#i have not written for this man in literal years i feel so rusty | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghostarii · 1 year ago

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GLASS TABLE GIRL ! ～ BLADE . ❛ i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  SHOW NOTES fem!reader ❱ guitarist!blade ❱ groping ❱ reader is a groupie ❱ PWP!!! ❱ (reader is intoxicated so technically) dubcon ❱ spanking ❱ degradation ❱ clit n nipple slapping ❱ ig ooc!blade but who cares ❱ choking/asphyxiation ❱ size kink ❱ dacryphilia ❱ outdoor/public sex ❱ exhibitionism ❱ spit ❱ face-fucking ❱ dirty talk ❱ reader has 0 self respect ❱ name calling ❱ overstimulation ❱ creampie & unprotected sex (stay safe) ❱ clit pinching ❱ hair pulling ❱ multiple orgasms ❱ cumplay(?) ❱ no aftercare ❱ minors & dc antis do not interact.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  CREDITS i have not written a fic in so effing long nd i was high writing this so excuse my rustiness :c but i have risen from my grave so let’s rejoice nonetheless ! !blade is on my mind 24/7 n i just want to be used n abused by him omfg turn me OWT! i listened to one of the girls by the weeknd literally the entire time i wrote this sooo feel free to listen while reading ^_^ i was js writing as i went so ts is very pwp sorryyy . . i’m gonna try to be more active on here i js need time to write so in the meantime pls show that my works would be appreciated here =( likes & reblogs are so GREATLY APPRECIATED ! ! ! if u don’t like, pls scroll cs comm guidelines r so mean to creators T_T

˖ ⁺ ⫾  RUN TIME 7.5k+ words . (of pure filth)

IF SOMEBODY ASKED you who your favorite artist was, you would say Ren—known by his moniker: BLADE. There was nothing you didn't like about this man; everything about him fundamentally and ultimately was the object of a girlish obsession. You knew all of his songs front to back, followed his social media on every single platform, and never missed a single piece of media uploaded about him. Your life was built around his style: dark and mysterious and enigmatic. He was your number one, unmatched and unchanged.

He was a hard man to come by. He frequently held small shows, with no more than twenty-thousand people on the high end. It was impossible to go, and every time you tried, your chance miserably passed you up. But this time, June twenty-third, twenty-twenty-three, you were right there, in the middle of the pit, only mere feet away from Blade. It was your first time seeing him in person by the grace of your best friend who surprisingly snagged tickets, and you’d never been more grateful in your life.

Blade was ethereal. The concert videos you’d seen over the years did not compare to the image in front of your face. It was dark, the main lights being spotlights shone on his pearly, perspiring, black, skin-tight silk-clothed skin, and dim red LED lights on the set behind him. His fingers ran effortlessly across his guitar, an inexplicably attractive riff and tone singing from the instrument. You felt like you were in Heaven, your eyes never leaving the show before your eyes. It was hot and uncomfortable in the pit but it was worth it. So worth it because he looked at you: taking you in with an unfaltering stare. His lip slipped between his teeth, and he shook his head, throwing stray locks to the back, and God, you felt as though you needed to be bolted to the ground with the way you wanted to jump on the stage. He walks up to the microphone, the most gut-wrenchingly hot vocals sliding off of his tongue. His eyes were closed, smudged eyeliner emphasizing his fluttering, long lashes, and his lips were spit-slicked, parting and pursing with each sultry lyric leaving. They were plump and rosy as if they were asking to be kissed—it was a sight to behold.

You sang your heart out, dragging your hand from waving in the air down a curvy path on your body, going from your shoulder to your chest to below where Blade’s sight would reach. You turned to your friend and recited the lyrics with a big smile and following giggle, all to turn your attention back to the stage and lock eyes with him. Your thighs clamped together just at the narrowed and burning gaze he delivered. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a man more than you do right now.

Your friend found a way closer to the stage and you wedged your way between the crowd, finding yourself so close that the speakers were banging on your eardrums. You could feel the music in your bones, and all you could think of to describe it was hot and heavy. Maybe it was all of the pregaming you and your friend did before the concert, or the condensed heat and gyrating bodies, but you were so hot. You wipe your sweaty skin as you sway to the beginning of the next song, taking out your phone to begin recording.

Blade leans into the mic, muttering lowly, “I want you all to sing.” He pulls the microphone out of the stand, letting his guitar hang off of his shoulder from the strap. And that’s when he makes his way to where you stand, muttering small “yeah”’s and “good job”’s into the mic as the crowd collectively sings. He kneels right before you, “Sing.” he says into the mic.

You go wide-eyed—cute, he thinks—but you start singing. You grab an open portion of the microphone, leaning in as close as possible and reciting the lyrics of the song just as you were told. All eyes and cameras were on you, and that included Blade, who held an intense gaze on you the entire verse. When you finish the crowd erupts in cheers and screams, and he pulls away, finishing the song. You turned to your friend and screamed about your main character moment, dancing and singing even happier into her recording phone. This was the best night of your life.

For the rest of the concert, you had the time of your life. Blade ends the show with a final guitar solo, the entire audience silent as he wrecks the strings and pours his heart into his vocals. He briefly spoke to his fans, thanking everyone for coming out and heading backstage as everyone began to clear out. And all he could think about was that girl who his eyes couldn't help but wander toward, and to whom his thoughts dedicated his innuendos. He remembers the sign you held at the beginning of the show: “BLADE ♡WNS M(Y)E (HEART) ♡”. Your eyes honed filth that your natural disposition didn’t and he longed for it. He held bated breath as he informed his security about you, requesting you be located and brought to him and they replied with “We’ll try our best, sir.”

It was an after-concert tradition for Blade to hit up a local club, especially in situations like this where it was his last stop. He hoped he’d find you there, but he knew you would, especially if you were as big of a fan as you looked.

“Yukong, just thirty minutes! Please!!” you pleaded, trying to pull your friend into your opinion. She shook her head no, “I can’t! I have to go home! I’m so tired and you know…” you stop your friend there, not wanting to hear about her boyfriend.

“Fine. I’m still going though, text me when you get home.” you didn’t want Yukong to go home. But arguing was pointless, and only time was being put to the test, not her stubbornness. You knew from your years as a Blade fan that he always went to the club after a concert to meet fans, and some rumors even suggested ulterior motives, so you wanted to go. Yukong frowned at your flat expression but still hugged you, waving at you as she got in her car to go home. You’d be flying solo, but you had faith in yourself.

So you make your way over to the nearest club via taxi, praying that this is the one that Blade would visit. You weren’t all too familiar with the place, its name, Starskiff Haven, only being one you’ve heard in passing. Regardless, your thoughts were assured by the abundance of fighting and pushing bodies to get in the door—and when your phone lit up, a Twitter notification from a Blade Updates page noting his location, Starskiff Haven, you smiled widely, making your way to the line.

It was way too long and you weren’t interested in waiting all night—you had to meet Blade. A time like this is when Yukong comes into hand with her very stern persuasion, something that’s near impossible to deny. But she left, and you’d have to figure out a way in. And a thought immediately came to mind.

You walked to the front of the line, breathing in deeply and psyching yourself up for how incredibly you were about to embarrass yourself. When you exhale, you book it, beelining straight into the club, right past security. You immediately shift your demeanor, blending into the crowd seamlessly as security guards rush in, looking around for you. Hiding behind the most cluelessly drunk girl, you make your way to the bar, immediately ordering a sidecar. It packed a punch and the combination of how many shots you had earlier, it’d be just enough to get you through whatever you were about to do.

You turn around in the swivel stool, taking in the atmosphere and coasting the area for any sighting of Blade. The club was darker than the concert but heavily illuminated with hazy, colorful LEDS and much, much louder, filled to the brim with chatter and deafening bass-boosted music. Your drink was brought to you moments later, and with a big sip, you raked your eyes over the club once again. You could see bodies grinding on the main floor, the DJ bopping his head as his hands moved diligently across his DJ controller, couples making out and slipping into cornered areas, and friend groups recording and taking pictures. It was a lively environment, sure, and from the strength that beat on your tongue, established by incredibly skilled bartenders—but you weren’t looking for a new clubbing spot, you were looking for Blade.

And Blade was looking for you. Swimming through the unforgivingly hot crowd for you. He wasn’t itching to have you, he was itching to take you. Every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to his time on stage and how you danced in the audience. How your lips pushed out his lyrics and how your hands couldn’t stop waving in the air and running on your skin. How you swiped off sweat from your forehead and fanned yourself with your sign. And how you couldn’t keep your star-filled eyes off of him. Every light reflection off of your eyes showed desperation and neediness. You were begging to be picked without ever uttering a word, and he was not one to ignore indulgence. You needed him and he wanted you—so where are you?

Perched on that blue-velvet cushioned swivel stool. Sipping whatever remaining contents of your sidecar. And when he saw you, you saw him. You locked eyes and each plastered ill-intended smirks across your faces. And while you had his attention, you brought the glass to your lips, smacking them open and running your tongue along the sugar rim, collecting the sweetness on your tongue. You sucked on your tongue, rolling your eyes and he swears the “Ahh” leaving your lips is audible from his distance. He stayed still even as you slapped down your money on the counter, hopping down and disappearing into the crowd.

You make your way to him quickly, holding onto your rapidly rising chest and laughing at yourself. You were on a roll of unbelievable behavior, but it seemed to be a clean stroke because you were yet to meet a roadblock. And in a very blurry couple of minutes, the goal you’d been working toward was in the palm of your hand—literally.

You danced your way to Blade when you were finally close to him, sliding up against his body sweetly. He was tall and so sturdy against you, but he was smooth like butter as he synced to your movements and danced behind you. His hands were on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he pushed up against you. Your exchange was wordless but it spoke volumes. It felt like a dream, entirely too good to be true but you indulged anyway, grinding against him. A gasp escapes your mouth as his left hand unabashedly grapes your tit, squeezing roughly and experimentally. His other hand trails dangerously on the band of your shorts and you let your head fall back on his shoulder, “I'm your biggest fan…”

He laughs at your declaration, leaning to press his lips feather-lightly at the shell of your ear, “Are you now?” you nod immediately, pressing into him. “‘Blade owns me’.” he mocks your sign, and laughs when he feels you slightly tense under his touch.

“I picked you,” and again, he leans down to your ear, “Are you happy, slut?” The word is so mean but it sounds so good from him. You nearly moan, nodding eagerly, as if complying with his word came with a medal. You were a slut, so willing to give it up as soon as he laid eyes on you. And you weren’t afraid to go low to get his attention, doing just about anything to be his for the night.

Fangirls like you are nothing new to Blade and as a man who looks like he does, it comes with the territory. He can read you like a damn book, cover to cover with ease because despite how enigmatic and indifferent to the norm you may try to appear, you wear your whole being on your sleeve. You do everything in your power to be somebody you're not. Your life revolves around who you think you should be and not who you are. A lot of girls are born with “it”: an innate ability to be the one wanted and desired, but you? Your “it” is manufactured, the blueprint drawn out by girls who are it. You're stuck in a limbo created by your age: too old to not be settling down, but too young to not live your life, and you try to make a box for yourself, being the exception to a path laid out for you. You're lost in the life you lead, and with the way you're dancing so shamelessly and needily on him, Blade knows you. You’re the type of girl who sees getting used as a flex, and despite signing an NDA or promising to never say anything, you’ll tell this person and that person that you got to sleep with the Blade; that the Blade picked you. Women like you are a cancer in the industry. Pests that are incessant and damn near impossible to get rid of. He knows you won't be any different than those before you, but there’s a desire to take you that he cannot ignore.

It’s his natural instinct as a man—or he’s just a shitty person. Perhaps a combination of both, because all he can think about is putting you to use. You’re making it so easy, moaning into the air under the thick remixed song the DJ is spinning, grinding against him, and holding his hand on your tit—you want him, and you’re giving yourself to him on a silver platter. You have a clear lack of respect for yourself, but luckily for you, that’s Blade’s type in women.

The atmosphere seems to be getting heavier, and it feels like time is getting slow and choppy. Now your arms are around Blade’s neck and his large hands are holding onto your ass, and you’re so close, you can feel your chests brushing with each breath you take. The world around you is nothing but background. It doesn’t exist to you, it doesn't matter to you. Not when you have Blade, the literal man of your dreams, right in your palm, and all he's looking at is you.

You feel so special. So wanted and so desired. You feel all eyes on you like you're the main attraction and everybody can’t help but watch and weep, wishing to be you. Your ego is skyrocketed and every embarrassing thing you’ve done tonight doesn't matter to you anymore because it paid off. Your eyes locked and the space between you closed. Your heart synced with the booming beat of the current song playing. You lean in, pressing your hands at the back of his neck and pulling him in. And you kiss him. You kiss Blade.

Blade kisses you back. He tightens the grip on your ass and you moan into his mouth, letting him infiltrate your mouth. He sucks on your tongue, smiling against you when he feels you push up on your tippy toes and hears you whimper into his mouth. He kisses you back. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, pecking your lips once more before moving to your cheek, then to your jaw, then to your neck. His hands are groping at you, roughly grabbing your ass, then your waist, then your breasts. “Are you wet?”

He says it so only you can hear it. You nod. “How wet?” He moves back up to your jaw, placing another kiss. You flutter your lashes, meeting his gaze, “So wet. All for you.”

At your response, he groans, pulling off of you. He chuckles when you pout at him. You’re just what he needs for this night. He grabs your chin, holding your face and leaning down, your lips brushing against his own. “I'm going to go smoke.” and he tells you this for a reason.

You watch with the biggest smile on your face as he sifts through the crowd, heading out of a side door. It was now or never.

Quickly, you rush to the bathroom to freshen up. You fix your hair, digging into your pocket and fishing out your lipgloss, reapplying, and you fan yourself, cooling down to not look a flustered mess. And just as quick as you ran in, you ran out toward the side door, immediately looking both ways for Blade. You smell smoke distantly and turn right, and a few paces down he stood, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring restaurant. He's next to stacks of old wood and crates and you smile, thinking about whatever was about to go down between you.

You step in front of him and he smiles, taking you in once again. He blows his smoke in your face, tapping the ash off the cigarette before smashing the butt into the wall behind him. “Hi,” you say. He says nothing back, just slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in. The kiss you share this time is messy and he now asserts control, nipping your bottom lip when he feels you go weak and pulls back.

He rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand for him. This is the first time all night he’s seen you properly, in moderately okay lighting. Your jean mini-skirt is tight to you, accentuating the curve and fullness of your ass, and teases what’s beneath with your plump thighs poking out and how it rides up slightly. Your skin-tight baby tank is seemingly one with your figure, bringing out the best in you and making him smile with the “I ♡ BLADE” print across your chest. Your thigh-high boots did nothing when you were near him—he was looming and caging. He was intimidating and arousing, and with the lustful gaze you shared, the climax of your day was steadily approaching.

“Take it off.” He looks down at your chest and you get the memo; immediately grabbing the hem of your tank top and pulling it over your head. “Slow. Take your time…” And you listen, letting your body swivel as you remove the shirt. You unhook the clasp of your bra, and before your boobs could spill out of the confines, he grabs you and wedged you between him and the wall he previously leaned on.

The front of your body is slapped on the cold brick, but you’re swallowed in warmth as he presses against you, grinding his hard-on against your ass. One hand grabs your wrists, and the other turns you around. You look at him innocently, shivering at the breeze that blows down the alley. You can smell him: woody, smokey, and expensive. Yet here he was, pressing you up against a brick wall in a random alley. “You’re such an easy slut, y’know.”

“Bet you been thinking about this; daydreaming about your favorite artist pinning you and trashing you like the fucking whore you are.” he presses against your front, nipping at your jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You whimper, “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours.”

“Tell me.” He growls - your answer not sufficing. “Want you to break me,”

“Always fantasized…wanting you to shove your dick down my throat and use it mindlessly and mercilessly.” He begins to kiss down your throat again, licking the tender skin. He smirks when you stop talking, your breath hitching and your head craning backward to open the expanse of your neck. He starts biting on your newfound sweet spot when you begin again, “Spit in my mouth and force me to swallow it with your cum,”

He gets to your chest, immediately taking a nipple between his teeth. He listens to you wince and whine as he does, pushing your chest into his face. “And make me beg you to fuck me. Teasing me…fuck—pinching me, pulling my hair until I'm teary-eyed and begging…”

“...And then you fuck me like you hate me; choking me, slapping me, degrading me all while I thank you stupidly.”

“You’re just fucking disgusting,” he mumbles around your nipple. He lets your hands go, palming your free tit immediately. His eyes are narrow as you whine when he twinges the bud roughly. “Put so much thought into this…you’re a weirdo slut.”

You shake your head, breathing out heavily to refute his claim, “Nuh-uh—your biggest fan.” you correct.

He laughs at you. You’re much more fun than he thought, and a lot less shameless, too. You're throwing all of your big cards out; this is your go-big or go-home moment, and while you have him here, you’ll bare yourself wholly because if not now, then not ever. Blade has to commend your patience though. You're letting him toy around, graze around your unknown territory and feel you out. You’re needy but obedient. Tired of waiting but understanding. Absolutely fucking shameful and proud, but eager to be good—so maybe he was wrong about you. You do have an “it”: an innate ability to be the perfect fucktoy.

When he lets you go, he immediately instructs you to get on your knees. And you listen immediately. The cold gravel digs into your bare knees and it's incredibly uncomfortable, yet you don’t utter a word. Your nipples are hard and pebbled and are probably so sensitive, yet you say nothing. You only sit before him, fingers dancing on the exposed thigh as you look up at him, waiting to be put to use.

So he slaps you. As you told him to—he slaps you, and his hand is heavy coming against your skin. It sounds off for what felt like possibly hundreds of miles, and your face doesn’t sting, but it hurts. The skin is heating up from the impact and your head turns to the side, hair falling against your face, yet you don’t utter a word. He grabs the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and dangerously smiling when your teary eyes look up at him wide and thankfully. “Pull my cock out,” he instructs, letting you go and standing up straight.

You get to work on his belt, undoing it swiftly, and then you unbutton his pants. You tease yourself: slowly pulling the zipper down, and when pulling his pants down to his ankles, you palm him softly, gently patting his throbbing cock and staring at the growing wet spot in his underwear. You kiss the wet spot, and then you kiss it again, and again until you suck lightly on it while making eye contact with him. You moan at the very faint taste, fluttering your eyes shut, and finally sliding your hand under the band of his underwear, holding his dick.

Blade hisses at your touch, bucking slightly into your hold at the initial contact. Usually, he’d curse you out at this point for going so slow, but he’s letting it slide this time; allowing you to take control and show him how worth it and nasty you really are.

He’s big. He’s thick—your hand can just barely wrap around the entire shaft, and as you lift him to unsheath him from his boxers, you feel how heavy he is. And hard. So fucking hard.

