how she was hot-tempered and argumentative, she had confessed that it was a facade she had created like an alter ego to protect her true colors, and there had been a few moments that he had witnessed her eyes glistening with anger, her slick tongue, it was usually when she felt threatened or people crossed someone she loved.

“What would I do without you?”

“Just argue with people for no reason I presume”

“You are being mean”

“Would you rather I lie to you?”

Lewis's smile brightened the room and his face and (y/n) pulled him for a tight embrace, she wondered if there was any way she could get even closer to him like the water of the ocean sank in the sand after a wave, his heartbeat was the most melodic sound for her ears, well, after his voice of course.

(Y/n) had always been a dreamer, from a young age she had filled her heart with hope to find her soulmate, someone to share her light and darkness, that one person that would feel like her fuzzy blanket, friends called her delusional and precious relationships called her suffocating and emotional, Lewis relished it, the small little details that showed how grand her soul and love was.

“There will be other races”

“I know”

“Do you want to speak on this some more”

“Not really”

“Alright, let’s go find George and then we can have a nice bubble bath, perhaps some lavender oil will help”

“Oh I love it when you talk essential oils to me”

Requests are open!

[billieonmars]

Carl Grimes x Male!reader

Jealousy

Summary: this is based off of the headcanon I did about Carl and Y/N being jealous in Alexandria.

Warnings: very brief mention of parents death, and one detailed kiss

Alexandria was safe. Y/N and Carl had never felt so safe since the prison and even then they could never be sure if they were truly safe. When they first entered the walls of Alexandria they were all suspicious. It was too good to be true; running water, electricity, and free mansions. After a few weeks they settled in. Things began to change little by little; people slept more, ate more, and therefore became happier. However, one thing never changed.

Y/N and Carl were always stuck at the hip. How could they separate when they've been together since everything started? When they were separated from everyone else they always ended up the only ones together. From the first camp outside Atlanta, to the farm, to the prison, now Alexandria, and everything in between.

It was well known information within the group that where you would find Carl, you would find Y/N. When they were hunkered down in the camp outside of Atlanta, their parents had to stop them from sleeping in the same tent just to keep them from giggling and whispering instead of actually sleeping. And when Carl was shot, Y/N was beside himself with fear. At first he cried and cried until there were no tears left. Then he held Carl's hand until the boy opened his eyes and reassured him that he was alive.

Nothing changed when they got their homes in Alexandria. After Y/N's parents died, it was a silent agreement that Y/N was a part of Carl, Rick, and Judith's little family. No words needed to be spoken when the two boys placed their bags of dirty, too big or small clothes in the same room. And no words were spoken about the fact that there was only one bed. No one even said anything when hand holding turned to kisses on foreheads, and then into quick pecks on the lips.

So, yes, everyone was well aware that Carl and Y/N were together, and that they had no intention of breaking up. Well, almost everyone knew or just didn't care.

When Jessie Anderson came to Rick and told him that Ron was excited to meet Carl and Y/N, they were both nervous. It was going to be their first time hanging out with other kids their age in a long time. Sure they had friends in the prison, but that all ended fairly quickly. For all they knew, Alexandria was permanent. They had all the supplies to keep people in and walls to keep walkers out.

Y/N was nervous around Ron when they first met, Carl was too. They weren't afraid of him; Y/N was sure either of them would be able to take him down if he tried anything. Ron just felt like a real teenager, one that you would've met in high school and would wonder if he was laughing at you behind your back. He felt like a popular kid thrown into an apocalypse. Y/N found the thought funny; popular kids, jocks, nerds, loners, in an apocalypse. How could they still form cliques when the world had ended?

He supposed he would've been a nerd. Even before the outbreak when he was only 10 or 11 years old he was always reading things like adventures, mysteries, or just stupid comedies. In his heart he felt like Carl would also be a nerd, but maybe a different type. He would play video games and be awkward around peers, he would read too, but only comics.

Then he met Enid and Mikey. He couldn't get a read on Mikey, the boy was kind of just there. But Enid, he could read. She acted like a loner; cold, few words, and just plain bitchy at times. He knew she was trying to put up an act of indifference; maybe trying to put herself out of the spotlight. What she didn't understand was that her actions made the spotlight bright up her entire being. But Y/N had a feeling that something wasn't right in her 'lonerness.' he couldn't place it but also didn't read much into it, after all she was also from the outside. He understood how she felt thrown into this happy-go-lucky town.

He didn't think much of her attitude until he looked at Carl. He was staring at Enid, not even trying to be inconspicuous. A spark of jealousy flared up inside Y/N's chest. It started burning bright with red and yellow flames. He didn't know why the flame of jealousy was ignited so quickly or why it burned so hot. Suddenly, Ron was speaking again.

"We can play video games. Or Mikey's dad has a pool table but he's a little strict about it."

Ron's question broke him from the jealousy filled stare he was sending to Enid. Y/N didn't care about what they did, as long as he stayed by Carl and wasn't expected to talk much. Carl was then looking away from Enid and seemed nervous trying to take it all in. Before Carl said anything he looked to Y/N who leaned just a little bit closer to his side.

"It's okay if you don't really want to do anything. You don't even need to talk. Hell, it took Enid three weeks to even say anything." Then suddenly that flare of jealousy returned as Carl's attention was brought to Enid once again.

"Let's play video games." Carl, thankfully, answered for both of them. Y/N didn't know if the influx of emotions would allow him to speak at all.

A controller was handed to Y/N but he gave it back, saying he would be fine just watching. It was the truth as after seeing the way Carl was looking at Enid, he didn't feel like doing much of anything. He didn't know how to feel, it was all so weird. Before that moment Y/N had never even considered the possibility of Carl leaving him for someone else. It was always just them and adults, no other teens. He didn't even want to start thinking about the fact that Enid was the first teenage girl (besides Beth) that they had seen. What if Carl had only dated him because there were no girls around?

He tried to think rationally as Carl, Ron, and Mikey smashed the buttons on their controllers. The look wasn't romantic; he knew what Carl looked like when he loved something. It was the look he got when he found a fully intact comic book, or a can of his favourite food after starving for 2 days. Or the look he gave Y/N when he would wake up snuggled into Carl's side.

No, it wasn't romantic but it was still a look of interest. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Carl wouldn't leave him, not if it was the last thing he did. Carl loved him, he told him himself the night before. Everything would be alright. Without opening his eyes he leaned his head on Carl's shoulder and scooched a little closer. His thoughts were made up when Carl kissed his hair and continued playing his game, all while Enid looked at them from the bed.

The day after hanging out with Carl, Ron, Mikey, and Enid, was a little strange. First, Carl was asked to make a run. Y/N had no idea why they would do this as the people of Alexandria seemed to be hell-bent on keeping the kids safe. He hated when Carl went on runs because not only was he already worrying about Rick, he was now worrying about Carl. They were his family, and Judith's too. However, being from the outside, it was nothing new to the boys so Y/N sucked it up and didn't complain. After a hug, kiss, and promises of being safe, Carl was off with Rick and the others.

Second, once he watched the car drive off, Y/N went to go back to his shared room with Carl. His plans were interrupted by Carol.

"You're not wasting your day away in bed." Y/N was surprised when Carol even started talking to him. He didn't think that anyone besides Carl or Rick cared about what he did.

"I'm not, I'm enjoying my day in bed." He could hear the sass slip into his voice, but Carol just smiled.

"You can't just leave the house with Carl, you know. You need to find independence." Y/N rolled his eyes but turned back out the door anyways.

"What do you know?" He mumbled quietly to himself. Carol heard but only smiled; satisfied that he listened.

In the moment, he was annoyed. His boyfriend was gone and there was a pretty big chance that he wasn't coming back; it was too easy to be overrun by walkers. On top of that, it had been forever since he had his own bed. He felt as if he should be able to enjoy it for as long as he could; not every safe haven has lasted them. But looking back, he was glad. If he had stayed in bed his thoughts would have run with so many things he would have ended up crying himself hysterical.