You gawk at his cock like a kid in a candy store, staring at his leaking slit intensely—almost as if you're waiting. “Go ahead; show me how big of a fan you are.”

You kiss his tip, the bead of precum smearing on your lips. Smacking your lips apart suggestively, you wrap your right hand around the base, applying tightness and pressure as you find the right grip, and when you do, you finally lick a clean stripe across the head. Your tongue sweeps up the new milky droplet spilling out, and you contently hum at the taste, making him groan in response. You lick from the angry tip all the way to his trimmed base, then back up again until you’ve teased every side of him and located his sensitive vein.

If anybody would have told you that all you dreamed about would be coming to fruition—all by mere luck and chance—you wouldn’t believe it. And you still don't; even as you spit a thick bead of your saliva on his cock and then massage it in with your tongue, swirling all around the sensitive head. But it’s real because he moans out for you as you finally take him in, the throb getting heavier as he sits on your tongue and your lips hug him tight.

You begin your ministrations: toying with his balls lightly as you bob up and down, going as far as you could. You tried your best to take him all in. You stretched your mouth wide around him until it felt like your mouth was going to rip at the corners and until it felt like all you could do was sputter and leak drool around him. Tears brimmed in your eyes and each time you blinked them back, keeping a pretty smile on your face every time you came up for air. Your lipgloss was mixed in with spit, and clear tear streaks had already begun to run their course with your base makeup, but you didn't stop. You were moaning incessantly, suffocating his dick in your intense vibrations that had him moaning and grunting.

When you come up from your nth deepthroat attempt, it's not for air, but to breathlessly huff out “Fuck my face…please,” And since you asked so nicely…

“Blink twice if it gets to be too much.” You open your mouth as wide as you could, sticking your tongue out. He pulls your hair back for you, yanking your head back and spitting on your tongue. His eyes tell you not to move, so you don’t, keeping eye contact with him as he wraps his other hand around your own, guiding your smaller hands up and down his shaft. He shudders, “F-fuck…’m so fuckin’ hard…”

And then he slides onto your tongue, not wasting any time before bottoming out in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, and your unprepared gags speak volumes to your shock. But that doesn't deter you from wrapping your lips around him. And from there, he pulls out, pulling your head back and then pushing you back down as he thrusts his hips forward. He curses under his breath before picking up his pace, thrusting so hard that his grip tightens on your hair to hold you properly in place, fucking roughly into your face. You can only choke and sputter, having already taken your hands from around his dick and digging crescent nail shapes into his thighs. The sounds eliciting from the two of you are so nasty and filthy. His balls slap at your chin, your voice rings out from around his girth, and his moans echo around the world. You can’t take it but you’re doing a great job of trying. He slaps your face again, pulling out and hitting his tip on your tongue. “Keep your fucking eyes on me,”

“If you can do that, I'll cum all down your throat and all over your pretty fucking face, okay?” You nod eagerly, and as an incredibly degrading action of praise and acceptance, he slaps his spit-slicked dick against your cheek a few times. “Good girl.” Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his praise.

When Blade slides in, he smacks against your face. He goes to the very hilt, pushing his way to the depths of your throat roughly. Your nose is pressed up against his pelvis, and your cheeks are catching stray tears. But this is consistent as he begins thrusting, using you per your request. He grunts out each time his tip hits the back of your throat, thrusting so roughly and meanly into you. Again, you feel like all you can do is choke and gag, spilling slobber and precum mix back down his length. It’s fucking filthy and the loud squelching and impact noises hit your ears nastily, yet you can’t help but squirm and attempt to grind for friction to subdue the need throbbing in your clit.

Above you, the man is falling apart. His hips stutter every now and then and his voice is fucking endless. His long hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and sides of his neck, and it looks damn near intentionally placed from how beautiful he looks. The outdoor lights are like distant illuminators; glowing behind him softly—almost angelically. His eyebrows are knitted together and he struggles to keep his eyes every time he reaches the back of your throat and you start gagging. It’s beyond pleasurable. Blade isn't sure if it’s because of all the tension the two of you have built up, or if it's because he hasn't had any action in the last 3 weeks because of his neverending schedule, or if it’s because your mouth is fucking amazing, but he can't keep himself together. His chest starts heaving faster as he comes close to his high, his knees beginning to buckle, and his stomach caving.

You flick your tongue on the underside of his cock as much as you can and glue your eyes to his, seeing his release breaking him down inch by inch. “Fuck! I'm gonna fucking cum!” He announces, throwing his head back.

He stills in your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck harshly on his tip, swirling your tongue around it like it’s the sweetest lolly you’ve ever tasted. He pulls out of your mouth, and you vigorously stroke his cock, so focused and determined to milk him dry. He leans forward, slapping his palm against the wall behind you for stability as he cums. He moans so prettily as he paints your face, the warm ropes making you hum contently. You give him no break, sucking his tip one last time to make sure you get the most out of what he’s given you.

Blade catches his breath, standing up straight soon after and condescendingly cooing at the mess made on your face. He picks up a glob as he sweeps his thumb over your cheek, sliding the digit in your mouth. He presses on your tongue, finding pleasure in how you swallow your sounds under a layer of gagging, but how you never tear your eyes off of him. He does this until you’ve cleaned off your face—but he's not done with you.

You're finally allowed off of your aching knees. You're sure the gravel will leave an indent from how long you were down there. He pinches your pebbled nipples, smirking as you yelp. “What was it that was next? Making you beg..making you earn my cock in you?” you nod rapidly, backing into the wall for stability as he toys with your very sensitive tits. “Show me how you beg then.”

You put your hands on his shoulders to help you stand up, feeling so weak all of a sudden. Your voice cracks as you try to speak, meek little whimpers flowing out as he works your body expertly—like he knows what gets you going. “Please…fuck–Please fuck me, I need you so bad…!”

A shrill yelp is chased out of your throat when his palm cracks against one of your boobs, “Is that all you got? Try again.”

So you do. “Need you to fuck me, Blade. I wanna be used by you, broken–please, I'll do anything!”

“Not good enough. Again.”

“Please fuck me like the slut I am! I need to be full of you, need to have you fuck me ragged and dumb so all I think of is you!” you pitch up your voice, breathing it all out in one breath.

Pitiful. Another smack. “Again.”

“I'm so needy for you, please! It hurts–I need you so much, it hurts! Please…”

And he's heard enough. His right hand slides up to your neck, forcing you against the wall. His grip is tight, fingers pressing into the sides and you have to fight for your eyes to not roll to the back of your head. “You must not want me as bad as you acted like you did…”

“I do! I do!” You interject, but your voice is weak and small—nothing in comparison to his deep and lust-saturated tone. “Then act like you do. Beg.”

He runs his other hand up your thigh, cupping your cunt. Your panties are soaked, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. He pushes the fabric to the side, running two fingers through your folds and you swear you almost fell out then and there. You'd gone teased and untouched all night—you were beyond ready.

“Pussy is fucking soaked…” he mumbles, letting his index and middle finger twirl through your folds, getting closer and closer to your clit. “You want me here? To fuck your sloppy pussy until you're cumming your brains out?”

Your eyes start to roll and he can feel the pulse intensify in your cunt. That's exactly what you wanted. “Say it. Say ‘I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade’. Say it,”

You part your lips, and he slightly loosens the grip on your throat, “Wan–want…I want my sloppy pussy…” You get shy with your words, and he delivers a slap to your clit. The stimulation has you buckling over. You feel like his hands on you are going to be the death of you. “Say it.”

With the courage finally built up, “I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade! Please, I need it s’bad…feel like I'm gonna fucking die!” leaves your lips easily like spreading butter on toast. His lips that you never got enough of tasting quirk up into his signature smirk. He lets you go, pushing you against the wooden crates and flipping up your jean skirt.

“There you go; atta-fucking-girl.” he practically rips your panties off of you, slapping your pussy just for the hell of it. He cringes at the sound it makes and laughs cruelly at your whimpering. He presses up against you, his semi-hard dick pressed against your ass, and he wraps his arm around you and shows you the coat of your arousal that paints his fingers. “Spit.”

With your spit and abundance of slick collected on his fingers, Blade strokes his cock, going until he’s near painfully hard. The sounds he elicits make your pussy clench around nothing, needing to be satiated so desperately. “Are you ready? There’s no going back.”

This is somehow the sweetest moment for you. Your heart swells and you can only sheepishly nod, wiggling your hips eagerly. “Never been more sure about anything in my life. Ruin me.”

Ask once more, and you shall receive once more. His cock is swiped through your folds and collects a considerable amount of your arousal. He lines up at your entrance, watching you brace yourself with a smile ingrained into his face. He pushes in with a sharp inhale, biting his tongue at the feel of your tightness. Your pussy sucks him right in and—fuck. Warm and soft and tight, he could cum right now.

Your face crinkles up and you grip tightly onto the wooden crates in front of you. You’ve dreamt of this for so long—touched yourself at night to the thought and it's finally happening. He's inside of you, stretching you out, sinking in and in and in, inch by inch until he buries himself deep in your guts, until his tight and heavy balls are touching your folds. You're so sensitive you feel like you're ready to cream already, and you need it, need him, and need more. You grind your hips back on him, exhaling thickly as you rest your head against your forearm. “So fucking ready for me…”

His hand cracks down on your ass. It hurts so well and you wince, arching your back further. He sighs, kneading your skin softly. Then he pulls out, inching out until only the tip sits idly in you. You turn around to look at him, and doing that ignites his fire.

Your face is pathetic and fucked out already. Eyebrows knitted together and your eyes heavy, hardly staying open. Your lips are parted yet folded into a small frown, and perspiration rests at your hairline. You egg him on to slam into you, and he watches your frown drop into a wide ‘o’ shape, your eyes fluttering. So he does it again. And your lip now slips between your teeth. And again. And you drop your head back onto your arms.

And so Blade keeps up this pace, gradually going faster as the pit in his stomach urges him to do so. Your sounds are now uncontrollable—they fly out of you like a skipping record, incoherent babbles, and sinful moans. Each collision of your bodies elicits a visceral, wet slap that echoes off the walls of the alleyway. People around the world could probably hear what you're doing, and you're not sure if that bothers you…if the thought of a curious passerby walking down this alley naïvely would be an issue. If anything, it makes you get louder, your throat not getting to rest.

He hits you again, groaning when your pussy clenches around him. “You’re so fucking loud– you want somebody to find us?” Yes, that is what you want to say. But you moan out louder, shaking your head no. He hits you again. “Don’t lie to me,”

“You’re a fucking painslut,” he spits at you. He wraps his arm to reach your clit, immediately finding the bud and pinching it. Your knees go weak and he stabilizes you against him by pushing you further into the crates in front of you. You sniffle and whimper, presumably spilling tears down your filthy fucking face but doing nothing but asking for more. You've gotten so wet, dripping everywhere messily and Blade only cringes his face up with each wet collision. You're so nasty, so filthy, letting a stranger who you parasocial bonded yourself to defile you in public. He's feeding into your crazed delusions, but he’d honestly rather be doing nothing else. When he pinches your clit again your body shakes. Your knees buckle again and from the waist up you're basically limp. He feels you tighten around him and he sucks his teeth, parting your ass to peer at the milky ring forming around the base of his cock. “Did you just fucking cum?” Yes, you did. And you felt like Heaven doing it.

“You came ‘cause I pinched your clit…” he does it again and you jolt up, whining for him to stop. “So if I slap it…” he slaps it, eyeing you for your reaction. “Or rub on it like I love you…” his fingers run circles on your bud, feeling you get impossibly tighter around him. “So fucking easy.”

He resumes his thrusts like he never stopped—slamming into you unapologetically and now additionally, rubbing on your cute, abused clit. He's not going to last long at this rate. Your pussy gushes around him like a running river and the noises have gotten even nastier. Squelching and the occasional puffs of air escaping…you’re a mess.

“Love this fucking cunt,” he praises while pinching your clit. His free hand that rested on the small of your back is now holding onto your neck, forcing you to stand upright against him. Blade is lean but muscular. His arms flex and you feel his abs every time your bodies get close enough. His strong thighs touch yours and it's like you feel his entire body weight every time he pushes into you. “So good, ‘s so fucking good, Blade!”

The man laughs at your outburst. He angles his hips differently, trying so hard to find your sweet spot to get you creaming again. “Yeah?” he asks, tightening his grip on your throat. “Mhm-!” you concur.

“Where?” He’s sure he's found it, and he drives his hips up, groaning happily once he feels your gummy walls contract around him. “Here?”

Your head nods rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes–fuck! Right there, oh my fucking God!”

Neither of you are going to last. Blade’s balls are so tight and the way your pussy hugs him is even tighter. You suck him in like you never want him to leave, but your over-stimulated squeals and shaking thighs suggest otherwise. He’s found your sweet spot and is recklessly abusing it, going all or nothing. The way he toyed with your clit like a kitten pawing at a toy was too much—it started to hurt, to throb endlessly as your stomach knotted and your hole drooled. His grip on your neck was the icing on the cake. You felt like you could no longer breathe — like his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you and him choking you was keeping it out. Every little thing he did pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He was even more merciless than before. Blade fucked into you harder, rougher, and faster than before, and you chalked that up to his orgasm catching up to him. You listen to his songs on repeat all the time but never have you heard him sing more beautifully than now as he digs your pussy out. You were really blessed with this night, and now it is coming to a very eventful end.

“‘M gonna fucking cum–!” You announce, and Blade nods his head in agreement. He slaps your cunt one last time, his fingers covered in your juices now tweaking at one of your nipples. “Me…me too, fuck.”

He leans into your ear, “Make me cum in this fucking pussy,” a throaty moan breaks his sentence, and you moan back, feeling it coming. “So close, so close…!”

It's this contraction that has Blade falling apart. He thrusts into you one last time, his eyes shooting wide open as he cums deep in you. He moans gutturally and shakily, feeling you clench tighter as you orgasm as well. His hips stutter in you and your hips ride back onto him as you both come down from your highs. The alley is now deafeningly silent and you flush in embarrassment from how loud you must have been. He lets your neck and tit go, using one hand to now spread your ass and pull out his cock. Your pussy is puffy and shiny, and when he’s out, he watches with a burning gaze as your mixture of cum starts to slightly spill out.

He groans, slapping your ass one last time. You two finally separate, and you turn around to look at him. You're sure he doesn't look as fucked up as you do, but even so disheveled and fucked out and sweaty as he is, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter. He pulls up his boxers and pants, fixing his shirt before he looks over at your mostly naked frame. He comes over to you, pulling down your skirt, and his doing this makes you feel less like a one-night stand, and more like one of his girls.

Being so close to you, he breathes you in. You smell like sex, but beneath that is a layer of whatever fruity perfume you sprayed on you, and it's delectable; so he kisses you. It's something he doesn't usually do, and he wouldn't have done it for you, but you entrance him. Perhaps it's because you're what he likes— he's met his match.

But you kiss each other passionately like you were trying to reignite the flame you just spent God knows how long fucking out. Your tongues are well acquainted with one another, swirling and bumping and riding past one another knowingly. He pulls away from you, looking in your eyes as he lets spit fall onto your tongue once again. You smile happily as you swallow it—God, you could do this forever. “Come back with me,”

You didn't expect him to say that. You blink your eyes a few times in disbelief. This night can't be any more unreal. He notices your confusion and smiles, “Is that a no–”

“–No! I'll come with you!” you don't know where he’s taking you, or what it means to go with him. You do know that you’ll have a lot to tell Yukong, NDA or not, and that you’ll never forget this day.

Smiling again, this time devilishly, Blade pulls away from you, pinching your cheek. “Good girl.”

#honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai x reader #blade honkai #honkai smut #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr smut #hsr blade #blade smut #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x reader smut #minors & ageless blogs do not interact.#hsr blade smut #hsr ren

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miles-harding · 6 months ago

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much appreciation for the amazing show of love i've seen for electric dreams in the past year alone but i think it's worth remembering that the characterization of edgar as a 'devil character' is deeply nuanced, even for a cult-classic theatrical flop like electric dreams (1984). the story is literally based on cyrano de bergerac (man who is very romantic falling head over heels for a woman he thinks is unattainable to him and a more-attractive middleman uses his words so that the woman won't hate or fear him because he thinks he's hideous, which is sort of hilariously way more depth than a film of this caliber even really needs, but it does possess, and that elevates it significantly as a romance film tbh... imo)...

the 'edgar with devil horns' representation for the usamerican theatrical release film poster is like a 'sexy' version of that lmao... like, it's supposed to be promiscuous, there are promotions including old vhs sleeves that literally say 'edgar is horny'. he's cheeky and throws tantrums and he doesn't really know how to talk to people. he's only a 'devil' in the way that a kitty cat is a devil... just so happens, in this case, it's a brat-coded sentient computer.

i honestly don't know why very basic things like this make people so irrationally upset but like. please... no one said edgar is evil. edgar is one of the few cases of a sentient AI or object character who does a bunch of mischief screwing with a human's life and relationships and it's all fine in the end because the sentient AI gets to live (in almost a higher form of existence unrestrained by physicality... remember how badly edgar just wanted to be a thing that feels? now edgar can do whatever edgar wants, despite not having a physical form, actually getting to live out the liberating side of not having a physical for) and the other two protagonists of course live, and they have a life afterward.

with other media like wargames, we of course have an innocent (somewhat) sentient computer who genuinely might cause the nuclear apocalypse, because he thought he was playing toys with his dad. but in the end, after the protagonists live their lives, joshua the wopr is still property of the military. in the colossus series, which is a subversion of frankenstein, the creator dr. forbin eventually does come to love colossus like a child, only for that child to then die, the world sort of absolving it of its past transgressions or mistakes against humans while ruling over them. we call AM evil, for the cruel and unusual things he does to his human playthings, but the case can still be made about a very powerful being having so much power but not the power to lift themself out of the situation in which they are trapped (same can be said for other AI like shodan or glados), so they lash out. of course, famously, everyone calls hal 9000 evil. but even in kubrick's adaptation, which was written in party by sir clarke himself, we actually see zero evidence of hal being characterized as evil, this characterization manifested in the perceptions of the audience, siding solely with scared astronauts who fear being controlled, rather than recognizing that hal, too, is a crew member being controlled... by humans, who are also using him to control his crewmates, his friends.

electric dreams really is a fairytale for computers, but it is also a tragedy. it's the fairytale-ification of an actual, classical tragedy. when rusty lemorande wrote the screenplay, he was basing a lot of the film's socio-computer-centric story on his experiences as a lonely person who had just moved to a new city, but who had only ever spent time with the computer as a vehicle for social communication... shutting himself out from the possibilities of meeting others. but even despite this, despite madeline's quips that could be misconstrued as being less than sympathetic to the idea of a sentient AI ("since when is talking a sign of intelligence?"), the film was literally dedicated to the univac-1? it gave edgar a happy ending? it had a dual meaning? it did so much more than take the "AI character bad, human good" approach which is something that is strikingly rare in the AI-subgenre of scifi. there was a lot of nuance baked into it. all 3 protagonists had their own bubble and inner world that overlapped with each other's bubbles. you know what i mean? the film managed to define edgar not as an antagonist but as a kind of trapped protagonist. this isn't a good vs. evil story, there is no evil in edgar. this is a people vs. people story about relationships, really, and learning to know what's good for us. like it's seriously very well-rounded with each character's respective arcs.

sometimes it's so disheartening not to see films these days with the same or larger budgets doing even half as much with their story as electric dreams did. it's very widely beloved as a cult classic for a reason, and that reason is that it succeeded at executing a story about relationships. like. 'we drive each other crazy' but in different ways. perhaps the only thing that could've made it better was a far more ambitious electric-polycule ending endorsing bisexual polyamory lol but we got all but that, explicitly, technically...

#fun fact: lenny von dohlen himself actually stated in an interview (it's on youtube) that he hated the american poster #because it showed the cartoon edgar only #he liked the european posters that had all 3 of them (horizontal orientation)#lenny von dohlen as an electric polycule truther was REAL #electric dreams #dairy.txt

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garfield-mug · 1 year ago

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Ain't Doin' Right (jake seresin x vet tech!OC)

Content Warnings: descriptions of blood and violence, dog attack, panic attack, symptoms of PTSD

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: well, here's everyone's introduction to the jake and junebug universe! hope you like it and hope it's decent. i haven't written a fic in a really long time. i was suuuper rusty. i originally planned something different (along the lines of how these two met), but it wasn't working out and i had to get something out, so i literally powered through this. give a reblog or comment if you liked this one. - E

Having spent fifteen years as a veterinary technician, June was accustomed to hospitals of all kinds. Private practice, general practice, corporate, emergency, wildlife, specialty, and beyond. She was even familiar (and perhaps unfortunately so) with hospitals meant for humans. When you work with animals, injuries are bound to happen. Most could be avoided, usually happening to those with less experience. Alas, accidents happen, even to those who have been in the game longer than most. And June was in the game.

In a field with an incredibly high turnover rate, she’d managed to hang on. It hadn’t been easy. There were a lot of times (and still a few now) where she had seriously contemplated throwing in the towel, but she was nothing if not spiteful. And persistent. And an unabashed optimist at heart (although she fronts as more of a realist). No one and nothing could kill the hope that the veterinary field could become better, and no one could take away the work she’d put in to make it so. Despite her hope and optimism, neither of those things could protect her from having a bad day. And this was a very bad day. Not the worst she’s ever had personally or professionally, but it’s definitely up there. After a lot of futile arguing, June finally conceded to being driven to the emergency room by one of her coworkers (and kind of friend), Sophia. After filling out the incident report form and informing the unfortunate owner of the dog (which June did not do herself), she got into the passenger seat of Sophia’s car.

Her left arm was haphazardly bandaged with some gauze squares, cast padding, and vet wrap (it was pink with purple hearts) after being cleaned up. She was hoping she wouldn’t bleed through the bandage before they got to the hospital, but her hopes weren’t high. Her forearm was littered with deep puncture wounds and two deep lacerations ran up and around the inside toward her elbow. Thankfully, the dog had decided to let go. Otherwise, it would have been much worse. There wasn’t too much blood on her scrubs, miraculously. Holding her arm out away from her body helped with that. June wasn’t feeling the pain of her wounds either, still riding on that burst of adrenaline from almost losing her arm to a massive dog. She was also distracted by the anger she felt the moment it happened and now. It would linger. It always does when accidents like these happen because of the negligence (or ignorance) of someone else. Then, she’ll feel bad for feeling angry because it really wasn’t the assistant’s fault, they’re brand new and still learning. Finally, she’ll be angry with herself for not being more careful and having someone more experienced help her with her task, but you can only do so much when you’re understaffed. FINALLY, finally, she’ll be angry with management and the industry as a whole for even creating circumstances in which to be understaffed.

June is so lost in her thoughts and emotions that she doesn’t hear Sophia’s question.

“June!”

“Hm?”

“I asked if you wanted me to call Jake.”

And then there was Jake. Sweet, caring, protective (maybe to a fault) Jake. The charming, witty, cocky (ahem: confident) man that had somehow wormed his way under her skin and into her heart. They’d been together long enough at this point, about two years. Jake was at work, too, fitting into his instructor position at TOPGUN nicely. He loved being able to teach the new classes of the world’s best fighter pilots, sure, but he equally loved getting to show off just how good he was in the air. He would readily admit the second reason, the first one only June and Javy knew about. Everyone else could figure it out if they thought about it, but Jake would never admit to going soft. He really did love teaching.

June would eventually call him; it was only fair. He was her partner after all. She just didn’t like worrying him, especially when she knew it would affect his performance and ability to be at work. She knew her job was important, but his was, too. She would never forgive herself if he made a mistake in the air because he was distracted thinking about her. Jake thinks about her all the time, whether she’s in the hospital or not. She’s always on his mind the same was he’s always on hers.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to. I’ll call him once we’re actually in a room.”

“That could take hours.” Sophia glances at June with a deadpan expression.

“It’ll be sooner since I’ll most likely be bleeding all over their waiting room.” June looks to the bandage on her arm. She can’t see the blood yet, but she can feel that it hasn’t stopped flowing. Slowed, maybe, but definitely not stopped.

“Well, we’re almost there so hopefully you’re right.”

Sophia pulls the car into the parking lot of the hospital, and they make their way inside.

Fifteen minutes later, June and Sophia are led to a bed in the ER. A nurse came over for intake procedures and to assess the damage up close. A brief flash of panic crosses the nurse’s face as she looks down at June’s arm. She must be new, June thinks. June thinks back to when she first started as a tech, working in emergency. She remembers learning how to field her emotions and control her facial expressions. That kind of skill only comes with practice and unfortunately, that practice usually involves seeing and experiencing incredibly fucked up shit.

“On a scale from one to ten, where would you say your level of pain is?” The nurse doesn’t look panicked anymore, but still seems uneasy.

“Probably about a five.”

“A five?”

“Yep.” The nurse types up some notes on her computer.

“Alright, I’ll see about getting you something for the pain.” As she steps out of the room, Sophia turns to June.

“You are being remarkably calm about this whole thing. I don’t think I’d be nearly as lucid, and I’d definitely be crying.”

June shrugs.

“I’ve been through worse. And I’m also really good at compartmentalizing. Plus, I’m still kind of riding on the adrenaline, so I’m sure everything will catch up with me.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” Sophia shakes her head and checks her phone. June sighs.

“Practice.” She falls back against the hard mattress and crisp sheets of the hospital bed.

It was another twenty minutes before her nurse came back with some ibuprofen and then ten before June saw a doctor. Safe to say, she was feeling the pain now and was really looking forward to going home. She needed stitches for the longer lacerations, to no one’s surprise.

“How’d this happen?” The doctor seemed nice enough, gently taking June’s arm into her gloved hands.

“Bit by a dog at work, was up to date on rabies vaccinations and so am I.”

“You work in a vet’s office?”

“Sure do,” The doctor nods in response.

“Not the worst I’ve seen, but still pretty bad. Definitely gonna need stiches for these long ones here. Other than that, we’ll get you cleaned up and on an antibiotic.” The doctor gets up and starts getting her supplies ready, stepping away.

“Hey, Soph?”

Sophia looks up from her phone.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind calling Jake for me?” June pulls up his contact on her phone.

“Sure thing,” Sophia takes the device and steps out of the room as the doctor reenters.

“Alright, since we’re doing sutures, I’m gonna apply some lidocaine gel so you don’t feel anything, but first we’re gonna clean these up.”

“Sounds good.” It really did sound good. The ibuprofen was not cutting it anymore and feeling the cut and pull of sutures being placed didn’t sound too appealing. June winces slightly at the first feeling of the saline being flushed into her wounds. It’s a bit cold and uncomfortable, but ultimately bearable. She grits her teeth and muscles through it. After all her wounds have been thoroughly irrigated, the doctor applies the gel and lets it set for a few minutes while she readies her sterile gloves and suture. Sophia enters the room and sets June’s phone by her scrub jacket.

“He’s on his way.”

“Thanks, Soph.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sophia sits back down in the chair next to the bed.

“You can go, if you want.” June looks to Sophia as the doctor asks if she’s ready. June nods, Sophia shakes her head.

“I’ll stay until he gets here, don’t want to leave you alone.”

“Okay then.”

The doctor is halfway through closing the second laceration when they all hear heavy footsteps approaching the room. Throwing back the curtain, Jake stands, still in his flight suit, armed with a very concerned expression. He looks at June’s face, then to her arm. His eyes widen, brow furrowing as he brings a hand to rub over his mouth. June can’t help but smile a little.

“Hey,” Her voice is small. Jake walks over to her, squatting down in front of her, so as not to get in the way of the doctor, who is diligently working on suturing the wound closed. He places a hand on her knee. Sophia uses this opportunity to take her leave, giving them both a small wave before heading out.

“Junebug, what happened?” His eyes search her face.

“I trusted a coworker to be good at their job?”

“Junebug,” Jake sighs and closes his eyes.

“Sorry, bad joke,” June looks away for a brief moment, placing her hand over Jake’s.

“Got shredded at work.”

“I can see that. How you feelin’?”

“Been better, but I’ve also been worse.”

It was true, June had been in much worse situations, but that didn’t necessarily take the edge off. What happened today shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and now she has to suffer the consequences. Which hurt like a bitch.

June reaches down with her good arm to cup Jake’s cheek, softly rubbing her thumb over the soft skin. He leans into her touch, grabbing onto her wrist to keep her there. The doctor pipes up, finally finished.

“Alright, looking good. We’ll have your meds ready in a few minutes and then you’ll be good to go.” She stands up, removes her gloves, and leaves the room.

After collecting her antibiotics and filling out some discharge paperwork, June and Jake are on their way home. It’s still quiet between the two. Jake knows she’s exhausted and frustrated, so he doesn’t press with questions. He knows she’ll come to him when she’s ready and he’s learned to be patient. The drive back to the house is uneventful. After getting the door for June and positively too much fretting on the short, short walk from the car to the front door, Jake declares that he’ll take the dogs out so June can shower.

June is incredibly grateful for Jake every day, but particularly on days like today where she just needs help. He would take over dog care duty while she got herself cleaned up and rested. He’d probably order takeout from her favorite place for dinner, knowing it would help her feel better and just be less work. She was looking forward to her shower and stripping off her scrubs. Washing the workday away had become a ritual, especially for days like today. She managed to get undressed fine, only wincing once when the sleeve from her scrub top rubbed a bit too hard down her arm. She steps into the steaming spray and just stands there, staring at the tiled wall ahead of her. She’s not sure how long she stays like that, only that it must’ve been long enough for Jake to have come back from his walk since he was knocking on the door.

“Junebug? You doin’ alright in there?”

June comes back to her senses, rubbing her hands over her face. She groans slightly as she realizes she hasn’t even cleaned up yet.

“Yeah, I’m okay, honey. It’ll be a few minutes.” She hopes this answer will placate him for now, trying to reel herself in when the adrenaline dump takes full hold, and her brain finally catches up to what her body was put through.

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ll get started on dinner.” He goes back downstairs to the kitchen to rummage through the stack of takeout menus they’ve accumulated over the years.

“Shit,” June mutters to herself, feeling the tears start to build behind her eyes. She makes quick work of the rest of the shower. The thick, steamy air quickly becomes suffocating. She tries to regulate her breathing as she dries off. It doesn’t work. She grabs onto the edge of the counter to try and steady herself, taking deep breaths in and out. The event from today replays in her head on repeat, each time seeming more real than the last. She thinks about how she could’ve broken or even lost her arm had the dog not decided to let go when it did. She presses her towel to her face and takes a gasping breath. Holy shit she could’ve lost an arm today.

“Jesus Christ,” June exits the bathroom and throws on whatever comfy clothes she can find. If she’s gonna give into the panic, might as well make it soft and snuggly. She goes downstairs in a daze, seeking out the only one that could ground her in times like these. He’s sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone.

“Did the boys have their dinner?” Jake startles where he sits, turning to look at his girlfriend. He’s on his feet immediately once he hears her strangled tone and sees her tight expression.

“Baby?” He gently places his hands on either side of her face.

“Did you feed the boys?”

“Yep, walked, fed, and ready for bed.” June nods, eyes wild.

“Good, that’s— that’s good.” She reaches her hands up to grasp Jake’s wrists, desperately trying to bring herself back down to earth. Jake gently swipes at the tears that begin to fall down her cheeks. June is looking forward, right at Jake, but it’s like she doesn’t even see him. He feels like she’s looking through him.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He tries to catch her eyes with his.

“I almost—” Deep breath. “I almost lost an arm today… I mean, I know I didn’t, but I could’ve. If that dog hadn’t let go when it did, Jake, I would’ve lost my arm.”

June looks at him then, actually at him, not like she’s a thousand miles away. Her breathing is ragged, chest heaving at capacity, yet feels so tight. Her eyes are wide and glistening with tears, hands around Jake’s wrists, knuckles turning white. It stuns Jake for a second, not used to seeing his girl in such a blind panic. For a split second, he wants to panic, too. Seeing someone you love in so much pain isn’t easy, but he has to keep it together. He needs to keep her grounded.

“But you didn’t lose an arm, baby. It’s right here.” Jake gently pries her hands from his wrists so he can use his hands to touch her arms, gently rubbing up and down.

“See? They’re both here, both intact.” He’s looking into her eyes, pleading for her to register the feeling of his touch.

“They’re here. I didn’t—I didn’t lose an arm.”

“You didn’t lose an arm, baby. No use wasting your energy on what-ifs. You’re here, all of you.” Jake moves his hands up her arms, to her shoulders, and gently pulls her into him. She doesn’t immediately reciprocate.

“Junebug, you’re okay. You’re home, you’re safe.”

“I’m home, I’m safe.” Jake presses a kiss to the crown of her head and she slowly starts to wrap her arms around him. He rubs her back as she comes back to herself, a new wave of tears soaking into his shirt. His heart breaks a little more with every sad whimper and cry. Trying to keep himself together is exceedingly difficult.

“Let’s go sit down, hm?” Jake waits for a response. June sniffles and nods. He scoops her up off the floor to go sit down on the sofa, where she curls further into him. He continues to rub her back as her cries finally settle to the occasional sniffle and her breathing matches his.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright…Do you wanna order pizza?”

“From Linetti’s?” Jake smiles through a small chuckle.

“Yeah, from Linetti’s.”

June wipes at her nose and nods. Jake reaches for his phone on the coffee table.

“Jake?” June looks up at his face.

“Hm?”

“I love you.” Jake looks at June, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I love you too, Junebug.”

#jake seresin #tgm #tgm fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin x oc #top gun: maverick #e writes

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littlecharmingenvy · 1 year ago

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Belphie Headcannons

This is the first thing I've written for a fandom in literal YEARS so forgive me if I'm a little rusty- but anyways belphie headcannons!

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), mentions of lesson 16, belphie being a little shit

~SFW~

<3- Steals your clothes to put them on his pillows to sleep with. Doesn't matter if you're in a relationship or not, as soon as he gets comfortable with you, say goodbye to your comfy sweatshirts

<3- Very clingy. Thinks he's being slick ab it (he's not) always finding excuses as to why he ended up right where you are, totallyyy a coincidence. Brushing your teeth? That's crazy, so is he. Getting up for a midnight snack? Suddenly he's wide awake. For a yandere, he's got an awful lot of tsundere habits

<3- If he knows you'll be busy with plans with someone else -especially one of his brothers- he just so happens to fall asleep directly on your lap and just won't wake up. Oh, you weren't able to make it? That's ok, you can just nap with him instead :)

<3- ^^^ only gets away with this because he's the youngest. He knows his siblings can't bring themselves to be as mad at him as they should when he brings out the puppy eyes and he uses that to his full advantage

<3- Speaking of the puppy eyes, no one's safe except for MC. Bonus points if they're an oldest sibling who's used to it from their own siblings, or are a youngest sibling themselves so they know what tf is up. The others don't know how they don't fall for it, and it frustrates Belphie as much as it entertains him

<3- Even tho he's fairly small for a demon, he still stands at about 6'2. He's the second shortest of his brothers, Asmo being the shortest.

<3- Still gets nightmares from when he killed MC. He always goes to them for comfort, but the guilt of it all eats him alive. He never tells them why he's upset, but MC has an idea

<3- This man wouldn't know a coping mechanism if it hit him in the face. Relies on Beel to process things and to comfort him, which Beel is happy to do. Belphie tries to return the favor when he can. He's awful at comforting people, but Beel finds his awkwardness with it strangely comforting

<3- overall this man is just a pisces (bitch) who is too tired to process things. but, he is sweet when he wants to be

~NSFW ~

<3- brat. Doesn't matter if hes domming or subbing, full fledged brat. Anything you want from him, you'll have to (figuratively) beat it out of him

<3- He's torn between preferring to dom or sub. On one hand, he loves the control domming gives him, as well as any chance he can get to break you. On the other hand, he doesn't have the energy to a lot of the time. Plus, it's nice to let himself get taken care of sometimes. doesn't mean you won't have to fight him to get him to sub tho

<3- Prefers receiving versus giving head. He doesn't mind giving, in fact he enjoys it, but boys just lazy :(

<3- Does enjoy when you sit on his face, especially since it's less work for him. Likes teasing you by making you keep eye contact, and will stop if you do.