He found himself wandering around Alexandria, looking at the gardens and kids playing in the streets. Eventually looking at the garden and the kids got boring and he started kicking a rock, watching as it skidded across the pavement almost like skipping a stone in water. The noise was satisfying; a pitter-patter of stone against stone. Before the dead-eating-men fiasco, Y/N would have found this boring. His mind was molded for video games, cartoons, and short, extreme bursts of serotonin. After the fiasco, life could be as simple as skipping a rock. To get those moments of happiness you have to work for it. You have to keep each other alive by working all day and rejoicing in the night with stomachs a quarter full (if you're lucky) and limbs unbitten.

The third weird thing that happened was a few hours after he wandered from the house. He had ended up not doing much; he climbed a tree for the hell of it, ate an apple from that same tree, and nearly fell asleep under the tree. Maybe he should have just stayed in bed, the almost-sleep would have been better. But then again he wouldn't have gotten that apple. And it was probably good for him to get some sunlight after being cooped up for the past few weeks. Y/N started to get antsy as Carl and the others should have been back at any second. He was nervous and excited; nervous to see if Carl and Rick came back, and excited to see them if they did.

He tried not to bother himself with 'ifs' as it didn't help. There was no point in saying 'if Carl came back' because he would; Carl promised. Y/N knew it was a childish way of thinking; in this world promises couldn't be kept just because they were said. You can promise to not get bitten by a walker, doesn't mean the walker cares before it chomps down on your flesh. It was because it came from Carl that Y/N disregarded rational thinking. Maybe he was love sick, maybe he was stupid.

It was the same 'ifs' that brought Ron to him, starting the strange interaction.

"Hi." Y/N looked up at him from under the tree, shielding his eyes from the sun.

"Hey..." He was confused why Ron was talking to him. And then he was even more confused when he took a seat next to him.

"If the world never ended, what would you be doing right now?" Y/N was weirded out by the question. Why did it matter? He was 11 when it started, and it never ended. So here they were. There was no point of the 'if,' it just is what it is and now they have to deal with it. And that's what he told Ron.

"What does it matter? The world ended, there's no going back."

"I know, but I just wanted to get to know you a little better. You're not much of a talker, are you?" He smiled at him before his face turned to something Y/N couldn't place, almost like he came to a realization. "It's not because of Carl, is it? The reason you don't talk much?" Y/N was taken aback by the question. Did Ron really think Carl was abusing him or something?

"No, not at all. You don't even know us, how could you say that?" Ron could tell by the look on Y/N's face that he was appalled by what he asked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. But just so you know, I'm here if you need to talk." And suddenly his hand was placed on Y/N's leg, scarily high above his knee. Y/N let Ron's hand fall when he stood up, uncomfortable with the situation. Ron stood too and they stared at each other for a moment.

Y/N couldn't react before an arm was wrapped around his shoulders and he was pulled into a hug. Being on the outside had given him reflexes for walkers, he was thankfully able to stop himself from reaching for his knife when he smelt the grime and sweat of his boyfriend.

"Carl-" He was only given time to breathe out his name before said boy's lips were on his. Y/N's arms came to wrap around Carl's torso while their lips stayed entwined. By the time Carl pulled away Y/N was flushed and gasping for air. It was by far the longest kiss Carl had ever given him in front of another person. Speaking of the other person, Ron was already gone when Y/N pulled himself from Carl's jealousy fueled embrace.

"What was that for!" Y/N was on the verge of giggles as the flush was replaced with a blush. He felt butterflies that he had missed so bad flutter around his stomach. The kiss made him feel as though they had just kissed for the first time ever. Those butterflies were an old friend of his from his early days crushing on Carl.

"I Don't know." He looked embarrassed and flushed under his sheriffs hat. "I'm sorry, I got jealous seeing Ron's hand on your leg." Y/N pulled Carl back into a hug, content in knowing that it wasn't just him that was getting jealous.

"It's okay. To be honest, yesterday I was feeling green about the way you were looking at Enid. I feel so stupid. I knew that you wouldn't do that to me but I couldn't help it." Another kiss was pressed against his hair.

"Yeah, I know you wouldn't do that to me either."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Word count: 2493

[perfectsunlight]

21 ⸺ TYPE

warnings: infidelity, angst, swearing

word count: 3.2k

part of the series: LOGICAL

when aeri read it, her heart stopped. she read it again, and then again, trying to make sense of it. somi? with chaeyoung? the two people she trusted most? she hadn’t seen it coming. not even a little. 

at least, that’s what she tried to tell herself. deep down, she always feared this moment would come.

aeri had always felt like she wasn’t enough for somi, but now, seeing the confirmation of her worst fear in that single text, it all came crashing down. 

and all she could think about was how she wasn’t the type of girl somi really wanted. 

or maybe she never had been.

jeon somi had more ex-girlfriends than she could count on her hands. she was tall, blonde, and very athletic—anything a girl could have ever wanted. similar to lisa, girls followed somi around like moths to a flame. whether it was her charming smile or her flirtatious nature, somi had no trouble finding someone new, someone fun. she thrived on the chase, always seeming to have someone wrapped around her finger.

but aeri had been different.

the japanese girl wasn’t like anyone she had ever met. somi usually went for the ones with carefree attitudes and a bit more rough around the edges. tattoos, piercings, and wild nights out were usually her style. 

but aeri was serious, quiet, and more grounded. she was always around the basketball team but never part of the spotlight. as the team manager, she kept her head down, organizing schedules, making sure everyone had what they needed, and barely giving somi a second glance. 

and maybe that was what had intrigued somi in the first place. 

aeri didn’t care that somi was the best center in the league, or that every other girl in the gym was vying for her attention. she didn’t care that the taller girl had a fanclub that waited to take pictures with her after every game, some even asking for her number as well.

to her, somi’s achievements and popularity were irrelevant. 

the first time somi had asked aeri out, she’d been friendzoned faster than she could blink. 

it was after a particularly exciting game against hanyang university, where ygu had won by a massive margin. the gym had buzzed with the energy of the win, the crowd’s cheers echoing off the walls as the team celebrated. the players, sweaty and exhilarated, were starting to disperse, while aeri was methodically packing up the equipment, her focus on tidying up the chaos left behind.

somi approached, her usual confident character on display. her dyed blonde hair was damp from sweat, sticking to her forehead in a way that made her look more approachable. she grinned broadly, the kind of smile that was more than just a bit friendly, and leaned casually against the table where aeri was working.

“hey, aeri,” somi said, her voice bright and casual. “you up for celebrating with the team tonight?”

the japanese girl barely looked up from the clipboard she was scribbling on. with a practiced efficiency, she finished jotting down notes and then glanced at somi with a polite and disinterested thin smile.

“no,” she replied, her tone steady and unflustered. “i’m not interested.”

somi’s smile faltered for just a moment, her eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise. she straightened up, pushing off from the table, but her body language remained open, trying to keep the mood light. “oh, alright. well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

aeri nodded, already turning her attention back to the clipboard. “i won’t be changing my mind.” and with that, she turned on her heel, walking briskly towards coach irene and coach taeyeon who were discussing the game’s highlights.

as she watched the shorter girl walk away, somi’s shoulders slightly slumped in defeat. 

the energy she had carried into the conversation had dissipated, leaving her standing alone, a lingering frown creasing her brow. she watched as aeri moved towards the coaches, blending back into the background of the post-game routine, and realized that the casual rejection had not only stung but had also stirred up a deeper, unsettling awareness of aeri’s indifference.

jeon somi knew she had to try again. she just had to. the first rejection had stung more than she’d let on, but it hadn’t deterred her. instead, it had fueled her determination. she convinced herself that persistence might win out in the end, that maybe if she kept trying, aeri would eventually see her in a different light.

the second time somi asked aeri out, it was during media day, a high-energy event where the team was swarmed by reporters and photographers. the gym was buzzing with the activity of the media, flashing cameras, and the loud hum of excited chatter. the team’s new uniforms were on display, and everyone was in high spirits, mingling and preparing for the season ahead.

somi spotted aeri amidst the chaos, standing near a backdrop where players were taking their promotional photos. aeri was dressed in her usual managerial attire, a sleek blazer over her team polo, her hair pulled back neatly. she was chatting with a couple of reporters, her demeanor calm and professional. somi took a deep breath, steeling herself for another attempt.

with a confident stride, somi made her way over, navigating through the crowd of reporters and camera flashes. she approached aeri with a warm, friendly smile, trying to exude an air of casual charm.

“hey, aeri,” somi said, her voice rising above the background noise. “got a second?”

the dark haired girl looked up from her conversation, her eyes meeting the center’s with a mixture of surprise and a faint smile. she was clearly busy, but she made a polite effort to engage. 

“yes?”

somi took a small step closer, leaning in with a hopeful grin as she clasped her hands together. “i was thinking, with the season starting soon and everything, maybe we could have dinner tomorrow night? just the two of us. what do you say?”

the japanese girl’s smile widened, but it was accompanied by a hint of incredulity. she laughed lightly, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “you’re really persistent, i’ll give you that.” her tone was warm but laced with a gentle mockery.

the blonde’s grin faltered just a touch, but she maintained her hopeful gaze as she rocked back and forth on her heels. “so, is that a yes?”

aeri’s laughter was soft, almost incredulous. she shook her head again, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “no, i’m not interested. you should know by now.”

somi’s smile dimmed, and she nodded, trying to mask her disappointment. “alright. maybe another time? when do you have some time? what’s your schedule like next week?”

aeri offered a sympathetic smile but turned her attention back to the reporters, signaling that the conversation was over. somi lingered for a moment, the weight of the rejection settling heavily on her. the lively atmosphere of the event felt distant now, overshadowed by the sting of the repeated rebuff. 

as she walked away, she couldn’t shake the mix of frustration and resignation. despite her persistence, it seemed that winning aeri’s affection was going to be far more elusive than she had ever anticipated.

but the more aeri resisted, the more somi wanted her.

by the time she considered trying a third time, somi was determined. she didn’t even care about aeri’s supposed indifference anymore. it had turned into a challenge, something she needed to win. but what somi hadn’t expected was that, somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about winning aeri over. 

she had started falling for her—hard. 

everytime aeri came in for practice, somi lost all focus.  the sight of her managing the team with that efficient grace, the way she interacted with the players, her infectious laughter—it all had a magnetic pull on somi. even the simplest gestures, like aeri adjusting her glasses or brushing a strand of hair away from her face, became captivating. it was as if somi was seeing aeri in a new light, each moment amplifying the depth of her feelings.

one evening, after a particularly grueling practice, somi found herself lingering by the gym’s entrance, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. the players had dispersed, but aeri was still there, packing up her things. somi watched as aeri’s movements were precise and deliberate, her focus intense. it was a side of aeri that somi had come to admire, the dedication and professionalism that seemed to shine even in the smallest details.

taking a deep breath, somi approached aeri, who was now organizing her clipboard and making last-minute notes. somi’s heart raced, not just from the anticipation of asking aeri out again but from the realization of how deeply her feelings had grown. she could no longer deny that this wasn’t just a challenge—it was something much more profound.

“hey aeri,” somi began, her voice slightly hesitant but filled with genuine emotion. “uh, can i talk to you for a minute?”

aeri looked up, her eyebrows slightly raised in curiosity. she set down her clipboard and gave somi her full attention. “sure, what’s up?”

somi took a step closer, her gaze steady. “i know i’ve asked you out a couple of times before and you’ve turned me down. i get that. but i need to be honest with you. i really like you, aeri.”

the other girl’s expression softened, but there was still a flicker of surprise in her eyes. she considered somi’s words, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting somi’s again. 

“i appreciate your feelings, somi,” aeri said with a sigh. “but i have a lot on my plate right now. tomorrow night, i’m completely booked with team obligations and personal commitments. it’s just not a good time for me.”

somi’s heart sank slightly, but she tried to maintain a hopeful smile. “i understand. i didn’t expect you to be free.” the basketball player rubbed the back of her neck in defeat, trying to ignore the pang in her chest.

the japanese girl began to gather her things, preparing to leave. somi simply watched her, feeling a mix of sadness and resignation. just as aeri reached the door, she paused, her hand resting on the handle. she turned back towards somi with a thoughtful expression.

“what about the day after tomorrow?” aeri asked, her tone a bit more tentative. somi’s eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope, her sadness momentarily forgotten. “the day after tomorrow? are you sure?”

aeri nodded, offering a small smile. “yeah, i should be free then.”

somi’s heart swelled with a renewed sense of optimism. she couldn’t help the grin that formed from ear to ear. when aeri finally said yes, after months of persistent flirting and half-serious jokes, somi felt like she had conquered the impossible.

once they started dating, things were a bit rocky. aeri had always felt out of place in somi’s world. 

she wasn’t like the other girls somi had dated, and she knew it. somi had never said it outright, but aeri could feel it in the small, subtle ways—the way somi’s gaze would linger just a little too long on other girls, or the way her friends would make comments about somi’s type. 

aeri had tried to ignore it, tried to believe that somi really wanted her, but the insecurity never left.

maybe that’s what had slowly started to pull them apart.

aeri had always feared that one day, somi would wake up and realize she could do better—find someone more exciting, someone who fit her lifestyle. she had always worried she wasn’t enough, and now, standing in her apartment, staring at lisa’s text, it felt like all those insecurities had been right.

she had never been enough for somi.

son chaeyoung was somi’s best friend since college started. they had met at one of the many parties thrown during welcome week and they clicked instantly. chaeyoung was everything aeri feared she wasn’t—confident, carefree, and spontaneous. where she tended to overthink and second-guess herself, chaeyoung just seemed to live in the moment. 

she fit perfectly into somi’s world, the one aeri always felt slightly out of place in.

how could she not have seen it?

sure, she had known about somi’s history—about the exes, the flings, the friends with benefits. she had always been surrounded by people, and aeri was just always hovering on the outskirts of somi’s chaotic, lively life. but even though aeri had friend-zoned somi more than once, she’d let her walls down eventually, let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, somi had chosen her.

but maybe somi had never really chosen her at all.

she thought about the little things—the way somi would glance at her during practice, the shy, teasing smile that only aeri ever seemed to notice. the way that the taller girl would wrap her jacket around her during winter practices, knowing how cold the gym was. or even how everytime somi scored, she’d make the letter “a” with her fingers and put it on her heart.

was it all a lie? did anything have any meaning?

“aeri,” somi’s voice was heard from outside the japanese girl’s apartment door. “please. let me explain.”

the mentioned girl stood frozen, her hand hovering over the doorknob. somi’s voice, muffled but pleading, cut through the numbness that had settled in her chest. explain? what could possibly explain this? but something in her still wanted to hear it. maybe it was the part of her that didn’t want to believe it was all over. 

maybe it was the part of her that still loved somi, despite everything.

with a shaky breath, aeri unlocked the door and pulled it open. somi stood there, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy, tears streaking down her face. she looked a mess, and definitely heartbroken. but aeri wasn’t ready to feel sympathy—not yet.

somi took a hesitant step inside, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “i—i’m sorry,” she stammered. “i just, look, i didn’t mean for any of this to happen once, let alone twice.”

aeri stayed silent, closing the door behind her. her arms were crossed, more out of self-protection than anything else. “what exactly didn’t you mean to happen, somi?” her voice was cold, a sharp contrast to the trembling girl in front of her. “what do you mean it happened twice?”

the blonde’s gaze fell to the floor, the weight of her confession hanging heavily in the air. “aeri, please,” she took a step forward, her hands raised as if to ward off the distance. “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

she felt her heart race, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the features on her girlfriend’s face. “what do you mean it happened twice?” she repeated, the tension in her voice palpable. she had known something was wrong, but she had convinced herself that she was just being paranoid. 

she wasn’t.

somi hesitated, her breath hitching as she tried to find the right words. she ran a hand through her hair and sighed deeply before looking back at the shorter girl. “the first time was just a kiss,” she finally admitted, her voice shaky. “i was with chaeyoung, and it happened when we were out celebrating. i was drunk and i didn’t think it meant anything.”

aeri felt her heart drop. she had never known about that. and the fact that the girl she loved kept it a secret for so long seemed to make her feel even worse. “a kiss? you kissed her? and then you slept with her? how is that supposed to make sense?”