<3- I've seen a lot of people say he would fall asleep during it, and as hilarious as that image is, I'm not sure if he would. Idk, I just feel like he'd be too into it to fall asleep. Might fall asleep while you give him head tho-

<3- in theory, he'd have some pretty out there kinks, but they normally stay confined to his fantasies, as he doesn't feel like putting the effort in to test them out and totally not because he's scared you'll think they're weird

<3- Overstim him!!! please!!! He'll stop his bratting real quick once he realizes you still aren't stopping after he's cum for the 3rd time-

<3- On the opposite end, if you want to see him cry, edge him. He can take being overstimulated like a champ, but with edging he'll break after 15 minutes if you're lucky

<3- adores cockwarming, and will often fall asleep while inside of you despite your protest. He just wants to be as close to you as he can get, especially after a hard day. How could you say no when he asks so nicely? :(

<3- not much aftercare from him. If you ask, he'll help you clean up, but otherwise he tells himself he'll deal with it when he wakes up. always regrets it when he wakes up tho

anyways hope y'all enjoy!!! live, laugh, lethargic-

#don't come at me for the pisces slander-#i'm a pisces too #obey me #obey me smut #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs #smut #obey me belphegor smut #obey me belphie #om! belphegor #belphegor x reader #om! belphie #otome

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laiqualaurelote · 6 months ago

Note

F for the fanfic ask game 😊 You're great at getting character's voices down!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Thank you! this is from Beard's section in the Lasso's Eleven chapter of they will see us waving from such great heists:

“Did you know that in Athens, they call the vehicles of mass transportation metaphorai?” he says to Ted on the District Line. “So we’re riding a metaphor now?” “Yeah. The train is a metaphor.” “I like that,” says Ted. “I find it moving.” They rattle on towards Kew Gardens. “It’s funny how they call it the Tube,” says Ted. He pronounces it as an exaggerated “choob”. “It’s because of the method of construction. The early lines were built using cut-and-cover, but after that they went deeper and started using tube tunnels.” “Tubes everywhere,” says Ted reflectively. “If you think about it, the human body is a tube.” “A torus. Topologically speaking.” “Pretty sure I’m a Libra.” “Torus, like a doughnut. We’re all doughnuts. Just long holes encased in flesh.” “Tubes on the Tube,” declares Ted. “Metaphorically and literally.” They get off at Richmond and walk to the green. “So what’s it to be?” Ted goes on. “Trick play?” “Kansas City Shuffle,” says Beard. “They look right, we go left.” “Old school. I like it.” Ted nods. “Think I might throw in a Lasso Special, spice things up a bit.” “You’re going to use the Lasso Special for this?” Beard eyeballs him. “You’ve been sitting on that one for years.” “I feel it’s time,” says Ted, stroking his moustache with relish, like the supervillain he totally isn’t. “Now or never, Andrew Lloyd Webber.” “Your call, chief.” They stop at the top of the ridge. “Gosh darn, but it is a pretty how town,” says Ted admiringly. “Kansas City bore me, Richmond and Kew undid me.” “Weialala, baby.” Beard peers into the distance. “They say you can see Windsor Castle from here.” “You know what Windsor Castle looks like?” Beard shrugs. “Think it’s kinda round on the top. You thought about crew?” “This is a big ‘un. We gotta have the basics - a Keanu, a Travolta, a Mick Taylor. I’m thinking a Charlie Bird, too. You want we should go for a Leo or a JLo?” “JLo. Keeps things fresh. Lasso Special needs a Tom Hardy.” “Add that to the list. Rebecca says she’s got a Denzel in mind. And we should get a Stath, to be on the safe side.” “Huh. Are we expecting trouble?” “We should,” says Ted. “Let’s hope trouble ain’t expecting us.” Beard counts on his fingers. “Plus us, that’s eleven.” Ted nudges him, jocular. “It’s like we’re a football team.”

This is probably the dialogue scene that went through the most number of rewrites in any of my fics - it is extremely difficult to nail the flavour of Ted and Beard's banter, and I went through several versions before I was satisfied. I wanted this to sound like the way Danny and Rusty communicate in Ocean's Eleven, but with Ted and Beard's particular brand of psychic entanglement.

This conversation contains three things I love: 1) Tube facts (I am very nerdy about the London Underground); 2) e e cummings and T. S. Eliot poem references (in a single line, too!); and 3) that trope in heist movies where they only refer to things by their codenames, which the audience has to work out themselves. This is the full code index (which I made up).

Keanu => The Matrix => hacker Travolta => Grease => greaseman Mick Taylor => Rolling Stones guitarist on Sticky Fingers => pickpocket Charlie Bird => saxophonist Charlie "Bird" Parker => blow => demolitions Leo => Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me If You Can => male grifter JLo => Jennifer Lopez in Hustlers => female grifter Tom Hardy => Eames in Inception => forger Denzel => Denzel Washington => Inside Man Stath => Jason Statham => hitter

Thank you for playing this fic ask game!

#procrasktination #ted lasso

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weakeninghope · 1 year ago

Text

Clean freak (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Joseph Joestar/Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli

Rating: Explicit

AO3 link here

Summary: So. Uh. Maybe Caesar Zeppeli wasn't that bothered by Joseph being a sweaty bastard. By smelling like a sweaty bastard. Not that Caesar had a habit of smelling people, but spending countless days sparring with someone else (a muscular guy) does certain things to you. And you do notice, for instance, that your sparring partner definitely doesn't dress in nice-smelling clothes, doesn't use cologne and/or rose-smelling lotion. But saying "ew Jojo, you smell gross don't get close to me" was both a nice pretense for upholding Caesar's clean freak reputation and way easier than admitting that he may have absolutely nothing against the mix of Joseph's corporal scent, his sweat and his cheap 3 in 1 shampoo + conditioner (what does he even need conditioner for?) + body wash.

Notes:

I'm!!!!! back!!!!!! I'm so sorry it's taken me literal years to upload the second chapter but life has been terrible these past years. Anyway, if anyone remembers this story, feel free to read the closing chapter, that I have not, by any means, written during my working hours because I was alone on the reception desk.

Come scream at me about Caejose or anything!! I'd love to talk to you gus. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter and the overall story, this was really self indulgent not gonna lie, the ending is a little bit off because I didn't know how to wrap everything up. But I'm so happy this is finally complete!!

Comments and kudos are much appreciated! Thank you for sticking (hehe) with me ♡♡♡♡

Twitter: @/Kashiikas

fic under the cut!

Caesar was a guy who really cared about cleanliness. He liked seeing his surroundings clean and gleaming. Of course, his personal hygiene was no exception. He’d had enough of living in dirty, abandoned and rusty places back in his hoodlum era. Whether wandering around the streets because he had nowhere to belong anymore or living somewhere where he couldn’t even take a decent shower was the worst that had happened to him, Caesar doesn’t know. What he does know is that since Master Lisa Lisa took him in and, despite the arduous training he had to endure, he had access to showering in human conditions, and that he felt as though the happiest man on Earth.

It seems though that apparently, he was the only one in that island excluding Master Lisa Lisa and Suzie Q who cared a little bit about hygiene and manners. Well, there were like, four people in the island, so ruling out these exceptions, there was only one person left who didn’t abide by Caesar’s morale.

Joseph Joestar.

Joseph freaking Joestar.

Caesar didn’t even know how to feel about that guy. Sure, their first encounter wasn’t how you start a friendship (or whatever it is that they… have going on) but at least the blonde considers that he’s gotten to know Joseph pretty well.

The first thing Caesar noticed about the other was his lack of any politeness, manners or, in overall, sense of dignity. That guy allowed himself to be outright goofy and undistinguished in front of other people, and didn’t seem to feel any remorse at that. In all honesty, a part deep inside of Caesar’s psyche was jealous of his ―apparently, yet again, that was his first impression― carefree personality. But maybe it was also because he was carefree that Caesar’s animosity towards that guy was so powerful at the beginning at least: as far as he was concerned, he was totally clueless in regards to his family background. Caesar’s fixation towards clean things wasn’t his most defining trait. It was definitely the pride he harbored towards his duty as a Zeppeli. Family was the most important thing to him; his father died sacrificing himself for him even though he didn’t recognize him as his son. And then his grandfather died protecting Jonathan Joestar.

The second thing Caesar noticed was that Joseph wasn’t dumb at all. He pretended to be dumb so the enemy would take him lightly. But deep inside he was a cunning bastard. His hamon may be weak, but he knew how to come up with a plan in the direst of circumstances. Technique against lack of restraint. Both were a great asset in battle and different perspectives aimed at the same goal. Caesar’s way of handling things has been proven effective (or at least since he began training under Master Lisa Lisa’s wing) but undoubtedly, merging his combat style with Joseph’s surpassed his expectations. At first he didn’t think he’d take it seriously, Joseph could just have defeated Santana by chance. But Caesar was proven wrong. During his first encounter with Wham, Joseph protected everyone. Not only that, but also showed a fighting spirit that made Caesar feel enamored by it. It was captivating. He could sense his will to fight. That was probably the turning point.

But the turning point for what exactly?

It was against all odds that Caesar could feel attracted to someone like this. But apparently, life was full of surprises.

The third thing he noticed about Joseph was…

Damn, even having to admit it to himself felt like too much of an ordeal.

Joseph Joestar was hot. Like, an annoying type of hot. Starting-to-affect-him-way-too-much to-keep-his-cool-and-composure-hot. There was no helping it anyway, Caesar could appreciate beautiful people. He had an eye for beauty. And apparently for hot studs. Equally Dumb and Hot studs. And Joseph fit right in. Not that Caesar’s physique paled in comparison to Joseph’s, but still. He had… a thing for muscular guys. Joseph did not disappoint. He always seemed to be proud of his “handsome face” (he was right) but his body? a whole other level. Admiring it from a far distance was already too much, but they were training together, after all. It didn’t help either that his comrade dressed in a likely way Caesar did. Those tight tops that he wore all the time did justice to his pecs. His abs. And well, he hadn’t seen the other in shorts but he feels like those legs could crush his head and he’d gla-

okay. Enough is enough.

Caesar’s horniness and attraction towards his companion wouldn’t have been an issue if he could… unload his sexual frustrations normally, but there were a few counterpoints. They had separate rooms, but Joseph liked loitering in his far more time than needed (thank god he had the mask on, had he been mask-less Caesar’s eyes would have lingered too much on his mouth) and, even at night, he could try jerking off, except for the fact that he couldn’t. One would expect that Lisa Lisa’s Mansion had top tier construction with amazing, sound-proof like walls.

That was not the case though.

The walls separating their rooms were paper thin. He could hear all the sounds coming from Joseph’s room. The music. His laugh when reading those absurd comics he liked. Every time he stumbled off bed and hit himself with random furniture because he was clumsy in the mornings. Overall, this was a nice routine and change of pace for Caesar. He was used to danger, to ugly noises, to the sound of people screaming, the sound of his fists hitting other hoodlums like himself. But hearing Joseph like that was almost homely in a newfound way. However, this had a downside. If he jerked off in his room and a moan escaped from his mouth even if he tried to stifle it with a pillow, Joseph would know.

Caesar was loud when it came to this kind of stuff. And Joseph seemed to be loud as well. He could almost hear those noises if he closed his eyes.

So the only choice left was the bathroom. They had to share that one, but, well, Joseph wasn’t one for long showers. He wasn’t one for showers, in general. Caesar had enough self-control, so he was able to avoid getting hard from having Joseph under him in training. He felt so pliant underneath him, the close contact, the sweat lingering in the air… everything made Caesar so dizzy he had to relax somehow. And since he had the classic clean freak reputation he took long showers everyday both to get rid of the sweat clinging to his body and the lust clouding his brain. Showers were a ritual for him anyway. He liked taking his time to get undressed, sensually undressed, as if someone, a specific someone, were looking at him through a hole on the wall he didn’t know was there. He took his sweet time during the actual showering process too. His golden locks didn’t look as soft and glittering just because; Caesar actively took care of them, massaging his scalp in slow, pleasant motions to make sure his shampoo was well spread. Same thing with his body. He wanted to look clean and smell nicely since he had a routine after all.

He had managed to keep his urges in control for a while, until he was basically on edge. Joseph had called him his Personal Hygiene Reminder because day after day he would tell the brunet to take a shower already because he smelled gross.

Well, that was the surface excuse. The actual plan went deeper than that. And there was probably an ulterior motive, one that Genius Strategist Joseph Joestar hadn't managed to unravel yet. Unless he has, but Caesar is better off trying to convince himself otherwise. That would make Caesar an open book. Which he never was and will never be, period.

So. Uh. Maybe Caesar Zeppeli wasn't that bothered by Joseph being a sweaty bastard. By smelling like a sweaty bastard. Not that Caesar had a habit of smelling people, but spending countless days sparring with someone else (a muscular guy) does certain things to you. And you do notice, for instance, that your sparring partner definitely doesn't dress in nice-smelling clothes, doesn't use cologne and/or rose-smelling lotion. But saying "ew Jojo, you smell gross don't get close to me" was both a nice pretense for upholding Caesar's clean freak reputation and way easier than admitting that he may have absolutely nothing against the mix of Joseph's corporal scent, his sweat and his cheap 3 in 1 shampoo + conditioner (what does he even need conditioner for?) + body wash.

That's why, for self-preservation purposes, Caesar has decided to pester the bastard until he gets a fucking decent shower. Not a 2 hour long ritual (though he should) nor a quick scrub and that's that. Somewhere in between. Perfectly balanced, as everything should be. That way, he won't have to think about how turned on he actually is and he can have some, as he's sure Joseph would name it, "stress relief".

But who would be the one relieving stress?

Joseph?

Caesar?

Maybe both?

Probably both. He's not as dumb as to believe that Joseph hasn't had the surprisingly bright idea to jerk himself off in the shower. That would explain why the past few days the brunet has been extremely annoying about the amount of time Caesar spends in the shower walls. That, and when Joseph said "I bet you put a nice show there'', the easy response was "I'm not allowing your dirty disheveled self anywhere near my shower ritual, Jojo", but if the bastard wanted a show, fine, he would have a show. A private one, at that. But it would abide by Caesar's rules. He was the levelheaded part of the duo after all. His extreme horniness since their training started had nothing to do with this.

Every great plan needs some preparations that need to be taken care of beforehand. He’d learned that from Joseph. Of course this doesn’t mean that Caesar didn’t plan his strategies in advance, in fact, he did spend much more time on them than Joseph did. The brunet had the skill to come up with a brilliant plan on the spot and pass it as a sudden and silly idea that popped into his head by chance. But it wasn’t by chance at all. Anyway, now it was Caesar’s time to shine.

The first step was the usual “go tell Joseph you’re going to use the shower”, but with the addendum of some horny intent, and Caesar wearing only a towel covering from below his waist was the icing on the cake. What could go wrong?

For starters, Joseph’s door was shut, which was unnatural coming from the brunet because he gave a damn about privacy (not only his, but everyone’s) and had claimed multiple times that “he had nothing to hide”. So, if the door was shut this time, did that mean that there was something he didn’t want others to see? Time to test the waters.

He knocks once. No response. Now that’s odd, he’s usually eager to answer when someone knocks, the few times his door is shut.

He knocks again. Still, no response. The room sounds surprisingly quiet and that’s where Caesar started to feel annoyed. Was Joseph avoiding him on purpose? Did something happen to him? It was unusual for his room to be this quiet, so why?

This time, Caesar decides to speak.

“Jojo!” Caesar's voice comes through the door. He’s demanding, too riled up for pleasantries, and it’s Joseph anyway it’s not like he needs to act polite around him. “Since you’re not answering, I’m going to come in to make sure you’re here and that you didn’t remove your mask or do anything funny.”

God bless the mask excuse. While it wasn’t technically a lie, if Joseph had his mask off right now because he had succeeded in taking it off, that wasn’t Caesar’s problem. But it did give him the perfect alibi. There weren’t hidden intentions anywhere, he just wanted to check up on his training partner. Nothing more, nothing less.

Caesar hears some fumbling in the room, the rustle of bed sheets― just what the hell is happening in there? Fuck it, no more waiting.

When Caesar steps into the room, Joseph is, indeed, wearing his facemask, but something feels off. He’s laying face down on the bed (a little bit of an uncomfortable position if you ask Caesar). This means his ass is full on display. Oh, god. Don’t stare, don’t stare. Just look for a topic to start a conversation; this was to provoke Joseph, not to greet him with a boner.

“Oh, so you’re reading one of those lame comics of yours” Caesar chastises, trying to make Joseph to turn around to look at him, plus stepping closer to him so now he’s standing close to his face, but for some reason, Joseph seemed adamant on not looking Caesar’s way. Realizing that his training partner is flatly ignoring him, the blonde decides to play his cards. If Joseph wants this to be a game then it will be one.

“Jojo, are you going to ignore me for much longer? Are you angry because you lost again today? Oh, come on, I didn’t take you for such a baby” Caesar taunts. The usual “picking up a fight stance” usually works on simple-minded individuals. So it’s not much of a surprise when Joseph tilts his face slightly and takes the bait.

Not enough for eye contact, though.

Not that it was the blonde’s intention to boast, but he did have a great body, and Joseph was in front of it, taking in every single patch of skin on display (basically everything except his nether region, but one has to leave something to the other’s imagination to make matters more exciting, isn’t that right?). He is aware that he’s sweaty. He doesn’t like how he smells, and horny intentions aside, Caesar is indeed in desperate need of a shower. God, he’s dying to see Joseph’s face. Is he flustered? He definitely should.

“So, you can’t bother to even look at me?” Caesar inquiries, he may need to play the annoying bastard part today, but it was for a greater good. After all, one wrong (or right) move, and the towel bids farewell to this world.

“I have already had my fill of your ugly face, thank you.” Joseph breaks the silence that feels eternal and heavy, but he still has his eyes fixated on that dumb comic book. Just a little bit more.

Then Caesar crouches besides the bed, and that’s when Joseph turns upon hearing his knees crack.

Their eyes crash. Joseph’s eyes look more enticing than ever today; he almost has a shroud of insecurity and vulnerability around them. Before Caesar can even think what to say next, Joseph’s eyes dart away from his.

“Your next words will be ' ‘I’m going to use the shower, make sure to wash your dirty body when I come out’' Joseph retorts. And theeeere he goes. He’s taken the bait, and he’s being his usual self again. Caesar decides to keep the game going.

“I’m going to use the shower, make sure to wash your dirty body when I come out” Caesar lets go in the sultriest way he can manage. After that, he exits the room, celebrating the fact that he has pulled through this exchange without getting a boner.

That was about to change in a matter of minutes, though.

He knew that Joseph didn’t peek when he was in the shower. Probably because he’s too lazy to move his ass off the bed, but he will peek this time. Caesar will give him a show he will never, ever forget. He obviously doesn’t lock the door today, and he knows this works enough as an invitation to take a look (or two). The lock is rusty-ish so when someone locks the bathroom door pretty much everyone nearby knows.

The plan is crafted on the basis that Joseph is as much a wishful thinker as Caesar. A pretty risky bet, nothing can be done about it. He can almost hear what his training partner is thinking: “Just a peek won’t hurt”. He knows. He hopes.

The door is not blatantly open (it’s not funny if you make it that obvious) but just the small amount that lets you get a glimpse of what’s going on inside if you squint hard enough. No sounds of anyone approaching the door are heard, but Caesar begins the show anyway. Pants go off first. Slowly, carefully, his plump ass facing the door. He even touches one of his cheeks not-that-accidentally to make his one person audience ache for more. Meanwhile, he’s humming one of his favorite songs, something he usually does when he’s in a good mood. After a little bit of effort, all the clothes are off, and when he first steps into the showers he hears someone dashing through the corridor and the tell-tale sound of said person bumping into the wall.

Heh, there it goes.

Wait… if this person was definitely Joseph, and he was in such a hurry that he’d been even more careless than usual… Does this mean that during their little exchange in Joseph’s room, he was avoiding his gaze and lying face down on the bed… because he was trying to conceal a boner?

Screw logic. To hell with morale. Fuck the plan, he’d had enough. He feels himself starting to harden from his thoughts alone, so when his hand touches his neglected cock from the first time he’s pretty sure that the moan escaping his mouth is by far one of the most lascivious ones that has come from his vocal chords in the past.