“no! i didn’t sleep with her then. that was a mistake, too. but last night? that was different.” somi’s eyes were wide with fear, her voice rising with desperation. “i swear, i didn’t mean for any of it to happen! i was confused. i thought we were okay, and then—”

“clearly, we weren’t okay. you knew we weren’t okay,” aeri shot back, her voice trembling with hurt. “how could you do this to me? i trusted you, somi. i thought you loved me.”

“i do love you!” somi cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. her heart was entirely the japanese girl’s. even if she didn’t show it “you have to believe me. but at that moment, everything got blurry. it was chaeyoung, and she was there, and i didn’t think—”

“didn’t think what?” the brunette’s voice was low and dangerous, her heart racing. “didn’t think about how i would feel? didn’t think about what it would mean for us? didn’t think you were making a mistake?”

somi’s shoulders slumped as she struggled to articulate her feelings. “i didn’t want to hurt you, aeri. i thought it was just a moment, something that wouldn’t change anything between us. but then i woke up next to her and realized...”

“realized what?” aeri pressed, her voice icy. “that you made the wrong choice? that you let someone else in when you should have been with me?”

her girlfriend swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she reached out toward aeri. “i didn’t mean for it to happen. i promise. i wanted to be with you, but—”

“but what?” aeri challenged, her heart aching. “you tell me that you wanted me, but you didn’t think twice about sleeping with your best friend?” somi’s eyes were filled with tears as she shook her head. “no, please don’t say that. i care about you more than anything. but i messed up. i messed up so badly. and i hate myself for it.”

aeri felt a deep pain in her chest, a raw ache that wouldn’t go away. “you think saying you hate yourself changes anything? you’ve already made your choice. and now, you’ve lost me.”

the taller girl stepped back, her face crumpling in despair. “please, aeri don’t do this.” the center fell to her knees, continuing to plead with tear-filled eyes. "i can't lose you. i can't—" her voice cracked, her heart visibly breaking before the japanese girl’s eyes.

her hands trembled as she stared down at the blonde, her chest tightening with emotions she couldn’t entirely suppress. she had told herself not to give in, not to let somi’s tears sway her, but seeing her like this made it so much harder.

“you already have,” aeri whispered, her words making somi’s head spin and her heart shatter into the remaining fragments that were left of it. “i’m done. we’re done.”

the next day at practice, the team manager felt as if she was watching a stranger on the court. somi was clearly off her game, unfocused and distracted, a shadow of the dominant center she usually was. her movements were sluggish, lacking the usual power and precision that made her such a key player. every missed shot, every fumbled pass, only seemed to deepen the frustration etched across her face.

it truly did pain the uchinaga girl to see the girl she loved like that, but somi had done it to herself. 

lisa shook her head everytime the center fumbled a play or missed a shot, leaning over to y/n with a scoff. “she’s a mess today,” the thai girl muttered, her frustration evident as she watched somi stumble through another drill. “she needs to get her shit together.”

y/n frowned, her eyes following the blonde’s every move. “something must’ve happened,” she whispered quietly, concern creeping into her voice. she glanced at aeri and then made a quick glance towards her girlfriend.

because although it was unusual, y/n couldn’t help but feel like her girlfriend had something to do with this, too. 

TAGLIST ⸺ ✭ @silantryoo @rosiehrs @niniwhiskers @cwpiqwon @jisooftme @1luvkarina @scarfac3 @santasbitch @lisas-earlobe @wallfl9wer @aerihiltonn @unforgivenangel @uzumakioden @skydreamed @haerinfangs @la-douleur-ne-finit-jamais @haerinkisser @giginings @lilsvx @milanlaia @pandafuriosa60 @wifey-badalee @slowlyturninggay291 @dreamingst99 @7daysronnie @thefckghost @drawing-into-the-night @xszn

[why-what-no]

Being Alicent’s Daughter Would Include

Pairing: Alicent x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to violence, misogyny

Notes: Alicent is literally my baby. So is Rhaenyra. But right now Alicent gets the spotlight

When Alicent was pregnant with you, there was a slight bitterness when she thought of becoming a mother once more

It wasn’t your fault, she knew that. And she knew that she would love you more than anything, just like she did for her other children.

But the sight of her husband everyday, of the thought of raising another child who looks so much like a young version of her former dearest friend, hurt her in ways that she wouldn’t fully let herself understand.

After all, the crown needed heirs. That was her job. And she fulfilled it best that she could.

When you were born, as she expected, she loved you the moment she laid eyes on you. Used to the birthing process by now, she would normally hand her children over to the maid to be cleaned

But with you, her fourth, she couldn’t resist holding you just a bit longer.

Having another girl filled her with happiness, but also fear. Knowing that you would befall a fate similar to hers. Not everyone can live as Rhaenyra does, she thought bitterly.

One future for you would be to be betrothed to Aemond. Alicent knew he would be a decent husband to you, unlike Aegon to her sweet Helaena.

The other voice in her head, which sounded suspiciously like her father’s, knew that a Targaryen princess would be a good bargaining piece in a political marriage benefiting the crown.

But Alicent ignored all of that. For as long as she could keep you, you were hers. You were the small bit of light in Kings Landing. And she made it her mission to not let that light get extinguished.

She made sure that you had all that you needed and more growing up, keeping you protected from all the darkness and violence in the world outside the walls of the castle.

You were the baby of the family, always having either Alicent or Aemond or one of the very few others that she trusted by your side.

When you began to grow up, you did start realizing that the world wasn’t as godly and fair as your mother had led you to think. And she took this time to be honest with you about the world.

No matter what, you knew she loved you more than anything. As you did with her. Even in moments where your values clashed, like when she turned a blind eye to your eldest brother’s actions, she was your rock. Your anchor, your protector.

She did all she could to raise you into a kind, respectable young woman. And as you grew she was so proud of the woman her daughter was becoming.

She hoped you would live a blessed life. To marry someone you truly loved and have many happy children. To make a friend who knew and loved you more than any husband would and get to stay with them for your whole life.

There was still that sadness when you would look at her and all she would see was Rhaenyra. When she would remember the joy she took thinking about them flying away on dragon back together

The traitorous part of her that wanted to visit Rhaenyra. To show her what you have become. She had thought when she was little that she and Rhaenyra would raise their children together.

But now there was a great invisible wall between the two woman. And it burned Alicent when ever she tried to touch it or even think of it.

So instead, Alicent ignored it. Putting her full energy into you and your siblings. Pretending that it didn’t matter when her husband would talk with pride about Rhaenyra’s sons and say nothing about that amazing daughter that Alicent had given him.

Still, Alicent made sure to love you enough for the two of them.

Taglist: @icravethesmut

[james-kojirou]

James from Team Rocket is a truly complex character and very difficult to understand. At first glance, he appears confident and arrogant, but that's a role he plays as the "Team Rocket villain" and on stage, as explained in episodes DP 139: "A Faux Oak Finish" and DP 146: "Dressed for Jess Success!"

In private, outside his Team Rocket role, he is calm, rather shy, he is very anxious and follows his teammates' ideas even when he doesn't fully agree with their plans.

In the episode "A Hole Lotta Trouble," Brock and Ash tell James that he must learn to assert himself without his teammates.

James had a childhood in the high aristocracy, where he could have anything material he wanted, but his parents gave him no affection, demeaned him, and forced him to follow strict and severe discipline like in the Victorian era. They also forced him into an arranged engagement with Jessiebelle, allowing her to train him with whips. He kept a deep trauma from this period of his life.

He joined Team Rocket to rebel against the rules and proper conduct imposed on him in his childhood.

In an interview, the Japanese voice actors of Team Rocket: Megumi Hayashibara, Inuko Inuyama, and Miki Shinichiro, revealed that Jessie's goal in Team Rocket is to become rich or an important woman (which is why she dislikes Matori), Meowth also wishes to be important by taking the place of the boss's favorite Pokémon, replacing Persian. However, James's objective is solely to support and help his two friends achieve their goals and dreams, making them happy.

When James gains a little confidence in himself or engages in an activity he's passionate about and sure he can succeed, he becomes overly enthusiastic. However, he quickly falls into depression if he fails. An episode that shows this aspect of his personality is 'The Fortune Hunters' when James imagines himself as a powerful Moltres due to the description in a Pokemon horoscope book, which turns out to be false.

He is also willing to wholeheartedly encourage people he admires, like Jessie during her Kalos contests or 'The Royal Mask' (under the pseudonym Fire-Kojiro, reminiscent of when he felt strong and proud like a Moltres).

Yet, when he has to put himself in the spotlight outside of Team Rocket missions, he feels terribly uncomfortable and automatically convinces himself that he will lose or isn't capable (The Battlefield of Truth and Love!, Dressed for Jess Success, Party Dancecapades)."

Unlike Jessie, who thinks she's the best at everything, James has very low self-esteem and undervalues himself: believing for example others can take better care of his own Pokemon like Gardenia with Cacnea or Mareanie with her ex-boyfriend. He also thinks Jessie will be happier with Dr. White than with him in Team Rocket.

As demonstrated in episode 19 of "Pokémon Journeys" - A Talent for Imitation! Jessie is an excellent self-confidence coach, pushing her teammates and Pokémon to go beyond their limits and overcome their fears and apprehensions.

Jessie and Meowth are both invaluable support for James. Through their friendship and the trust they give him, he finally feels loved and respected for who he truly is. They are more than just friends; they are his family!

James may appear naive and childish, often being very emotional and crybaby. Despite this, he excels in a lot of various fields, such as being an excellent technician, a talented actor, a poet, and well-informed about Pokemon… He's also skilled in computer science and hacking. On rare occasions when he's involved in a Pokemon battle or contest, he performs remarkably well.

When he forgot his fear under the effect of adrenaline to protect his Mareanie, he even demonstrated incredible strength!

Even though he is part of Team Rocket, James doesn't have a truly evil nature. In reality, he is a compassionate Pokemon trainer, loving his Pokemon so much that their affection hurts him physically, yet he always lets them show their love to him in this way. 💖

[shelbgrey]

Can I place an order for Marvel? If yes: HERE YOU GO. Where the reader is Steve and Natasha's daughter, Tony and Bucky's goddaughter (you can already imagine that) and mainly, she was raised by all the avengers and hidden from the spotlight. Just something pretty fluffy for what her relationship with them would be like 🥺✋

Ohana means family

Paring: Romanogers!Daughter!reader X Avengers(Platonic)

A/n: thank you for the request. This is my first request for the MCU Fandom, hope you enjoy.

Being the daughter of Captain America and Black Widow is blessing a curse... I'll tell you why.

But first if your the daughter of them I could imagine you having Steve's kind heart and Natasha's temper. Your Godfather Tony always got a kick out of a tiny you getting all angry. And his laughter would only get heavier if you came and started punching his leg for laughing.

Tony would definitely be a second father. He's wanted to be different from his father so he will always show you the love and affection his father didn't show him.

You don't like hearing about Peggy. I think it's because she was almost your dad's love. Natasha never had a problem with hearing Steve talk about her but the woman always left you frustrated just by the sound of her name... You'd never tell your dad this though.

Anyway, being around all theses heros obviously inspired your choice of future work, this scares not only your parents but the whole team.

Sure your mother would teach you how to shoot or Tony will teach you how to build a robot but they all fear the day you'll actually have to use those skills.

Your other Godfather Bucky seems to be the only one with peace about this suprisenly. If you told him you want to be a superhero he'll grien and listen to your reasoning.

There's been times where he'll put toy boxing gloves on your hands and teach you how to punch. Natasha put a stop to it quickly though. One day he was setting on his knees so he was your hight and you kept punching his flesh hand. He wouldn't let you hit his metal hand in fear you'll hurt your self.

Sam would always tease that you have Bucky wrapped around your little finger.

Bucky and Tony always compete to see who can be the coolest Godfather. If one gets you a cool Lego set or dollhouse the other one will get the bigger version. You love Elvis Presley at the time Tony will take you right to Graceland. You want to go you a waterpark Bucky will have you there in a flash before Tony can have the chance.

A down side is you learned how to be independent with your Hero Family. It's not a bad thing and they don't do it intentionally but there's many times you spent at the compound with Pepper and Happy.

But your mom and dad always make it up to you. I wouldn't say your spoiled, but if you ask one of your godfathers nicely(with puppy eyes) you usually get it.

But another down side of being a part of this family is them being extremely over protective. There's been many times you couldn't do something or had to stay indoors for long periods of time because someone was plotting your father's death.

If you do go somewhere one of them is with you. If you want to go to a zoo trip for school one of them is with you. You want to check the mailbox Sam is flying around watching you. And don't even think about going to friends house for a slumber party. Steve and Nat aren't trying to be strick or anything they just always have this sicking feeling something will happen.

On a more positive note... You always have the best time with them. To be honest you never worried about having friends because you had them. You of course have friends your age but you consider the Avengers your Best Friends. Speaking of which Cassie Lang is probably your Best Friend.

Which means the first sleepover you ever had was with Cassie. Since you technically would be with an Avenger it was okay. Tony thought it was dumb to leave you alone with "Thumbelina" but Steve trusts Scott and Nat trusts Hope.

Speaking of which play time is always token to the extreme. You want a nerf gun war, the whole team is involved. You want to build a Lego thing, tony will buy the biggest one. Blanket fort? You don't have to ask Clint and Scott twise.

I think you'll always try and lift Thor's hammer. You've tried but couldn't so one time Thor lifted it with you so you could have the experience.

You love it when Bruce reads to you. If you come up to him with a book he'll drop everything and read to you. It's the only thing that will make him leave the lab immediately. It's calming to him and he always uses different funny voices to make you laugh.

I won't tell anyone but once you got older you had a small crush on Peitro, which didn't set well with most of the men in the compound when Cassie acdently let the cat out of the bag. You've never saw the ironman suit appear so quickly..

I think once you got older the over protectiveness got old. You found it annoying a frustrating at times but in the end you're greatful that you have a group of people that care about you so much.

Be patient with them. They love you and trust you, they just don't trust other people.

Since you can't be on the flighting field you went to medical school and with everyones help(especially from Bruce and Tony) you were able to graduate with a trauma certification and now you work with Dr. Cho in the med bay.

You always hate seeing them beat up from missions but you also love helping Them and other people.

I don't think you and Peter would get along. I don't know why, I just do. I think at one point they tried to get you to go on a date with him but it never happened.

For a little bit I think you had a jealously thing going on and didn't like how close Peter was getting to Tony. Your Godfather noticed this and told you that you'll always be his number one.

Speaking of Starks, your literally the best big sister to Morgan. You two are basically two peas in a pod. And don't even think about messing with her because you will through hands to anyone who's rude to her.

Your basically to her what Tony was to you.

When you get older you do become an Avenger and the elders got over it. You proved you can survive and they couldn't be more proud of you.

This is your family and you couldn't be more thank full. There may have been bumbs mountains along the the way but they'll always be family. And that's forever.

[youngsadlesbian]

SECRETS AMONG WAVES

pairing: piper mclean x jackson!reader

summary: as percy jackson's twin sister, you've always been by his side through all the battles, challenges, and chaotic moments that being a daughter of poseidon brings. but while percy deals with monsters and prophecies, you carry a secret that seems even scarier: you like girls.

a/n: hope u like it :)

word count: 2,4k

warnings: just fluff and dealing with sexuality

The world around you are constantly in motion. The soft hum of the ocean, the rush of waves crashing against the shore, the laughter and chatter of demigods at Camp Half-Blood—everything feels like it’s always on the move. But not you. You stand still, caught between the constant tides of battles, prophecies, and family expectations. You have always been by Percy’s side, his twin, his other half. The one who inherited the same bravery, the same fighting spirit, the same humor. Yet, despite all the battles and the chaos that comes with being a daughter of Poseidon, there’s one battle that you face alone.

And it’s not with monsters.

It’s with yourself.