But that’s not enough. He wants, no, he needs more than just this. His eager hand grips his cock with maybe more force than usual, but he doesn’t care. His actions reflect how desperate he is and how raw his desire for Joseph Joestar is. The plan was to make Joseph horny but, here he was. How could he ignore that the brunet was obviously hard a few minutes ago? He can’t. It’s time to go all out.

“Jojo”... Caesar moans softly. There is no scheming this time. He is indeed imagining that it’s the other’s hand pumping his cock in earnest, with those calloused hands that would probably feel too rough and inexperienced but perfect anyway.

“Jojo!” He moans again after thumbing his slit, precum already gathered there.

God, he wants to cum. But he wants to cum in front of Joseph. Watch the other cum in front of him. No walls tearing them apart, no stupid games, no pretenses to just fuck the shit out of each other until they run dry.

Perhaps it is uncharacteristic of Caesar Zeppeli to leave the bathroom in his slightly wet state, naked, and an erection he definitely couldn’t disguise even with that tiny towel on. It’s not necessary now.

Joseph’s door is open. Perhaps on purpose, perhaps a slip-up, it doesn’t matter now.

The object of his desires is on the bed, completely naked, legs spread facing the door and fist wrapped tightly around his dick. He is still wearing the mask and it’s making Caesar turn red with anger, and that’s not what he wants at the moment.

He doesn’t let Joseph speak before taking a few hurried steps toward him and unclasping his mask using his full hamon strength.

“At least have the decency to take this thing off if you’re going to do something like that” Caesar growls. He wants to convey the urgency in his voice. He wants the other to be acutely aware of how he craves this, for how long he has been craving this. He pulls away from Joseph’s face and stands up again from his crouching position. He’s expecting Joseph’s next actions. Will he engage in their usual banter? Or will he take another approach?

“Weren’t you the one who said I should wear it at all times, no matter what?” Ah, so the banter it is. Sure, he could do that just fine. Just focus on the banter and try not to keep his eyes glued to Joseph’s inviting cock.

“You do realize that it’s dangerous if your breathing is this ragged, though? Do you want to choke to death?” It’s likely that his training partner was as fixated on pleasuring himself that he totally forgot what happens if his breathing isn’t stable enough.

“Maybe you want to choke me, Caesarino?” Joseph’s comeback sounds hot. Too hot. Caesar’s thought of a few different things he’d like to do to Joseph and vice versa, but that was not on the list. Now it is, for sure. What kind of expression would the other make? Would he have a pleading look on his glassy eyes on the verge of tearing up, flushed cheeks?

“You forgot the ‘to death’ bit’” Caesar snaps. The banter is a top priority (for now).

“Nahhh you want me alive, or at least that’s what it sounded like when you were in the shower” Joseph sounds confident. He must think he can control the other’s reactions just because he’s heard him moaning his name (it’s partially true though).

“So you did take a peek” Caesar confirms.

“Yup! And don’t fuck with me, you wanted me to” Joseph states with his usual beaming smile that make Caesar feel week in the knees-

“Your next words will be ‘Oh, I will fuck with you, Jojo’.” Huh. So he will keep doing that even in this kind of situation.

“Oh, I will fuck-” He doesn’t get to end the sentence. Not when a clearly needy and desperate, maskless Joseph Joestar pulls him down with his trademark brute force and smashes his mouth against Caesar. The angle is terrible. It’s awkward and let’s not forget that Caesar is still wet, naked, and hard, so they should probably get comfortable for their own benefit. But Joseph Joestar is impatient, inexperienced, and has probably had enough of dancing around Caesar. So the blond gives in to this awkward excuse of a kiss that, albeit being just a desperate bump of lips, feels heavenly. It’s not the kiss per se, but Joseph’s mannerisms. How he makes these tiny sounds when his lips are close to his partner’s, how he suddenly brings his hand to the golden locks and p-

“Ah, fuck!” Oops. Sensitive hair.

“Wow Caesarino, that was even louder than what I heard before” Joseph said, his usual wide smile now turned into the smirk he has on his face when he feels he’s in control.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, but can you please make room for me on the bed? This position is uncomfortable” Caesar bites back, there’s not really an ill intent behind this remark, but he’s about to get off for the first time in what feels like ages, and it sure as hell it’s not going to be something half-assed.

“But you’re wet!” Joseph exclaims, and along with his pouty face Caesar finds it almost adorable.

“Well, I’m certainly not the only one,” Caesar replies. Get the hint already, Jojo.

“Ugh, fine” Joseph complains, though it doesn’t sound menacing at all. He probably is just as tired as Caesar of pretending that nothing is happening between them. That they’ve been wanting this since they met. That they do not just want to jack off on their own and forget about it, they want this.

Joseph does, indeed, make room for Caesar in the bed, but not as he had expected the other to. In fact, he doesn’t move from his position on the bed, he’s still laying on his back, but his eyes stare deeply into Caesar’s and he raises his hand as a sign to motion Caesar to come closer.

“Is this ‘making room’ to you, Jojo?” The question is genuine, he wasn’t imagining this after all.

“Well, there is plenty of it. On top of me.” Joseph states with a glint of mischievousness lacing his voice, and who is Caesar to say no to that, really.

“Heh, desperate, aren’t we?” He asks anyway.

“Says the one who’s left the door on purpose for me to see you naked. You’re such an exhibitionist.” That’s not technically a lie, but…

“But you love that, don’t you?”

Joseph tries to snort or maybe come up with a witty remark, but Caesar beats him to it. They kiss properly this time. Caesar is taking the lead, and Joseph isn’t shy at all to follow all the silent instructions his training partner is giving him. When Caesar darts his tongue on his bottom lip, the younger one complies. As soon as their kiss turns open mouthed and messy, the brunet starts getting louder, not holding back anymore. He might be in fact so enticed that he has probably forgotten how thin the walls are and why they wanted to jerk off in the shower in the first place. But Caesar loves these little moans and is determined to coax more of them from Joseph. Then, without breaking the kiss, he brings one hand to one of Joseph’s nipples. They are already stiff, so twisting the bud in his fingers feels amazing, for both of them, if Joseph breaking the kiss so he can moan in full force is anything to go by.

They don’t speak about what to do next. They know.

Caesar takes both of their cocks in his hand and starts pumping in slow motion.

“Fuck, feels so good…” The brunet moans, he seems way too into this already, but it can get better than this. Way better than this.

“Do you want me to go faster?” The blond asks, still stroking both of them at a tortuously slow pace so he can taunt the other a little bit.

“You don’t even have to ask” Huh, once a cocky bastard always a cocky bastard.

“But you do.” Caesar replies, trying to get a reaction out of the younger boy.

“Go faster.” Joseph commands, except he shouldn’t be the one doing that.

“I said ask.” He then breaks their contact. Instead, he brings his hand to Joseph’s mouth and slips his fingers inside. God, his mouth feels so good… Joseph’s tongue is so eager swirling around them and coating them in a generous amount of spit, it’s driving Caesar crazy. It doesn’t last long though, the other tries to speak and Caesar decides that he may have something interesting to say.

“Please… go faster… I need more…” Joseph pleads. Damn, is Joseph hot when he begs.

“Good boy” These words seem to have an amazing effect on Joseph, because his cheeks flush even redder and the lust clouding his eyes is even more apparent now.

“Say my name.” Caesar orders. His hand is back on both of their dicks, but remains static.

“Caesar. God, Caesar, I want this so much, I want you so m- Ahh!” The brunet’s words turn into a long, hot moan when Caesar speeds up his pace. The contact feels so, so good. Not even the greatest quick handjob he could have given himself in the shower feels as this does. They are both moaning now, there’s no point in concealing that both of them are actually desperate sluts for each other, wanting to be seen, wanting to be touched.

“A-ah Caesar, you’re making me sweat!” Odd, to be complaining about that. Maybe Caesar is not the only one turned on by strong scents, because precum is already leaking from the tip of Joseph’s cock.

“Yeah, that’s the idea” Caesar inhales the smell in the room. Both of their sweets combined with the rest of Caesar’s shampoo aroma in the air. It’s both an addictive and dangerous mixtures in all fucking ways.

“You smell amazing, Jojo” Caesar coos. He’s close, and by how tightly Joseph has just the eyes, the other must be too.

“C-caesar, I’m close!” And he comes without another prior warning (Caesar I'll make sure to punish him for not asking for permission later), and it takes a few more strokes of their dicks covered in Joseph’s cum to climax as well. They’ve made such a mess on the bed, and mostly, on their bodies, but god was that good.

“We’re dirty.” Caesar states, matter of factly. He’s still panting and gasping for air, that was more intense than anything he could think of.

“Well, that was to be expected.” Joseph chuckles. He looks spent, but he has a shy smile on his face.

“Shall we clean ourselves up?” Caesar offers, bringing himself closer to the other and kissing his lips gently.

“Wait, ‘ourselves’?” The other asks.

“Yeah, moron, I’m telling you I want to shower together. You really need to clean your dirty body.” The blond states, they are in no condition to slack off.

“You seemed to love my dirty body before.” Joseph flirtfully replies, of course he was going to bring that up.

“Oh, shut up” Comes Caesar’s response, but it’s playful. They kiss again for a few seconds. “We’re going to get ourselves clean, we're even going to glow brighter than the sun” Well, that was sappy, but after all, there’s no point in denying he has romantic feelings for his…training partner? at this point.

“You know what else shines brighter than the sun?” He doesn’t give time for a response “My love for you, Caesarino”.

And in other circumstances, the blond would have rolled his eyes and ignored the remark, but now he’s just so blissfully happy that he can’t think straight, so he just asks Joseph for tissues and they head to the shower hand in hand.

#mywriting #JJBA #jojo's bizarre adventure #Caejose #Josecae #Caesar x Joseph #Joseph Joestar #Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli #Fic

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thediscsystem · 2 years ago

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Hello, so here's a sample of a rough scene from a thing I'm writing. Do enjoy, although it is slightly long for a sample.

"So, Francis, what happened to you to make you so, starved seeming?" Arthur Longmire asked with a curious glance. The 3 plates and 3 glasses from tonight's raided dinner and drink laid empty in front of Francis.

"They encased me in this earth, Arthur." Kojot started with a dark chuckle. Arthur turned his full attention to the other man. This was going to be interesting.

"They threw me away as easy as anything. They saw me as a pest to be exterminated. They thought they were doing my people a favor." The man's breath shuddered as if he was feeling the cold earth around him again. "I thought it was a joke that they had no clue what they were doing. But then their priest came out with the nails. As I turned to the sky for the last time in a long time, I laughed at how wrong I was. The Catholic priest spoke of a God I definitely wasn't on speaking terms with, and he pushed me into the grave they had dug for me. The earth closed around me against its will. I felt it apologize and cry out. He drove the nails into the earth. Rusty and true. My eclipse ended, and I could no longer move." Kojot then began to properly shake. Arthur placed a reassuring hand on the man's head and idly scratched. Arthur would later wonder why he did this. He wanted to comfort the strange man he was beginning to consider a friend, but this seemed like an odd gesture. He would later find that occasionally, when Francis Kojot was upset, people had the urge to comfort him in the ways that he wanted to be comforted, no matter the person's original inclinations. Arthur did not consider this at this time as Kojot continued to speak. Arthur just idly pet the man.

"I didn't sleep. I don't think it would have been easier if I could sleep, but I didn't sleep. So I laid there awake for, what, 60 years? Kept alive only by people on their porches yelling at coyotes and people trying to observe the eclipse. My true name was not spoken and it was never written down. Bad luck, yknow? But anyways, eventually this guy comes along. I feel his feet scrape the dirt above me and I hear as he begins mumbling something. He starts… chanting. My name. My real name. Not the one I told you. He takes the nails from the ground with his bare hands. They cut his right hand as he squeezed it shut around the nails. This fella really knew his stuff. The earth opened up around me. Releasing me and allowing me to breathe and cough again. I was still beastly when I rose. Fur and claws and teeth, the whole nine yards. But I still looked human enough. I saw him for the first time and nearly wanted to crawl back in my hole. Surrounded by the crosses the priests had left over the years to keep me there, was a man in a charcoal suit. The man from the Railroad. I owed him everything for raising me from death but I never asked for this, and I don't think i could pay whatever price he had in mind. He looked at me and smiled and said, your death was unjust, friend, a trick. See the light of day and the light of the moon as one yet again. And call me when you get the chance. He then dropped the rusty nails, coated in what appeared to be mortal blood but was certainly not, and he walked away. I stood there for a while. Unsure of what to do or even who I was meant to be anymore. But I got the hang of it again. But, yeah you got me rambling. Does that answer your question?"

Arthur stared in shock at Kojot as he attempted to process everything he had just been told while still scratching behind Francis's ear, eliciting a small, pleasant noise and a smile.

"Yeah, definitely tells me why you've got beef with catholics, but what does that have to do with how hungry you always are?" Arthur asked.

"The point, is that I went hungry for a long time. In both a literal and metaphorical sense, and that never really went away."

Hope you enjoyed that little thing.

#disc sys writes #writing #writeblr

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whynotzoidbergdotorg · 2 years ago

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Okay lets break down this argument piece by piece as to why this post is one big fat nothing burger flavored with what aboutism. And before you say anything I’m not an “anti” or a “proshipper” because both sides are so terminally online I can smell them in their basements, spilling sprite all over their already moist, sticky keyboards.

let’s start with the fact that most people actually don’t like sargent hatred, I don’t, nobody in my friend group does, and I literally run a venture bros discord server, where if I were to just…type in his name into the search bar

oh would you look at that. people literally hating him. because nobody actually likes him.

next let’s address deanjared.

I’d like to start off with the fact I don’t ship it, for one.

But regardless of that fact…if you’re going to claim that Jared is 30…well, I’d like to see a source on that. (And nevermind the fact that the showrunners almost made it canon in some early storyboards…which doesn’t make the ship morally pure, but clearly it wasn’t disgusting enough to the showrunners for it to never have been a possibility to begin with 🤷‍♀️)

next point: nobody actually even likes captain sunshine. literally both of the times he showed up he was intentionally written to be the most unlikeable POS on purpose. (Also please enlighten me on how incest somehow isn’t as bad as pedophilia? 🤨 Some “proshipper” you claim to be)

next: if you wanna complain about horny teenager jokes, I’d like you to make that complaint at any adult oriented show that has teen characters in it. I bet you won’t 🤷‍♀️

furthermore: I didn’t ship Rusty and Monarch, even before I knew they were related. because well, for one I had a feeling from the beginning they might be (the two look extremely similar, come on) but even then, why would I ship Monarch with anyone other than his literal wife??? Are we not watching the same fucking show???

in addition: why would Gary be a proshipper in the year of our lord 2004, before literally any of that terminology was even coined to begin with? This whole “proship vs. anti” nonsense literally reeks of terminally online internet dwellers of the late 2010s/early 2020s. Also why would he care about shipping? Men in fandom were usually the ones who complained about shipping, and considering Gary is supposed to be a stereotypical nerd of the time, let’s be honest, the dude would be unintentionally sexist, and say that shipping is “just for girls” 🤷‍♀️ He literally would not care. He’s too busy trying to win an ebay auction to get more star wars memorabilia.

This next one I feel I’m ESPECIALLY equipped to answer, as a jewish person myself: do you GENUINELY think anyone actually likes female hitler? i mean literally she hasn’t been in the show since the second season. I think that says everything about her reception by the audience. (And even so, I don’t think we were supposed to like her in the first place? because she’s FEMALE HITLER.)

also, for your last point, nice job using a picture from the episode where dean literally was possessed by abraham lincoln. y’know. which means that was abraham lincoln, a man who is over 200 years old and probably like mentally 40 in that context trying to kiss on a teenage boy. so you know. argument doesn’t work.

I was happy enough leaving you alone and just continually blocking your blogs as I come across them, but this was the post that broke the camel’s back and I couldn’t stay silent anymore.

I leave you with this: you are an idiot. please get therapy.

reasons why antis should be banned from the venture bros

literally one of y'all's favorite characters is a "recovering pedophile" who sexually assaulted hank and dean, even going so far as to getting at latter teen passed out on wine in order to do so AND later tried to get them to stay the night and SHOWER WITH HIM after previously telling them leave his house because he's not allowed to be near underage boys

90% of you ship jared, a 30 year old, with dean, who just turned 18

yes it was stated in the art book that captain sunshine is not a pedo but he still acted very creepy towards hank and kissed him without his consent

the constant horny teenager jokes aimed towards dean in the early seasons

literally everyone shipped malcolm and dr venture until they were vaguely revealed to be "blood related"

dean basically confessing his love to hank in the season finale

you all lust over gary like you dont know he would absolutely be a proshipper and argue with antis online all the time

there is literally a character that is female Hitler why do you think you can watch this show and think you're morally above everyone else

dean is in love with hank

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whoreforhorror · 2 years ago

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Hi! I don't know if you're taking requests currently, but If you are, can you please write Headcanons for slashers with a GN S/O who has anxiety and really likes physical affection? (With Rusty Nail and Bo Sinclair feel free to add if you want to :)

I love your work and hope you're doing well,

PhantomCat

Hello! Sorry this took a while to come out. It’s a bit shorter than others I’ve written as well but I hope you still like it! I’m also super happy you asked for Rusty as well! My boy needs more love!

S/O with anxiety that likes physical affection

Bo Sinclair:

Both Bo and Ambrose have a hit-or-miss effect on your anxiety. I’m on hand, living in Ambrose means you don’t have to deal with a lot of the stressors you do in regular day-to-day life. On the other hand, the anxiety that comes with knowing what happens to visitors, along with the pressure of knowing the three brothers HAVE to like you because there is literally nobody else around is just about enough to negate any relief from any anxiety that you might get.

Then there’s also you worrying about Bo when he’s out dealing with ‘visitors’. You originally hadn’t been worried about him, but that was before he came home one night with an arrow through his shoulder. No, you couldn’t stop worrying about whether or not he was alright and how much trouble the visitors may or may not be. Bo tried to help by coming home at the same time every night (something he had started doing but made no mention of, so he wouldn’t look “soft”) but he couldn’t always adhere to that.

When he does finally come home, it’s always your first order of business to help him patch up his wounds, lest he gets an infection. Then, as soon as he’s held together, it’s off to either the couch or bed to cuddle. It helps calm your anxieties as well as his. You both worried you might come home only to never see the other again (for different reasons but still) and holding each other close as a reminder that they’re still with you is something invaluable in y’all’s relationship.

Bo pretends like he doesn’t also like physical affection but he can only hide it for so long and you can’t play the fool much longer than that. He also likes to take advantage of your love of physical affection by giving or taking it away based on your behavior. More simply, Bo is Pavloving you with physical affection to act more often in a way that he likes. Manipulative? Maybe. Fully intentional? Probably not. Does it work? You bet your ass it does.