For years, you’ve carried a secret that weighs heavily on your heart—your feelings for girls. It’s something that you bury beneath sarcasm and bravado, pretending it doesn’t exist. Everyone thinks you’re just like Percy: tough, always ready for a fight, always joking around. But the truth is, while he takes the spotlight as a natural leader, you remain in his shadow, hiding a part of yourself you fear he—and the world—won’t understand.

It’s easier this way. Safer, even. Especially when the new girl at camp, Piper, daughter of Aphrodite, has this effect on you that you can’t ignore. Her quiet confidence, the playful glances she sends your way, the way her voice drops just a little when she talks to you—it’s all too much. You try to avoid her, but every time you’re thrown into a mission together, you can’t help but be drawn closer to her.

One night, around the campfire, the familiar crackle of the flames does nothing to calm the storm inside of you. You sit, awkwardly, shifting on the log you’re perched on, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster every time Piper looks in your direction. She doesn’t miss a beat, casually leaning over and asking, "Wanna dance?"

You almost choke on the sip of water you’re drinking. "Uh, no, thanks," you mumble, brushing it off as casually as you can, even though inside, your thoughts are spiraling. It’s not the dancing part—it’s the way her voice wraps around the invitation, like she’s daring you to say yes.

Piper catches your discomfort and raises an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk playing at her lips. She doesn’t push, but you swear she knows. She knows something you’re not ready to admit. Something you’ve buried deep down.

That night, long after everyone else has gone to bed, you find yourself walking by the lake, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore a familiar comfort. It’s the only place where you feel like you can breathe, like you can let the ocean wash away the weight in your chest.

"Hey," a voice call from behind you.

You turn, half expecting Percy, but instead, it’s Piper, walking toward you, her casual steps making no sound against the soft grass. Her expression is serious, but not unkind.

"You okay?" she asks, her voice quieter now, less playful. You nod, but she doesn’t buy it.

"I know that look," Piper continues, her tone gentle but probing. "I used to be scared too, you know? Of what people would think. Of what people would say. Especially about... who I liked."

You bite your lip, unsure how to respond. You’ve never talked to anyone about this, least of all Piper. But there’s something in her eyes, something that tells you she won’t judge you, that she understands.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" she presses, her voice soft.

You nod again, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I don’t know," you admit. "I’m scared, Piper. Scared that Percy won’t understand. That he’ll look at me differently."

Piper places a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring. "He’s your brother. He loves you no matter what."

You shake your head, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "But it’s not just that. What if he thinks I’m… weak? Or different? Or worse—what if he just doesn’t care anymore?"

Piper’s expression softens, and she sighs. "You’re stronger than you think. And Percy? He’s your twin. He’s probably more in tune with you than you realize."

The thought makes your heart ache in ways you don’t understand.

"I can’t tell him," you whisper, more to yourself than to Piper. "Not yet."

\*/

A few days later, you find yourself in a training session, sword in hand, trying to focus on the monsters charging toward you. The usual noise of battle fills your ears—the clash of swords, the grunts of monsters, the sounds of your fellow demigods fighting beside you. But there’s something different today. Something that pulls your focus.

Piper is standing off to the side, watching the battle unfold. And though you’re supposed to be focusing on the fight, your gaze keeps drifting back to her. The way she stands—confident, calm, knowing what she’s doing—it’s magnetic. The feelings you’ve been hiding deep inside of you flare up again, and for a moment, you lose track of the fight.

One of the dracaenae rushes toward you, and it’s only when Percy calls your name that you snap back to reality. You twist just in time to parry its spear, but the sharp end of the weapon still scrapes along your shoulder.

"Focus!" Percy shouts, his voice harsh, but there’s concern in his eyes. "You alright?"

You flinch, trying to mask the pain. "Yeah, I’m fine," you say, even though the wound burns.

But Percy doesn’t buy it. He steps closer, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"

"Just got distracted," you mumble, brushing it off, but he’s not convinced. Not when he sees the distant look in your eyes.

The battle ends, and you and Percy make your way back to camp, the weight of the moment settling heavily between you. The camp is quiet as you walk side by side, the only sound the waves crashing on the shore. Percy glances at you, his expression concerned.

"You’ve been acting weird lately," he says, his voice casual, but there’s a seriousness in his gaze. "You sure there’s nothing going on? Another prophecy, maybe?"

You don’t respond right away, the words stuck in your throat. Percy doesn’t press you, but he doesn’t let it go either. His eyes are sharp, and he’s been watching you closely.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. "It’s not a prophecy."

Percy stops walking, his gaze fixed on you. "Then what is it?"

The question hangs in the air, and you feel the weight of it. You’ve been running from this moment, trying to hide from it, but it’s here now. You can’t run anymore.

You look at him, the words trembling on your lips. "I like her."

Percy blinks, clearly not understanding at first. "Her who?"

You take a deep breath, then say it. "The daughter of Aphrodite. I like her."

There’s a beat of silence. Percy stares at you, his expression unreadable. And for a moment, you wonder if this was a mistake, if the fear you felt was justified.

But then, to your surprise, he laughs. A short, incredulous laugh. "Wait, that’s what’s been eating at you this whole time?" he asks, shaking his head, his tone light. "You thought I’d have a problem with that?"

You feel your face flush, the embarrassment creeping in. "I didn’t know what you’d think," you mutter. "I thought you’d… I don’t know… judge me."

Percy steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His voice softens, and you can hear the genuine care in his words. "Look, you’re my sister. Nothing’s gonna change that. And honestly, if she’s the one who’s got you all worked up, then I’ve got just one thing to say."

You look up at him, confused.

"Good luck," he says with a grin. "Because daughters of Aphrodite? Yeah, they’re impossible to resist."

You laugh, the tension in your chest finally easing. For the first time in years, you feel like you can finally breathe. As you both walk back to camp, the sun setting behind you, you realize that, even though it took time, you’re no longer holding onto the secret. It’s out in the open now. And it feels like the waves that once felt so heavy are now lifting you up.

\*/

One week later you and your brother go visit your mother. The evening feels heavier than it should. You're sitting at the kitchen table. Sally Jackson is stirring a pot of spaghetti, the warm aroma filling the air. Her back is turned to you, but you can feel the tension mounting in your chest, the words almost choking you.

She hums softly, glancing over her shoulder. "You seem... off, honey," she says, her voice gentle as always. "Anything on your mind?"

You swallow hard, trying to push down the butterflies that have taken up residence in your stomach. This is Sally, your mom. She’s the one who has always been there, the one who knows exactly what you need without asking. But this is different. This is your secret, your fear.

"I—there’s something I’ve been keeping from you," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sally turns around completely, wiping her hands on a towel, her eyes narrowing slightly with concern. "What is it, sweetheart?"

You take a deep breath. "I think... I think I like girls," you confess, your voice cracking on the last word.

There’s a beat of silence. Her expression softens immediately, and she walks over to you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

"Is that it?" she asks with a gentle laugh, as if it’s no big deal. "I thought you were going to tell me you had a hydra in your room or something. Honey, you don’t have to hide that from me."

Relief floods through you as you meet her eyes. "You’re okay with it?"

"Of course I am." She squeezes your shoulder, leaning down to kiss your temple. "You are my child. Nothing will ever change that. And if you like girls, then that’s just one more reason I’m proud of you. You are brave. You’re you."

You feel your eyes sting, but you blink away the tears. Sally's kindness makes everything feel a little lighter, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you can breathe again.

\*/

It doesn't take long for you to return to Camp Half-Blood. After training, you find yourself sitting alone by the lake, skipping stones across the surface. You’ve been holding everything inside since that night, but there’s something about the stillness of the water that makes it hard to keep your emotions bottled up.

You’re so lost in thought that you almost don’t notice Annabeth sitting down beside you. She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches the water with you in comfortable silence. You can feel the weight of her gaze, like she’s waiting for you to say something.

"I told my mom last night," you say quietly, breaking the silence. "That I like girls."

Annabeth looks at you, her gray eyes searching your face. "How did it go?"

You shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. "It went well. She said she was proud of me. But... I’m still scared, Annabeth."

Annabeth sighs, glancing out at the lake. "I get it. But, you know, I kinda already figured it out."

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn to her, surprised. "What? How?"

She shrugs slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. "I’ve seen the way you look at Piper, how you act around her. You’re not exactly subtle, you know." Her smile softens as she looks at you with understanding. "But I didn’t want to say anything, because I knew you’d tell me when you were ready."

You blink in surprise, feeling a little embarrassed but also oddly relieved. "I didn’t think you’d notice."

Annabeth gives you a small smile. "I’m a daughter of Athena. We notice things."

You chuckle, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. "Well, I guess I’m just glad I didn’t have to come up with some elaborate explanation."

"Yeah, well," Annabeth says, her smile turning a little more teasing, "I would’ve seen right through it anyway."

You laugh softly, the sound feeling foreign but welcome. "Thanks, Annabeth. For being... you."

Annabeth nudges your shoulder lightly. "Always."

\*/

Later that week, you find yourself sitting by the fire with everyone. Percy, Annabeth, and Grover are all joking around as usual, but your eyes keep wandering to Piper, who’s sitting across from you. She’s been smiling at you a lot more recently, giving you little glances that make your heart skip.

Before you can process it, Piper suddenly stands up and walks over to you. Without a word, she gently cups your face in her hands and places a soft kiss on your cheek.

Your face goes bright red, and you freeze for a moment. The campfire crackles in the background, and you can feel your heart pounding in your ears.

Piper pulls back, her expression playful. "You okay?" she asks, noticing the blush creeping up your neck.

"I—I—" You’re at a loss for words. "What... what was that?"

Piper shrugs, her grin widening. "Just thought you could use a little more warmth in your life," she teases, walking away before you can say anything else.

Your mind is racing, and you’re still blushing uncontrollably when Percy steps up behind you, clearly amused.

"Wow, you’re redder than a tomato," Percy says, his grin wide. "Guess Piper’s got you in a bit of a ‘gay panic,’ huh?"

Annabeth, who has been watching the whole thing, rolls her eyes but smiles fondly. "Percy, don’t be a jerk."

You punch Percy lightly in the arm, trying to hide your embarrassment. "Shut up, Seaweed Brain," you mutter, feeling heat rise to your face.

Percy laughs, putting an arm around your shoulders. "Relax, it’s not the end of the world. Besides, she kissed you. That’s a good thing, right?"

You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not, but you nod anyway, still feeling flustered.

"Let’s just go get some food," you say quickly, trying to shake off the overwhelming rush of feelings.

And as you walk toward the dining area, you realize that, maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay. After all, you’re surrounded by people who care about you. And with Percy at your side, Annabeth’s unwavering support, and Piper’s surprising warmth, maybe you’re not as alone as you thought.

[newsourceofnonsense]

The Quite Girl's Heart

A love story of overcoming insecurities and an unexpected romance of a shy girl (Y/N) and a confident boy (Chris sturniolo)

A/N-new to writing, so sorry if it doesn't make sense. Just a sweet little fic to get my writing started. may dive deeper as time goes on.

Music mentioned= Lovers Rock, TV girl

T.W= none (just bad spelling and grammar)

Chris speaking is orange

y/n speaking is pink

This is y/n, when asked to describe herself she is quick to note down how she is pictured as a shy and introverted girl. She is not one to seek attention or crave the spotlight. Instead, she finds solace in her drawings and music, where she can get lost in her own little world. where people wish they can be like her.

Y/N have always been like this, ever since she was a child. Her parents used to worry about her, thinking that she would never open up to anyone. How she will slowly blend into the background. But she may be shy, but she have a big heart and is always willing to lend a listening ear to those who need it.

But despite her kind heart, no one really notices her. She is the shadow in the bustling hallways of the high school. Watching those around her and dreaming of being them. Y/N have a small group of friends, but even they sometimes forget that she is there.

That is until one day, its was last period Maths class, Y/N was not amazing at Maths but good enough to get a good grade. She usually spent maths lessons with her headphones in and doodling in her note book, with her work being finished early on. But today was different, Lovers Rock by Tv Girl had started to play, when she was suddenly interrupted by a figure sitting in the abandoned seat next to her. Y/N took no notice and began to complete her earlier doodle from lunch when the figure beside her tapped her arm.

With a shaky hand she paused the music and looked at the figure. Y/Ns eyes were met with Chris Sturniolo's. She didn't know many people at this school but she knew him. how couldn't you, he is a triplet for god sake. Chris had a slim build and light freckles scattered across his face. His brown hair had grown to a comfortable medium length, and was currently un kept giving Chris a carefree and approachable appearance. Chris's eyes are striking, with a ocean blue iris and a constant smile that lights up his face. Chris is known to have a very confident personality making him popular with the people he meets.

The lingering silence was broken by his confident yet hesitant voice "Sorry for bothering you Y/N, I'm Chris, Miss Koury said that you could help me out with my Maths" every part of Y/N wishes for her to say no, to excuse herself and go back to her own little world. But she could see the desperation form on his face. "Look Y/N, I could really use your help, I cant even begin to tell you how painful these lessons are" he looks down at her desk "and you always seem to get your work done instantly, so you must be really good at it." as he finishes his sentence she focus on that fact that he notices her, it was small and something many people may overlook but when you get overlooked by everyone else you take notice of these things. Y/N begin to reply "me? oh, no. I just like to stay on top of things" continuing on "and it means that the teachers don't bother me and leave me to listen to music" As Y/N spoke she can see that Chris has turned his full attention to her. He listened intently to every word she said, his eyes never leaving her face. She can feel the nerves filling her body.

He began to speak again and sensing the hesitance and uncertainty in her voice he tried his best to get rid of her fear. "Good at maths and organised, looks like I asked the right person to help me out" he leans in closer on a wait for a reply. Chris takes a closer look at Y/Ns face and he finds his gaze linger on her features. Y/Ns green eyes are striking, and Chris cant help but be drawn in by their intensity. He noticed the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, adding to her unique beauty. Chris couldn't help but found the shy girls smile enduring, Y/Ns most noticeable feature is her crooked nose. While many may see this as a flaw, Y/N included, in Chris's eyes it made her more attractive. Y/Ns cracked circle glasses sit slightly wonky on her face, but it only added to her character. Chris cant help but admire the black hair that falls in waves around the shy girls face, with streaks of white running through it like a silvery thread. he feels his smile growing as he sees her begin to speak again.

"oh, thank you." a warm sensation filled Y/Ns face, she just know that her cheeks were pink. "so... what exactly do you need my help with?" as soon as she finished her words Chris began "Maths. I really need help with Maths" Y/Ns lips curl upward into a shy smile, and her eyes crinkle at the corners as she giggles making her follow it up with her pushing her glasses up. Chris feels a sense of joy wash over him as he sees her reaction, seeing her become more comfortable around him. "I understand that" she reassures him "but what precisely about maths do you need help with?" Chris follows closely with this answer wanting to her voice again. "well basically everything." Chris said nervously "I see how well you do on test and I was hoping you could teach me your ways, so Miss Koury can finally leave me alone" he scanned her face waiting to see mockery swarm over it, but he was quickly reassured that this quiet girl is far form mockery. "you don't have to be so sweet" Y/Ns cheeks getting even more pink "Of course I will help" Y/N then begins to take out her note book revealing a neatly organized set of notes and practice problems. Chris couldn't help but be impressed by her preparation and dedication to the subject. Chris's confidence was infectious and Y/N could feel herself becoming ill with confidence. A lively but relaxed conversation bounced between them as Y/N explained and empathised points to Chris.