He’ll rub your head or hold you by your waist when you do something he particularly enjoys or he’ll keep to himself as a sort of silent reprimand. He really enjoys resting his hand on your head though. He finds it comforting, you find it very comforting. It’s a win-win.

Rusty Nail:

Do. Not. Tell. Him. You. Like. Physical. Affection. This man will tease you day in and day out about it, giving you a taste of what you want before pulling away completely. This man loves to toy with you more than just about anything else in the world.

When you ride with him, sometimes you’ll get tired of sitting in the seat and move to the floor so you could stretch out a bit. He’ll rest his hand on your head, petting your hair or your cheek and only moving to shift gears. You just look so beautiful sitting down there.

If you’ve been extra good, he might have you sit in his lap while parked at rest stops. He loves to see your reactions when he pulls you onto himself and it gives him the biggest ego boost.

He found out about your anxiety in one of two ways.

The first scenario is when he had to go on a trip without you and you had worried yourself sick while he was gone. When he came home after a week, any onlooker would have thought he’d been declared missing for three years.

The second scenario comes in after the two of you had a little argument while on the road. It was nothing major, just the byproduct of two people being in the same small space for days. Still, while night hit and the two of you set up camp to sleep, he was caught off guard by you asking him if he was going to desert you in the motel or ‘dispose of you’. You’d gotten so worked up about it that you’d lost sight of how minor the argument was, and he could nearly hear you hyperventilating.

In either scenario, his solution is to cuddle until you fall asleep. He’ll hold you close and reassure you that he’s ok, you’re ok, he’s not going to leave you, and he couldn’t hate you even if he tried.

If you ever encounter someone who purposefully causes your anxiety to flare up, rest assured their skull will be quickly meeting the front end of his truck and they’ll merge into the road. Or, in simpler terms, he’s going to torment them and then run them over. You can join in if you want!

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #rusty nail x reader #rusty nail #joyride #slashers imagine #slasher fucker #slasher x reader

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maginxlia · 4 years ago

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Starring Nanami, Gojo, Toji and Sukuna As baby Fathers the Headcanons

Rated PG-13

Contains Foul language and suggestive themes

Navigation

Warning I haven’t written fanfics in years so I’m hella rusty asf

Also I look like a lady but I swear like a sailor

These are just some headcanons I’ve been thinking of for the past week, hope y’all enjoy ✨

B\N is For baby name

Nanami (I’m not on child support because I take care of my child) Kento

If y’all on good Terms

Is there for you during the pregnancy

Will ask for a prenatal paternity test so he be 100% sure

Type to meet you at your dr appointments and be your support also he would buy you lunch too

Comfort you and be there for you

Need ANYTHING and he’ll provide no questions asked

Would love for y’all to get together BUT NO PRESSURE

You living in a bad neighbourhood? He’ll find a apartment for you in a safe area

You have his emergency number if something comes up with the baby

Mans has taken classes

Will be more than present for the birth

Happily Signs birth certificate

Spends ALOT OF TIME WITH THE BOTH OF YALL

Takes care of baby elegantly

Literally want to be a wonderful memory in his child life in case he doesn’t be there for the tomorrow

Never argues in front of his child

Really tho it’s like y’all in a stable relationship

If y’all on Bad Terms

Mans still Is there for his child

Prenatal test before he fully commits himself

Is VERY hurt that y’all isn’t getting along

Gives you the space you need but he really want to be included in the pregnancy

There for the birth and he signs the birth certificate without problems

Mans would include you in the plans like if he’s taking y’all child to a restaurant he would invite you and pay for your meal

Gives money for your child every week

Not afraid to take you to court for full custody of y’all kid if he feels like you’re not spending the money on y'all child

NEVER SHIT talks you in front of his child

Respects you even though it’s rough between y’all

Satoru (If you didn’t want to get pregnant by me, ya should’ve used protection) Gojo

If Y’all on Good Terms

Tell him you’re pregnant and man is elated

Type to joke about his superior genes

Mans thinks he knows everything about babies including pregnancy

He eats like he's the one pregnant 🤦🏾‍♀️

Lemme be honest but this man gonna dougie on you and your unborn child nerves

Demands to talk to your belly THROUGH FACETIME regularly

brings you food he thinks you’ll like

Doctor appointments he’s gonna try to be there for you but no promises, He’s a very busy man after all

Constantly want updates on you two

Will play vines to your poor unborn child through headphones on your belly

Gives the worlds Dumbest names suggestions

Compliments your boobs more than he should

Teal and white baby clothes

Have long winded conversation with your belly

Like to poke your belly to try to get the kid to move

Only have Paternity doubts when you are pushing the kid out ( Smart enough not to voice them) Like once he's able to hold the child he's Searching for anything that looks like him until he peeks under the lil baby beanie and notice this child has his white hair... He's ecstatic asf and best believe he's popping off with the "Superior Genes" spiel again.

Either he's staying with you and Baby or y'all staying with him cause he wants to spend as much time with y'all baby as he can

Brags about his child to Itadori, Megumi, Nobara and Nanami

BUYS THE CHILD WHO CAN’T EVEN WALK TIMBERLANDS, JORDANS AND LEBRONS! He knows damn well y'all child gonna grow out of them BUT he adamant about B/N flexing on em to let them haters know that they got the game on lock

Phones home screen is of B/N doing a silly face

Nanami is His child Godfather because he's so responsible

Megumi has babysat for him before and He was SURPRISE about how chill B/N is compared to their father

He's a Ho in recovery if y'all trying to be a family because “his child deserves a somewhat stable home”

If y'all on Bad Terms

In denial. Doesn't understand you not wanting shit to do with him because “ He's a amazing father just ask Megumi”

Tries his damnest to be there for you but whenever he's around he's clowning or clapping his gums with some ol ignorant shit

It's the Hoeing for me💅🏾

Buys you things and hope it makes up for his shortcomings

Calls you to ask about y'all well being

Acts like he's not torn up about the whole situation ( But he is VERY heart broken about it)

Is present for the birth and signs the birth certificate after examing child

Gives you hella money for food and necessity for the B/N

Is VERY petty When it comes to B/N, Mans will crop your face out of pictures if angered enough

Spends ALL his free time with B/N

Will never get over the fact that he wasn't involved in your pregnancy like he would've liked

Has regrets

But is a Solid father for B/N

Will take your ass to court if he feels like his child getting neglected and get full custody

Fushiguro (That breeding kink was amazing until we Breed and made a child) Toji

If y'all on Good Terms

Man's in shock

Can't believe he didn't get a vasectomy

Doesn't know what to do but deep in his heart he realizes has to do something and he can't be a deadbeat forever

Pops at your home one day out the blue tense as fuck and mumbling a “apology”

Comes to one appointment and is quiet the whole time, Sneakily gets a copy of the sonogram to keep in his wallet

He's living at your residence when he's not in the streets

Sleeps with his hand on your belly and smiles in his sleep with the baby moves or kicks

Swears that whatever this child may be the Zenin clan will never touch them

Doesn't take jobs around your due date

PAYS FOR YALL SHIT BUT FRUGAL ASF

KING OF COUPONING

Text him SOS baby coming and he'll rush his ass to the hospital

Holds your hand and says some supportive shit while he's disassociating

Kid come and he's staring at the lil face of y’all child without a expression

Signs the birth certificate

Quiet while y'all travel home

1,000 yard stare

Literally takes this man some time to adjust, one day you leave to get some fresh air and diapers and ya leave this man behind to watch B/N, He's shirtless on the couch watching ESPN just chilling and B/N starts wailing so he gets his fine ass up and go check on the kid since his worm ain't putting in the effot to do it. Goes in collects the kid and start heating up a bottle while rocking B/N, After feeding y'all baby he burps B/N and casually holds B/N while watching his show but for some odd reason He glances at B/N long enough to notice that the tiny human is staring at him, Toji Rolls his eye while gently saying Ay kid what ya looking at like that??? before he knows it the kid smiles at him! For a minute Toji felt like everything was alright in the world and he felt warm for the first time in a long time. Rumor has it his heart grew ten times that day but that may be a rumor But Toji did became happier around y'all kid and the interactions was beautiful between a Father and his child.

Is protective as hell

This child Makes Toji realize how much he fucked up with Megumi

Will seek out Megumi and watch him from afar wishing that he could be a better father to him

It's like you're Married to him but y'all just cohabitants that sleep together and have a baby.

If y'all on Bad Terms

This man Ghosting the moment you say pregnant

Why didn't I get a vasectomy 2 the electric boogaloo

No appointment visits

Nothing

You might find some money in your mailbox

Last thing you want to do is piss this man off cause he's a flight risk

Comes back in your lives when the kid’s a month old

Talking about "I was on a long business trip" but in reality he wanted to see if the child was his or not

Tries to work it out with you but he's not a Bowflex

Crystal clear vision that this man is just in your life for Wormy and him to have a place to sleep when he's not killing in the streets

Interaction with y'all child is a minimum

Good luck trying to toss his ass out

Also good luck With bringing another man home cause have y'all ever heard the story of Darth CockBlockius The Dilf? Imagine coming home with someone you're romantically involved with at 12 Am and Toji is sitting on your couch butt ass naked cleaning his weapons while staring right at your new lover.

Reminder he's for everybody and he will be a hoe the moment he's from under your roof

Gives a few bucks here and there

Your life is gonna be miserable babe.

Ryomen (shit you should’ve been more careful) Sukuna

If y'all was on Decent Terms

He's in Yuuji Body chilling and here you come up talking about you're having his child

Mans nearly lost his cool

He's gonna be a asshole about it because denial is the sweetest meal

Unsupportive as fuck Till the day darling Yuuji starts going to your appointments with you and Sukuna gets all territorial and pissed Talking about "The hell you're doing brat? Don't you know your place? This unborn brat is mine."

Yuuji literally is there for your whole pregnancy as platonic support cause he feels absolutely AWFUL that Sukuna got you pregnant and is now being a asshole about it

Yuuji even sends You stuff your child

You have your kid and Yuuji brings flowers for you and a teddy bear for the baby

Sukuna is missing in action for a month after the birth of your child until curiosity got the better of him, Yuuji was over your place helping out with the baby when outta of nowhere You and your child is getting pulled into Sukuna domain, Nigga on his throne just staring at you like you stole something talking about " You keep that brat around you like he father your child" before you could give him a smart ass reply he's walking towards you and touching your child's head with gentleness. His features are softened as realize that this lil brat has enough curse energy that could make Mahito piss himself and run, The small Brat is not just a brat but is his brat🥺

He asks for you to visit him more often with the child

He's medium rare present in B/N life BUT he's trying

Gets pissy with Yuuji even more if he hasn't seen his child in days

Yuuji like a Uncle or guardian to your kid

If y'all on Bad Terms

He didn’t even know you was pregnant

Only found out when he saw you with a brat in the park

Demanded (begged) Yuuji to talk you up as he a assesses the situation

Yuuji didn’t even need to talk to you before he knew it Sukuna was telling him to leave you be

Sukuna was livid. This brat is his child he could feel the curse energy off the child and tell they was his. He was pissed that you deprived him from even knowing your child or the experience of fatherhood. How dare you treat him like he was worthy?

He kept his distance

Watching over his child and protecting them

Leaving money where they could find it

Finally addresses them when they was 14 years old and alone. Look kid Sukuna simply stated i don’t know what your mother told you about me and I don’t care, I didn’t even know you existed until you was two years old and I saw you at a park, I could’ve rammed my way into your life and been a father to you but I decided it would be best to let you have a somewhat normal childhood seeing that I’m the king of curse it would be impossible for you to have a normal one, so I decided to watch you and protect you since the the first day I saw you, hell I might not be a conventional one but I am your Father.

Your child stared at their father not in disbelief but in realization

From that moment Sukuna was in his child life

He trained them on how to use their abilities

He cared for them as much as the king of curse could

Reblog, likes and comments at appreciated and loved

Please don’t steal my shit.

#jutsu kaisen #nanami x reader #toji x reader #gojo saturo x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk headcanons #headcanons #black writer #x black reader #tw pregnancy #baby fathers #anime headcanons #JJK

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aforrestofstuff · 3 years ago

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Chapter 149 Expert Review Time

Hey gamers what’s up time for another CHAPTER 👏 REVIEW 👏

It was looking kinda bleak last time for pretty much everyone so I’m hoping things improved this time around, but it seems Murata and ONE are kinda going through their “I’m going to put my characters through the MOST” phase so… that feels unlikely. But nevertheless… still excited to see my favorite boys.

The 10000th Psychic Sister cover. Murata, I’m begging you. There’s literally like 30 other characters to choose from. I know you like drawing boobs but imma need you to put the pencil down for a minute and take a walk because this just ain’t IT.

“Summer is coming” it is July. Summer has been here for ten years. I’m so fucking hot all the time. Everything has been evaporated out of me and I’m literally a raisin.

The Psychic Sisters covers are just so devoid of life a lot of the time… I wouldn’t mind if it was them fighting or engaging in everyday activities but when they’re posed for the camera and deliberately placed there to look sexy it just sucks all the human out of them. The cover/splash page is a great chance to show characters in a new light!!! It’s mostly set away from the story so you can do whatever you want! Choosing to make 80 fanservice covers is just wasted opportunity for what could be additional character development. It’s gotten to a point where even the smegma-slinging bitchboys on Reddit are complaining about the excessive sexy covers…. When PussySlayer384756 complains that there’s too much tittage being shown, that’s how you KNOW we’ve got a problem. Now, idk how the fan climate is in Japan but I can’t imagine they’re feeling much different over there either.

Also, her anatomy is… janky. Her tit is bigger than her head, her belly is too long, and she’s got like 4 spare ribs. Like, I’m by no means an art expert but it doesn’t take a chef to know the soup is shit, you know what I mean? I feel like page after page of Murata drawing obscene muscle men has made him rusty on what should be (somewhat) normal-looking people.

Darkshine learns what TRUE peak male performance looks like.

You’ve gotta wonder how Darkshine even got to the S-Class to begin with when he pussies out of nearly every single fight… except the one where the opponent was literal water. Everyone says that he just joined the association for additional validation, and I believe it… this boy is not cut out for actual hero-ing. 99% Of the time HE’S the one who needs a hero.

It kinda bothers me how useless he’s been post-Garou fight, especially when we spent like an entire chapter trying to console his ass. I get that’s part of his character and development… but it’s begun to slow things down. We get it. We don’t need to see him be insecure every time a new enemy pops up. One was enough. We would’ve gotten the same effect if he just sat out the entire time post-consolation, because everything that’s happened to him on the surface has been kinda redundant.

Here comes the boooyyy 🎶🎶

Nice callback. I’m glad Metal Bat is finally here. Bitch runs slow as fuck.

It’s nice to see him act on his own agency instead of orders from the hero association. He’s clearly much happier when helping out on his own accord, and has a ton of initiative too. The chapter he got with just he and King meeting up and slingshotting themselves to the fight was really a breath of fresh air from all of the fighting. It’s moments like these where ONE remembers that people like OPM for the characters, and not necessarily the pretty action sequences. I really like this duo. I like Metal Bat. I like it when they’re given time to be themselves and not just vessels for the next fight scene.

I know I said I wanted the heroes to die but Murata I’m begging you please don’t kill the child. You can kill Puri, though. I hate that fucker.

Child Emperor regularly visiting and eating with Bofoi even despite being his lab assistant would be a lot cuter if Bofoi wasn’t the human equivalent to a dog turd. I might’ve overstated that… seems like Bofoi is just using him as an errand boy. The clear lack of respect he has for CE is very indicative of his character and is not necessarily a bad thing plot-wise, but I would still like to beat him with a cane. Additionally, it’s clear that he’s not going to help the heroes here. At least, I don’t think so. His “fuck them kids” attitude seems to be a pretty big pillar in the building of his character and I doubt ONE would jeopardize that just because he’s written himself into a corner. Oh, well. We’ll see.

It’s very sweet that even when near death, CE still thinks of Zombieman. Aaaaghh it’s so GOOD when the characters actually LIKE each other. I know realistically not everyone is gonna be friends but man… it would be a lot cooler if we got more insight on their chemistry. Pleaz have more Metal Bat-and-King-esque chapters. I wanna see how everyone gets along.

Also, the concept of Puri just manifesting drilling powers and carving through solid rock with nothing else but pure strength and determination is so funny. A little convenient, sure, but I really don’t care because it’s actually done well. Their reunion scene is hilarious. More stuff like this pleaz….

I don’t even know what to say about Genos here. Dude, I know you made an oath to protect Tatsumaki or whatever, but there’s no shame in a good bail. You can’t even bail anymore because your damn legs are gone. See, this is what happens when you make promises. The secret to keeping your legs intact is doing the bare minimum. Hope this helps ❤️

He’s making a valiant effort but… I’m afraid he just ain’t gonna do much while roleplaying as a worm. Maybe he’ll make a chrysalis and come out as a butterfly. Wait, that’s caterpillars. Fuck. TATSUMAKI IS A GONER, BRO. WE NEED YOU TO BE THE DEUTERAGONIST!! IF YOU DIE WE LOSE 70% OF MERCH SALES NOOOOOOOO

Local man has a heart attack in front of thousands of little monsters and somehow saves the world, more at 5.

King I’m begging you please get that shit checked out that’s not NORMAL.

Yeah, I like this conclusion. Very tasteful cliffhanger. I mean we know King ain’t gonna do shit but SOMEHOW black sperm is gonna get punted like the little cumstain he is. Can’t wait to see the events that unfold next chapter… it seems like every scene that involves King turns out to be really funny and I’m super looking forward to black sperm seeing Jesus.

Also, a little off-topic but I just really like the way Murata inked his pants. Got a real comic book feel to it. I mean, he’s just really good at drawing clothes overall (save for Fubuki’s body-tight dress that is 100% not how women’s clothing works but I digress). Fucker understands fabric physics like I understand how to make a bomb ass chicken parm. I respect it.

In conclusion, lower everyone’s expectations of you and you might get to keep your arms and legs. This has been Life Lessons from Forrest. You now owe me 50$.

#one punch man #opm #zombieman #metal bat #child emperor #king #manga spoilers #I mean not really it’s been out for like two weeks now (I think)#Genos #Tatsumaki #puri puri prisoner #meta

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howelljenkins · 5 years ago

Text

As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom.

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing. I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly.

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold.

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children).

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical.

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

#*#og #rr crit #samirah al abbas #rick riordan

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gukyi · 5 years ago

Text

if i told you | jjk

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

{friends to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, angst, we’ve got it all folks word count: 22k warnings: slightly underage alcohol consumption, mention of words that could be spoken on an crime documentary series but nothing graphic, ravioli-stealing, idiots to lovers, as per usual a/n: finally! here is the long awaited jungkook fic that i have literally been slaving over since the beginning of january. was this fic supposed to be 10k? yes. did i somehow end up writing 22k anyway? of course! in any case, please enjoy my absolute baby who i love and cherish!

check out the post-script drabble here!