*time skip to the end of the lesson (so basically the end of the day)*

As the clocked ticked closer to the end of the day fellow classmates eagerly prepare there things to go home, whereas Chris and Y/N are still left in there comfortable conversation. Chris can see how passionate Y/N is about helping him, and Y/N couldn't believe that Chris noticed her and right now was laughing and smiling at all her crapy Maths jokes. Y/N could feel her heart flutter every time. Hearing the ruckus happening around him Chris debated on if he should ask Y/N for her number or at least a social media account, But just before he could muster up the courage the bell rang out. "Thank you for giving up your music time to help me Y/N" Chris spoke out as they calmly place their belonging into their bags "cant believe I am going to say this but..." curiosity filled Y/N face and a wave of nerves washed over her in anticipation on what he was going to follow with, then he began to speak. "I really enjoyed this Maths lesson" Then Y/N was hit with a sharp punch of disappointment, she was hoping he would say something different but she wasn't sure what. she plastered on a crooked nerves smile and began to speak "yeah. It was lovely taking to you" now finished zipping her bag she gently brushes pass Chris who is still gathering notes and shoving them into his bag.

Y/N exits the classroom, puts her earphones in and begins walking with the crowds of people to her locker. In her own world placing books neatly on her locker shelf and taking out her jacket a lone hand places itself on her shoulder and she begins to turn. Y/N is now met face to face with Chris again with Nick and Matt standing behind. Chris is struggling to close his bag showing clearly that he rushed to catch her, he catches his breath as Y/N yet again pauses her music for him. "sorry for making you pause your music again" Chris speaks out finally zipping up his bag and making himself look more presentable. "Don't worry it fine" Y/N say to make sure Chris knows he is not burden to her "err..was there something you needed?". Chris subtly looks behind him seeing the figures of his brother wating behind. He debts whether or not to ask for her number than finally begins to speak. "Well I was just wondering" Chris feels his confidence in battle with is nerves "well.... its just that"

The battle was lost Chris's nerves had won. He found himself fill with disappointment when his words coward to safety. "Do you mind helping me next Maths lesson". Y/N heart sinks, she is unsure why but she wishes for more. But with her heavy heart Y/N agrees to help once more "Ur...yeah I will be happy to help" Y/N didn't not want to miss a chance to be with Chris. Y/N has never felt this way before, she realised that when she spoke to him she didn't feel shy. Chris made her feel confident and comfortable in her own skin.

Before Chris could leave Y/N was struck but a pulse of confident and informed Chris "You can find me in the library" she had a sweet smile resting on her face and her eyes had a bright glow. Y/Ns tone softened and she spoke "just in case you need to talk" Y/N shocked by her own words and how forward she was being, stumbling on her next, trying to look less eager to talk to Chris again hoping she hadn't messed up "about the Maths problem" she stumbled out "I don't mind going over any of them" she anticipated to be declined for her offer but was soon was put at ease by Chris's words "Library". Repeating the location almost as to make a mental note, "OK" Chris said more for himself, showing that he retained the information. "well I am sure I will see you soon" he looks as his brothers beginning to walk to the exit sensing the end of the conversation sooner then Chris wanted. With Chris's brothers now out of ear shot he spoke "I'm sure I will have no problem mustering up some Maths questions to have an excuse to disturber your music once again". A pink hue was now painted over his face, with his feelings flustered be quickly turned to catch up with his brothers leaving Y/N with these final words "I have loved speaking to you". Y/N was left to reflect as she put on her jacket, shut her locker and began to walk home. He may had meant nothing by it she thought, it may have been a simple compliment. But still she found herself playing those words back in her mind, replacing the music that plays. Y/N found herself thinking about her interaction with Chris. How she felt nothing but happiness, she felt comfortable around him, her shyness becoming a distant figure in her past. And while she thought this was just a passing moment, that once he got a good grade it will go back to normal, she couldn't help but hope for more, hope that he asks for help with more classes, asks for help with anything. Just so she can she can see his beautiful soul again. Just so she can feel happy again.

*time skip to the next day- lunch time*

last night when finally arriving home Chris instantly began going over his note. Not for revision, NO! but so he can go see Y/N, to talk to her again.

Its now lunch and Chris has branched off from his brothers and his friends to make his way to the library. With a sticky note in hand with random maths questions he needs help with.

Making his way through the library, his confident and outgoing demeanour contrasted with the quite, studious atmosphere. Chris scanned the rows of shelves, searching for Y/N. He cant see her, he start to debate if he should keep looking or spend his lunch with his friends.

yet another battle was waging in his mind and he was scared of who will come out on top.....

*A/N- i hope you liked this. I didn't want it to be too long so if you will like a part 2 just say*

*A/N- any advice or recommendations are more then welcome*

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Villain! Daemon Would Include:

Being a villain, people are going to talk about him. When someone talks about him, it's probably going to be about his deeds or actions. You know, who he's hurt, what he's destroyed. But when someone wants to talk about him as a person and they want to understand what makes him tick, to know him-he has to look at the person who loves him and asks you how you see him.

In simple terms. Exhilarating. He cannot tell you how thrilling it is to break so many moral and physical boundaries when you are with someone as twisted as he is. He feels free to be himself, to do as he pleases, knowing that regardless of what happens, you are always on the same twisted wavelength. And he is so unpredictable, that you are constantly on your toes. He loves the way he feels with his love by his side. And of course, you love watching him burn.

I must confess, that the relationship is not always easy. Despite the thrill, you both have a habit of becoming toxic, bound together, you are like a timebomb ready to explode. He often finds the intensity and unpredictability to be difficult to navigate in a relationship. But it is the drama that keeps him coming back. Love is messy, love is difficult, and being with you reminds him of that fact.

Aside from the excitement of doing the wrong thing, he finds himself fascinated with your mind and the way it works. You'll constantly be surprised by his thought processes, the reasoning behind his dark deeds. So much so that the little amount of morals you have left are constantly tested. And at the same time, you'll find yourself drawn deeper and deeper into his dark embrace. He is consumed by you, utterly and fully. He is yours, mind, body, and soul.

There is simply nothing quite like it. The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of testing fate, the excitement of pushing boundaries and defying conventional morality. But, to do so with your soulmate and partner in crime is something truly spectacular. You are made for one another. He is the embodiment of everything dark, wrong, and forbidden, and you will be in absolute heaven because of it. The things you can do together, both in and out of the spotlight, are things of legends.

You push him to be the best version of himself, and he believes you would say the same. He's been with many people in his time, and none of them have been able to truly bring out his darker side like you do. You know how to bring out his true colors and push him to his limits. And for someone as volatile and unpredictable as himself, he really needs a love like you to keep him engaged. You are the perfect combination of darkness and beauty, and he has no doubt you are his soulmate.

When he is with you, he feels no constraints. There are no limits to how far he can push the boundaries. And you push back just as hard, if not harder. You both are free to break rules and defy laws in pursuit of your interests and desires. It is exhilarating to know that he is with someone who is willing to go as far as him. It is almost as if you are daring him to cross the line, knowing full well that he will always push it further. The power dynamic is intoxicating.

The best part of it all is your sheer loyalty. There is no fear of betrayal, no need to worry about her abandoning or forsaking him, all of your plans and plots are always a joint effort and there is a level of stability and security he's never experienced before. You will always have his back and fight alongside him against those who would oppose your dark ways.

He feels a sense of freedom with his love by his side. He feels like he can live out his every dark desire, push the boundaries of what’s right and wrong, and even defy the Gods themselves because he knows that his love is right there with him. He feels free, empowered, and liberated in a way he never has before. He feels like he has a partner and a confidant who understands and accepts him for who he is and is able to match and even surpass him in terms of darkness.

Well, I have to say, it can also be quite the emotional rollercoaster. Because although you both love your dark and twisted lives, you are still two very troubled and emotionally complicated individuals. You'll have your ups and downs, like any normal relationship, but dare I say your ups and downs are a bit more extreme due to your wicked ways. But it's all part of the game for you both. You love each other, flaws and all. You learn to embrace the chaos.

When dating Daemon, one must be cautious of their words. He takes everything literally and is quick to anger. He is also prone to bouts of madness, so it is important to pay attention to the state of his mind when interacting with him. Despite these challenges, Daemon is passionate and loyal to the people he has loved and he has a soft spot for people even if he finds it funny that they fear him.

He has a soft spot for those who show courage and loyalty. When it comes to the person he loves, he takes pleasure in watching you fight and struggle to please him. He will punish you for disobeying him but will reward you for being good, giving him exactly what he desires. The affection he desires must involve pain, pleasure, and domination.