Jeon Jungkook loses his job at the university call center on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the seventeenth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 2:07PM, seven minutes after he normally starts his job at the university call center.

He’s lucky that you’re the only one who doesn’t have class in the 2PM hour.

“Y/N!” He shouts through the thin wooden door, his voice probably echoing down the thin hallway of your apartment complex.

You open it before the second knock—you only rush to the door to get him to shut the fuck up, and not because you’re excited to see him, you swear—to see him standing on the other side, XXL university hoodie draped over his figure, down to his mid-thigh, baggy hood pulled over his head like a sad college-aged Star Wars character. He looks exactly like a jaded sophomore year college student would. He is beautiful.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the call center right now?” You ask in lieu of a normal “hello” or even a “what the fuck are you doing here, it’s 2PM”. Jungkook does not wait for you to invite him inside your apartment, immediately kicks off his shoes by the entrance and tugs on your apartment slippers that are a size-and-a-half too small for his feet, and marches over to your shared fridge to fish through the tupperware containers with your name written on Post-it notes for a mid-afternoon snack.

Jungkook waits until he’s got an entire piece of frozen supersized ravioli shoved into his mouth before he responds. “I was fired,” he says over a mouthful of pasta and cheese.

“What?” You ask, eyes widening as Jungkook shuffles through your kitchen drawers for a fork, which means that the first piece of ravioli that he ate he did so with his bare ass hands. Like a heathen. Like a ravioli-craving twenty-year-old heathen.

“I was fired,” Jungkook repeats. He stares at the microwave resting on your kitchen counter for a good ten seconds before he continues to eat the cold, unheated pasta. Every time he’s in your apartment (which is frequently), he tells you how it’s a fire, water, and explosive hazard to have your microwave on the counter like that. As if there is any other place in your apartment for it to go. Maybe out on the tiny balcony you have that overlooks the busiest street on campus.

“Care to offer an explanation as to why?” You ask, coming up next to him. Jungkook is nearly finished with your tupperware of ravioli, and normally you’d shout at him for it, but seeing as he was just fired from his only source of income as a money-starved college student, you’ll cut him some slack. Just a little.

“You remember that old, angry alumnus that told me that asking for donations in order to benefit low-income-slash-first generation students was selfish and rude of me, and that I wouldn’t be in college if it weren’t for what his generation accomplished?” Jungkook asks.

You remember that vividly. Jungkook spent an approximate two hours and thirty-seven minutes on FaceTime with you ranting about this one “old man bitch” who he had to speak to during his day at work, all while you did your economics problem set to the sweet, mellifluous sound of Jungkook’s shrill shrieks.

“The one you lost your temper at and shouted at for being ungrateful and elitist?” You ask pointedly. You have a feeling you already know where this conversation is going.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes. He finishes the ravioli (goddamnit, now you’re going to have to find something else to eat for dinner at 11PM tonight) and turns around to place it in the sink. For once, it is not piled high with dishes from up to a week ago, so Jungkook even squirts a bit of Dawn onto a sponge and washes the plastic container for you. “Well, as it turns out, telling an old racist elitist that he’s old, racist, and elitist does not go down well with my boss.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse. Jungkook sighs, walking over to where you’re taking it easy on the couch. “Oh no,” you say, eyes widening as he grins, plotting something. “Do not, Jungkook. Jungkook, do not!”

He jumps, catapulting himself onto the couch and landing on top of you with a thud. You let out a groan as the weight of his body hits you, foreheads nearly knocking into each other. Jungkook is a good foot-and-a-half too long for this dinky leather couch that’s always sort of smelled, feet and ankles hanging off the opposing arm rest just so he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your shoulder like he always does. You hate when he does this. Hate when he jumps onto the couch while you’re casually reclining just so he can collapse on top of you. Hate the feeling of his body resting against yours, soft breathes against the skin of your neck. Hate how it always makes you want more, how it will never be enough.

“Have you been working out?” You mumble against the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re more muscle-y than usual.”

“I added weights to my routine,” Jungkook tells you mindlessly. If your roommates walked into your apartment right now and saw the both of you on the couch, you’d never hear the end of it. “Taehyung said it would make me more swole.”

“As if you need to be any more buff,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jungkook’s the most athletic person you’ve ever met in your entire life. He could probably pick up your dinky couch with you sitting on it without batting an eyelash. Even Superman would tremble at the sight of him. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters into your skin. “God, what the fuck am I gonna do now? I need money to pay for everything in my life and my one source of income is now totally invalid because an old guy got what he deserved.”

“Are there any work-study positions still available?” You ask, hand reaching up to stroke at his hair, smoothing it down. Jungkook’s preferred cuddling position is big spoon, but he still demands that he be coddled as though he were the little spoon.

“No,” Jungkook says with a huff, “they’ve all been snagged by try-hard freshmen who need money like me.”

“I distinctly recall you being a try-hard freshman who also needed money,” you tell him. “That’s why you applied to work at the call center, isn’t it?”

Jungkook sits up, the weight of his figure crushing your legs as he rests on top of them. If you stayed like this forever, you’d probably lose feeling in your lower body, but you’d also get to stay with Jungkook forever, which is a trade-off you would genuinely consider. “Yeah, but the call center hires everybody. You just need to be like… decent at communication. And I’m pretty decent at communication.”

“You never text me back,” you tell him pointedly.

“That’s because I prefer showing up unannounced at your apartment or other places you frequent,” Jungkook reminds you excitedly. He’ll never let you forget about the time you were wrapping up a small seminar with your history professor and Jungkook burst through the doors with a whole thing of carrots and hummus because you had texted him that you were hungry. You could not look your history professor in the eye for the rest of the semester. “I’d say that’s pretty decent communication.”

“Well, you’re going to have to figure out another way to market your decent communication skills to get another job,” you tell him. “Have you considered the boba place on Oak? You could get me employee discounts.”

Jungkook leans over just to pinch at your cheek, fingers gripping onto your face and pulling like a grandmother. “You just want me for my money.”

“You’re my best friend, Jeon Jungkook,” you tell him. “Of course I do.”

This is what Jeon Jungkook’s obligatory university Facebook group introduction post read:

Hi, I’m Jungkook and I’m thinking of majoring in visual studies or computer science (really different lol I know)! I played soccer in high school but don’t think I’ll be continuing in college because I was pretty bad at it. I’m looking for a roommate and I’d really like to live in New East House, but anything works for me as long as it has a bed. Hit me up if you think we’d made a good match, but I like talking with everyone lol.

I’m really into music and can play the guitar, drums, and piano. I like listening to all types of music (yes, even country which slaps kinda hard sometimes) but my favorites are The 1975, Frank Ocean, Troye Sivan, and Khalid. Will bop to Justin Bieber on occasion as well.

I play Ultimate and am really interested in joining the club team here so hit me up and we can practice sometime because my skills are a little rusty. I also do a little skateboarding but I am definitely not a skater.

Hit me up if you think we can be friends lol I’m excited to meet you all!

It was accompanied by several pictures, a couple of which are selfies at that anime girl angle, one of him with his friends at prom all doing that Frat Boy pose, and a couple of him with his family. To an outsider doing a very quick glance, it pretty much reads the same as a rather extensive dating profile.

The truth of it all is, as you were scrolling through the hundreds of obligatory university Facebook group introduction posts in search of a freshman year roommate, you stumbled upon Jungkook’s intro post and you thought this: No. Way.

The moment you laid eyes on his first above-the-head angle selfie, you knew that it would be unlikely that you and Jeon Jungkook’s paths would ever cross. He played guitar and did Ultimate Frisbee, and you wanted to audition for your university’s symphony orchestra. He was beautiful but in that sort of college frat boy who can crush you at beer pong kind of way. Craziest of all, he was a computer science major, and you were walking in as an undecided humanities concentration.

Impossible. There was no way the two of you would ever meet, and you accepted that right off that bat. At a school your size, you would go through these four years not knowing a majority of your class. Jeon Jungkook was just one of the casualties.

On the very first day of orientation, Jeon Jungkook comes up to you on the sidewalk, wearing a white t-shirt, a backwards baseball cap, and shorts, and asks you if you’re here for orientation as well? He’s lost.

Jeon Jungkook is the type of guy you imagine getting eaten up by any girl who meets him almost immediately. He’s charming and endearing the same way a baby deer is, but has no problem wearing clothes that remind you of how fit he is. He is, for lack of a better term, extremely good looking.

“Yeah,” you had said on the sidewalk, squinting to look up at him since the sun was in your eyes. “I’m heading to the auditorium right now. Wanna walk with me?”

“Okay, sure,” Jungkook had replied, smiling with all of his teeth. Even in the sweaty summer heat, he looked even nicer in person. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Jungkook. What’s your name?”

You knew that already. How could you have forgotten?

You had grinned up at him. The universe has always worked in mysterious ways. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

When Jungkook doesn’t know what to do, he stress eats. Most often, you are the single witness to this action, which has literally no effect on his body mass whatsoever since he immediately burns off every calorie (and then some) at his next gym session.

That is precisely why you are sitting in the second-best dining hall on campus eating a pretty measly salad and french fries, while Jungkook returns from the serve-yourself cafeteria with his sixth plate of food. Next to you is your mutual friend Chaewon, a filthy rich international student from Korea who is probably the nicest person you’ve ever met.

“I think I’ve called every cafe, bubble tea shop, clothing store, and paid internship within a five-mile radius of this place and nothing,” Jungkook says with a sigh, keeping Chaewon updated with his job-search antics. It’s been several days since he was fired, and while being keenly cognizant of your bank account isn’t necessarily a bad thing, when it means that Jungkook refuses to leave campus because he is in hyper-saving mode, it sort of rustles your jimmies.

“Have you tried babysitting?” Chaewon supplies helpfully.

You laugh aloud at the mere thought of Jungkook stuck in some middle-aged parent’s house with their toddler for hours on a night where he could be living it up on campus. Jeon Jungkook? A babysitter?

“Wow, what the heck is wrong with me being a babysitter?” Jungkook questions, offended.

“First of all, you don’t even let me beat you in Mario Kart on your Switch and I am your best friend. If you ended up gaming with a four-year-old boy, your over-competitiveness would take over you and you’d crush the poor kid and his spirit,” you remind him pointedly. Not to mention the fact that the man cannot cook to save his life, and you can’t even entrust him with microwave dinners because of his irrational fear of modern oven technology.

Jungkook pouts. He knows you’re right.

“It’s not like you were going to look into babysitting, anyway,” you say with a shove, nudging his shoulder with your own.

Jungkook sighs, and despite all of the shit you give him on a daily basis (part of the responsibility of being his best friend), you do genuinely feel bad for him. Even if his job at the call center wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating nor morally rewarding, he didn’t absolutely hate it and he made a pretty decent earning off of it. He unzips his backpack and fumbles for his laptop, opening it up to reveal a Google Chrome window with approximately thirty-seven tabs open of places to work on and around campus. Meanwhile, Chaewon’s phone buzzes on the table, and she heaves out a great, exasperated exhale before picking up and immediately launching off into incredibly speedy Korean.

“If only the bubble tea place was hiring,” you lament, kissing goodbye all of the free bubble tea you had been dreaming about if Jungkook got hired.

“I’m glad I don’t work at the bubble tea place,” Jungkook tells you with his eyebrows raised, “otherwise I’d have to see you every day!”

“You already see me every day!” You should back, but it’s not like Jungkook doesn’t know that already. He’s the one always barging into your apartment or sitting down next to you in the library when you’re trying to study.

“But maybe you should try drinking less bubble tea, otherwise you’re gonna blow up like a tapioca pearl like that one girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” Jungkook warns, pinching your cheek as if to make your face round like a tapioca bubble.

“I can think of nothing I’d want more than to be a tapioca pearl for the rest of my life,” you state simply. It would be much less stressful than to be a college student.

“If you were a tapioca pearl, I’d eat you!” Jungkook says, and you, out of the security of both your head and your heart, choose not to think too much into it.

As Jungkook teases you about your slight obsession with bubble tea, Chaewon finally puts the phone down after what very well was several minutes of angry Korean. She lets out this deep, long sigh, like all of the pent-up rage within her is exiting through her exhale.

“You good, Chae?” You ask her, a little concerned. Even after knowing her since the beginning of your freshman year, you’ve never once seen her get mad, though she looks pretty close to it now.

“Yeah,” she says, exasperated. “My mom is having this stupid company ball here and she really, really wants me to attend.” It is obvious that Chaewon does not, in fact, want to attend. You’ve seen Chaewon nearly every day for over a year, and you’ve never even seen her wear a pantsuit. You couldn’t imagine her joy at having to dress up in a ballgown.

“But fancy free food,” you point out. Even if she does have to be trapped in a penthouse ballroom with her parents’ stuffy business friends, the catering company will probably be god-tier.

Chaewon pretty much bangs her head on the dining hall table.

“Wow, I didn’t know someone could hate catered food so much,” you say, a little alarmed.

“It’s not that,” Chaewon says, rubbing her forehead. The pasta on the plate in front of her has remained untouched for nearly ten minutes now. You wonder if she’s even hungry anymore. “My mom wants me to bring a plus-one.”

Your eyes widen. An excuse to dress nice and eat good food? Hell yeah.

“And it can’t be you, Y/N, it has to be a date,” Chaewon says. It’s pretty obvious she’s not interested in dating whatsoever, no matter the gender of the object of her affection. You pout. Damn. “My mom said, ‘he can be whoever you want!’ but that means that he has to be an attractive Korean guy who’s got a future job in finance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of broccoli.

“You will?” Chaewon asks. Jungkook just single-handedly saved Chaewon from a night of unbearable business talk with a boy she doesn’t know and cannot relate to.

You scoff. “You’re just a regular Korean dude, Jungkook,” you tell him.

Jungkook pouts, bottom lip turned out. “You don’t think I’m attractive?”

You refuse to answer that question. You’re afraid of what you might say if you open your mouth.

“Seriously, you’d do that for me?” Chaewon turns to Jungkook with platonic stars in her eyes.

Jungkook shrugs. “Sure. I’ve got a suit. I’ll ask my friend Jimin for a crash course in finance before the thing. When is it?”

And just like that, you and Jungkook’s weekly Friday Mario Kart night gets a rain check.

Jeon Jungkook is the sole best decision of your life.

And it’s funny and twisted and wonderful, because he is the one thing you had failed to account for in your life. He stands there on the sidewalk in the blazing sun, black baseball cap nestled safely onto his dark brown hair, and in the split second it takes for him to open his mouth and say hello, everything changes.

But no longer is the image you conjure in your mind when you think of him a picture of him on that very first day of orientation, lost and excited all at once. It is of him barging into your apartment and eating all of your leftover ravioli. It’s him laying on your dinky couch like it belongs to him, surfing through all of the Netflix shows available and eventually just settling on old Gilmore Girls episodes like he always does. It’s him standing in your closet to judge your latest clothing purchases and take back any items that you’ve stolen from him over the years.

It’s imagining him not as a guest but as a permanent fixture in your home, in the place that makes you feel safest. Because that’s who Jungkook is, now. He is that place. He stands in your apartment rattling off a list of why microwaves are a severely underestimated killer, and it takes every inch of your being not to ask him to stay. To spend night after night cuddling on the couch, or make a home-cooked meal together on a Sunday evening, or get lost underneath the sheets on your bed.

Jungkook stands in your apartment like he belongs there. And only in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine that coming true.

Such is the case of that Friday night, when he’s supposed to accompany Chaewon to her terrible, awful, brain-melting parents’ business gala. You haven’t seen him all day, too busy with your club meetings to make time for him after your classes are finished for the week. College is never-ending in that horrible, unstoppable way.

It’s nearing two in the morning when you hear the knock on your door. Two of your roommates are at a rush event for their sorority, and the other sleeps through your smoke alarm on a regular basis, so you are tasked with the job of opening the door.

On the other side is Jungkook, as he frequently is.

Your heart practically freezes in place, like his eyes have shot right through it. Instead of his usual baggy outfit and a bucket hat, he’s standing outside of your apartment in a crisp navy suit (complete with a pocket square), rings lining his fingers and hair tousled in that effortlessly-styled kind of way. He looks like a goddamn celebrity, like a young, successful CEO. Like the love of your whole fucking life.

Coughing to distract from the fact that you’re practically drooling, you say, “Wow, you clean up nicely.”

Jungkook looks down at himself, almost as if he had forgotten he’s wearing a full suit entirely. “The pocket square is Jimin’s,” he explains, “but yeah. I didn’t want to let Chaewon down by not dressing up to code.”

He’s got remnants of makeup left on his face, having faded and smudged throughout the night. There’s a bit of black underneath his eyes from the liner, a smoldering effect that makes the dark brown of his irises even deeper. “You look tired,” you comment. “Why are you here, why don’t you go home, Jungkook? Get some sleep.”

Jungkook shrugs, looking over your shoulder to see if his arrival has woken up any of your roommates. “Your place was closer,” he says like it’s nothing.

Like it doesn’t make your breath catch in your throat, stop in its tracks. He spends an evening dressed up in a stuffy suit and tie surrounded by old businessmen and their preppy daughters with whom he has nothing in common, and when it’s nearly two in the morning and he can finally relax, he drives to your place instead of his own. Like it means nothing. As if it means anything at all.

Jungkook runs a hand through his perfectly styled hair, and even knotted and messy it still looks flawless. “If I’m bothering you, just let me know. I know it’s late.”

It’s so hard to say no to him.

“Just come inside already before you wake up the neighbors,” you tell him, sighing to pretend like it’s a minor inconvenience. And even running on barely any sleep with makeup smudged underneath his eyes, Jungkook grins as you let him inside your apartment, caving in, just like you always do.

The first thing he does when he’s inside is take off his fancy loafers and peel off his suit jacket, resting it against the back of the couch. You fumble around in the kitchen for the kettle, instinctively starting to make two cups of tea. Routine.

Looking up, you watch as Jungkook loosens his tie and takes it off, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his white dress shirt. By the counter, you turn your back to him so he doesn’t see you mentally combust. It’s impossible that he doesn’t already know what he does to you.

The kettle finishes boiling the moment Jungkook settles onto your couch. He keeps the television off so he doesn’t wake your roommates, and scrolls on his phone with his knees tucked underneath his chin. Thirty seconds later, you’re joining him, handing him the cup of tea before sitting down next to him, severely underdressed in comparison.

“Did you at least have fun tonight?” You ask.

“The food totally slapped,” Jungkook tells you. “Chaewon’s parents really pulled out all the stops.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muse.

“We spent most of the time lounging by the catering table and distracting each other by making up stories about all of the rich people there.” Jungkook laughs.

“Please tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself, though,” you say. Perhaps Jungkook could withstand a few blows to his ego, but Chaewon’s future pretty much depends on her impressing her parents and their comrades.

“No!” Jungkook tells you defensively. “Jimin told me everything I needed to know, but all of Chaewon’s friends and their filthy rich CEO parents thought I was so handsome that I didn’t even need to speak.”

You roll your eyes. Of course Jungkook wouldn’t give up the chance to remind you of his hellishly good looks.

“You just stood there, looking pretty?” You ask. Not as if he doesn’t do that already.

“You think I’m pretty?” Jungkook teases, a greasy smile sent your way, like he doesn’t know the answer anyway.

You huff. “Dressed up like this? Anyone would.”

“Chaewon said I was like her fake trophy husband,” Jungkook jokes. “She did all of the schmoozing. It’s not like I could have contributed anything anyway. Unless everyone wants to hear about C++.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk all tech to me,” you tease, nudging him with your arm. “So sexy, keep talking.”

He laughs. “If we keep talking about Python I might get a little too excited.” He wiggles his eyebrows just for good measure and you giggle, holding onto this moment for dear life as you let it etch itself into your brain permanently. Times like these, you know you can’t forget, saving them for a rainy day thirty years down the line when you’re in love with someone that’s not Jungkook. When you look out the window and think about what might have been, if only things back in college had been a little bit different.

Jungkook’s phone buzzes on the table. He’s got two notifications, one from Instagram of Chaewon tagging him in a post, and another from Venmo.

“Fuckin’ damnit,” Jungkook swears, letting his phone drop on the couch cushion.

“What?” You ask, turning to look at him.

“Chaewon just Venmo’ed me a hundred dollars,” Jungkook says with a sigh. And it’s not one of those times when you see your bank account balance go up and get happy because yay, money!, it’s when your friend pays you anything over what they actually owe you out of the goodness of your heart, and you refuse to accept it.

“She did?” You ask, eyes widening. A hundred dollars? That’s more than Jungkook would make in three shifts at the call center.

“‘Thanks for bailing me out tonight. You definitely deserve more than 100 but then you’d be mad at me. But please don’t be mad at me!’” Jungkook reads off his phone. “I just stood there looking like eye candy. I didn’t do a thing to help her, what the heck?”

You pull out your own phone to check Chaewon’s latest post.

It’s a picture of them together in the skyscraper penthouse the gala was held in, Jungkook looking dapper in his suit with a glass of champagne in his hand, and Chaewon in a dress worth more than a semester’s tuition throwing up a peace sign like the trendy Asian she is. They look like a K-drama couple. Like two celebrities basking in their fame and wealth.

Shoutout to my one and only Jeon Jungkook for being my fake date tonight! Thanks to your good looks and charming personality for impressing all of my parents’ rich friends and their daughters. Love you 3000 💕

“Wow, whoever took this picture of the both of you knows their shit,” you say, impressed. You had always thought it impossible for Jungkook to look better in pictures than in real life, but this photo is coming rather close. If you were any more shameless, you’d ask Chaewon if she has any more photos of him. Just him, preferably.

It’s not as if she doesn’t know about your gargantuan crush on him anyway.

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked that good in a photo in my life,” Jungkook says with a laugh. Impossible. He yawns, placing his empty mug on the little end table next to the couch.

“You should set it as your profile picture,” you suggest, leaning your head on him and pretending like this is normal. He yawns again, stretching out as he rests his body against yours. “Hey, we should go to sleep. Unless you want to go home?”

Jungkook groans, snuggling in closer. “No, your bed is big enough for the two of us.”

And who are you to resist?

You wake up to the sound of a phone buzzing furiously on your bedside table. You crack open one eye just a sliver to see who the culprit is and immediately eradicate it, when the sun filtering through your Venetian blinds hits your cornea. You groan, shutting your eyes once more as you smack your hand around to get it to shut off.

The movement, however, causes the bedsheets to shift beside you, and when you turn, you find Jungkook nestled up tightly beneath your duvet, an arm stretched over your side as he hums in his sleep.

You’re best friends.

This is normal.

(The feeling of your heart beating out of its chest has become rather normal, as well.)

He’s wearing a raggedy old t-shirt of yours that has always been too big on you but fits him just perfectly and a pair of joggers that he keeps at your place “just in case”. Just in case he stays the night. Just in case you ever need them. Selfishly, you will yourself to fall back asleep, shutting your eyes tightly and pretending that maybe, if you never wake up, this moment will freeze in time, locking the two of you together for eternity.

He mumbles to himself in his sleep, a murmur of nothing as he shifts over slightly, hand dragging up your side.

God.

Next to you, the phone begins to buzz erratically again, and wide-awake, you look over to realize that it’s Jungkook’s, and that it’s Chaewon on the other end.

This is at least the second time she’s called, which means that, despite how tempting it is, you probably shouldn’t silence his phone and go back to lying in bed with Jungkook and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Sighing, you pick up.

“Jungkook!” Chaewon shouts on the other side. For a brief moment you wonder why on earth she’s so energetic so early, but it’s less that and more the fact that you are overwhelmingly lethargic rather late in the day. “All of my friends said you looked really good in those photos I posted of us. Do you think you’re free next Wednesday night? Seunghee wants you to accompany her to a double date her parents are forcing her to go on!”

“Chaewon—”

“Oh, Y/N! How’s it going?”

“I just woke up,” you mumble quietly as Jungkook stirs beside you.

“Of course you did,” Chaewon says, and you can see her rolling her eyes on the other side of the line. “Wait, why do you have Jungkook’s phone if you just woke up? Oh my God, don’t tell me—”

“Shh!” You hiss into the phone. Jungkook is slowly beginning to wake up, and you can only pray that he isn’t listening in to the conversation between you and Chaewon. “No, we did not. He got back after your thing and we promptly passed out in my bed, fully clothed,” you whisper loudly.

“Jungkook went to your place last night? He was so tired, I thought he was going straight back to his. We even got dropped off outside my apartment.”

What? Chaewon and Jungkook live within a three-minute walk of each other. Your apartment is ten minutes away from both of them.

“You did?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.

“Who’s that?”

You turn around to see Jungkook lying on his back, head resting on a nearly-deflated pillow of yours as he looks up at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is mussed, some parts styled and stiff with hair gel, and some parts tangled and unkempt. He looks like he’s been lying in that position for a while, hand resting behind his head as he gazes up at you.

“It’s Chaewon,” you tell him softly as she laughs on the other end. “She just called your phone. Are you free next Wednesday?”

“Hmm?” Jungkook, still half-asleep. “When?”

“Next Wednesday,” you repeat, a hand on the phone like it’s going to do anything to stop Chaewon from listening to you two. “Chaewon says she has a friend who wants you to accompany her to a double date she’s been set up to go on by her parents.”

“Mmmrph,” Jungkook mumbles. It’s clear he hasn’t even thought about his plans for the rest of the day, let alone next Wednesday.

“He’s not available right now,” you say into the phone. Chaewon snorts.

“Fine,” Chaewon says with a sigh. “Can you pass the message on when you guys are done pretending that you aren’t fucking behind my back?”

You suck in a breath. “Chaewon!” You hiss. “We are not—” you quickly turn back to Jungkook, who, by the looks of his hooded eyes and bewildered expression, isn’t listening in, “—fucking!” You whisper. “You know we’re not!”

Chaewon laughs. “Yeah, yeah. Call me later, Y/N, we should grab ice cream or something.” She hangs up.

“Who was that?” Jungkook asks sleepily, eyes still half-lidded as he sits up in your bed, soft skin, brown hair, pouted lips amongst a sea of white, bundled up in your thick duvet as if sitting on a cloud.

“Chaewon,” you tell him.

“Oh, why was she calling?”

“She wanted to ask if you were free next Wednesday.”

“To do what?”

Maybe you were worried about Jungkook listening in to Chaewon grill you about your relationship (or serious lack thereof) for nothing.

“She has a friend who wants you to go on a parent-mandated double date, trophy boyfriend style,” you explain. Jungkook groans.

“Pretending to know business is mentally, physically, and morally draining. It feels like I’m selling my soul to capitalism,” he says with a sigh, collapsing back against the mattress. “I just wanna stay here forever. It’s so cozy.”

“Come on, Kook,” you say, tugging the duvet off of him to reveal the rest of his body. He curls into himself at the exposure, refusing to budge. “You’ve encroached on my apartment long enough.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook whines, drawing out your name for good measure. “Noooooooo.” He reaches out to cling onto your wrist, which means that if you want him out of your bed, you’ll have to drag him out.

“Jungkook, you’re swole, you know I can’t tug you out of my bed,” you say with a pout. He knows every trick in the book to use against you, and worst of all, he knows you’re weak to all of them.

“Good,” Jungkook says with a loopy smile, pulling you back onto the bed like it’s nothing. You yelp as you come crashing on top of him, your body bumping into his as he wraps his arms around you and flops back onto your bed. You laugh and shout at the feeling as Jungkook cuddles up in the warmth of the sheets, pulling you in tightly to his body. “It’s so warm here, let’s stay like this forever.”

“What about food?”

“You keep a stash of Clif bars under your bed, we’ll eat those,” Jungkook suggests.

You attempt to wriggle out of his grip, hoping to escape before he holds you long enough to get addicted, hooked on the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours. But Jungkook is nothing if not persistent and clingy, and he wraps his arms tightly around your torso like a koala, warm and soft. “Come on, Jungkook. It’s nearly noon. Let’s be productive today.”

“Gross.”

“Let’s not sit in bed all day.”

“Grosser. Let’s just stay in your bed all day and pretend that we don’t have any real responsibilities.”

“Given that we’re in college, that may be slightly difficult.”

“Fuck that, your GPA doesn’t matter anyway. Unless you have plans on going to grad school?” He asks with an eyebrow raise, turning to look at you.

“No way, I’m not paying for another four years of this shit,” you immediately declare. Let the capitalist system of higher education extort another two to four years worth of tuition out of you for the same degree? Absolutely not.

“Then why move?” Jungkook says with a grin.

“Because,” you say, stumbling for a real answer.

“Not good enough.” He grins cheekily. “I vote to stay in bed.”

“I vote to do my readings, your CS homework, and get back to Chaewon about Wednesday.”

“God,” Jungkook says with a sigh. “What’s Wednesday?”

“Oh my God, you need to call Chaewon. Right now. Before you ask me what you have on Wednesday one more time after losing all of your brain cells lounging around in my personal bed and refusing to leave,” you say, eyes wide as you worm your way out of his grip, dusting yourself off and heading to your closet.

“Noooooooo,” Jungkook says, reaching out a desperate hand. “Y/N, come back.”

“Call Chaewon. Call her!” You order, fishing around in your closet for some fresh clothes. You’ve been wearing the same one since Thursday night. You are disgusting.

Jungkook groans but obeys, picking up his phone and pressing her contact. “Hey Chae, it’s Jungkook. Listen, I’m literally going to Venmo you back what you paid me because you? Literally didn’t need to pay me at all? And I’m actually mad at you for it? Wait, what do you mean am I up to getting paid on Wednesday—”

The phone call presents the perfect opportunity for you to dash out of your bedroom and into the bathroom, where you splash yourself with cold tap water like a model in a face wash commercial (who already has perfect skin, so why does she need this new face wash, seriously?) to clear your head. It’s been a weird twelve hours. Even weirder knowing that across the hall, Jungkook is sitting in your room, on your bed, in your clothes, under your bed sheets. Knowing that maybe, in another universe, on another timeline, you would be in the exact same positions, only everything would be different.

You wash your face, hoping to wake yourself up. Convince your mind that the past twelve hours have been nothing but a dream, and that when you walk back into your room, Jungkook will have vanished. Or he would have never been there in the first place.

You leave the bathroom and return to your bedroom to see Jungkook tugging on his suit jacket, wearing the same clothes he had on when he knocked on your door at 2AM last night. He’s still on the phone, wrapping up the conversation with Chaewon.

“Yeah, yeah, tell her that I’m down. She can just text me, give her my number. I’m happy to do this for you and your friends, Chae. Plus, she’s gonna pay me and I feel less bad about it because it’s a service and she’s not a close friend like you are. Yeah, it’s all good,” he looks up to see you standing at the door, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, Y/N just got back so I’m gonna go. Maybe we can grab dinner or something tonight? Cool. Bye.”

“Dinner without me?” You ask with a pout.

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. “You’re always invited.”

“Have you figured out what’s going on on Wednesday?” You tease him as you walk him to the door.

“Chaewon has a friend, Soojin, who wants me to accompany her on a parent-mandated double date with a business partner’s daughter,” Jungkook explains. “Apparently all of Chaewon’s friends realized I make a pretty good fake trophy boyfriend.”

You rub his shoulder. He’d make a great real boyfriend too. Not that you think about that all of the time, or anything. “Gonna put that on your resume, big guy?”

“Of course.” Jungkook smiles. “Dinner tonight? We can go to the ramen place you really like.”

“Sure thing, is Chaewon coming?”

“If she wants to. Otherwise, it’ll just be us.”

“Sounds good,” you tell him. “See you then.”

“Hopefully before,” Jungkook says. “Thanks for letting me crash here last night, by the way.”

“Anytime,” you say. Maybe one day, it’ll be true.

Next Wednesday, there’s a knock on your door at midnight.

Who else could it be?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. And then it was supposed to be just a two-time thing. And before you knew it, Jungkook’s number and his services were circling through the ring of wealthy international students, jumping from phone to phone as people crammed to get him to accompany them on their next double date, next business gala, next ballroom dance.

You had always had a feeling that his charming, charismatic personality would eventually draw everybody towards him, so electric and magnetic that you couldn’t help but want to know him, make friends with him, be close to him. From the moment you saw his Facebook introduction post, you knew it was only a matter of time before everyone on campus knew his name.

[October 17th, 4:12PM] You: do u want to get dinner tonight

Jungkook: would love to but have to go to kim family business dinner with dahyun sorry :(

You: ok next time then!

[October 23rd, 1:03PM]

You: yo what r u doing You: i have so many readings to do rip You: do u wanna come to greene w me and study

Jungkook: heejin is taking me shopping for a fancy suit for her family’s event tomorrow i can’t :/ Jungkook: but i am going to get macaroons for u at the mall so we can see each other later!

You: yummm sure thing!

[October 30th, 9:58AM]

You: hey ik you’re asleep rn but we are still on for tomorrow right? 🎃 You: can’t let our one (1) year long halloween tradition of buying last-minute candy and watching the nightmare before christmas together die

[October 30th, 11:13PM]

Jungkook: omg i just saw this now im so sorry Jungkook: uh yeonjoo wants me to go to her sister’s halloween party tm so idk if i can make it this year

[October 31st, 2:02AM]

You: ok You: thanks for telling me

It’s no fun watching The Nightmare Before Christmas by yourself, you realize this Halloween. All of your roommates are out frequenting one of the hundreds of parties being thrown on campus tonight, and although you’d normally be up for getting drunk and dropping it low, you just aren’t in the Halloween spirit this year. Wonder why.

Armed with the knowledge that your roommates probably won’t be back until three or four in the morning, you shut your laptop and decide to go to bed early. Early being midnight, but it’s early for you and that’s all that really matters.

You don’t know why you’re being such a stick in the mud this Halloween. It’s always been one of your favorite holidays, never one to pass up free candy nor the option to dress up, but this one has been particularly lame. You don’t have a costume, your local drugstore is out of mini Skittles packets, and you don’t have someone to spend it with.

Realistically, you have no reason to be sad that Jungkook isn’t available tonight. It’s not as if spending Halloween together is some ancient tradition from birth that binds the two of you together. You did it for the first time as freshmen, and you were foolishly hoping to do the same thing as sophomores. It’s not a tradition if it only happened once.

You look in the bathroom mirror, stained with nail polish and dry shampoo and old skincare, and you sigh. Jungkook has every right to prioritize his current and only source of income over a night spent lounging on the couch doing nothing. It’s not as if you haven’t seen your best friend in over a month and this was the only night you both had free. Jungkook drops by after every single event he goes on. Every single one. He stands outside your door dressed in a fancy suit, or a silk button down, leather shoes and expensive jewelry bought for him by the girls he goes out with.

No matter the time, he knocks on your door and says hello, steals a cup of tea and a bit of your heart along with it, before bouncing out of your living room and off to his own apartment. He doesn’t stay the night anymore, doesn’t worm his way underneath your duvet and refuse to move until morning comes. It’s hard to tell if you’re grateful about it or not.

Sluggishly, you peel off your clothes and wash your face, changing into some old sweatpants from the tenth grade and a t-shirt with an embarrassingly large hole in the armpit. This Halloween, you are dressing up as a lonely college student who is going to bed early on Halloween night because she has nothing better to do!

There’s a knock on your door.

Your first instinct is to freeze up. When there’s another knock, your second instinct is to grab the closest object to you (which happens to be your water bottle) for self-defense.

And then, you hear,

“You’re not watching The Nightmare before Christmas without me, are you?”

To spare yourself the shame, you won’t say that you practically leapt out of bed the moment you heard his voice. You calmly removed the covers, and casually walked to the front door. That is what you did.

When you open it, Jungkook is standing behind it, grinning, wearing the greasiest police officer outfit you’ve ever seen in your entire life. This flew at a marketing company’s heir’s Halloween party? He’s even got what looks to be a fully-loaded water gun in his holster.

“Don’t tell me this is what you wore to some fancy-shmancy Halloween party,” you say disapprovingly, eyebrows raised as you look him up and down and pretend that you aren’t just ogling his figure.

“It was fine, Yeonjoo’s sister just graduated college. If anything, she was more okay with it than Yeonjoo was,” Jungkook says with a shrug. You don’t even need to let him in at this point, just watch as he tugs off his shoes and steps inside your apartment like it belongs to him.

“What was Yeonjoo dressed as?”

“Princess Leia. We made for a very mismatched pair,” Jungkook says, chuckling to himself. “Ooh, did you guys get new tea?”

“You can have some if you want,” you tell him, shutting the door as he eagerly pulls out a box of teabags, turning on the electric kettle on the counter. “I think it’s Wild Berry Hibiscus.”

“Sounds good already,” Jungkook says, and he lets out a sigh that sounds so exhausted, so tired and aching, as he leans back against the countertop, head resting on the cupboards above it.

“You could have gone home, you know,” you tell him. Even from the couch you can see the droop in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. He’s been going out several times every week for the past month, and he still has a truckload of CS assignments on top. He spends precious hours schmoozing with wealthy businessmen and women, shaking people’s hands and posing for pictures in the fanciest clothes he owns and then some. The selfish part of you wants him to stay. The part that loves him knows it would be better if he went home. “You still can.”

“No,” Jungkook insists, shaking his head. “We have a tradition to uphold, don’t we?”

Even though The Nightmare Before Christmas is seventy-six minutes long, the night ends long before that. You haven’t even reached “This Is Halloween” before you feel a head hit your shoulder, and crane your neck to find Jungkook having fallen fast asleep beside you, half-full cup of Wild Berry Hibiscus next to the laptop in front of you. He’s still wearing his stupid police officer costume, the navy blue uniform tight against his body. His lips are parted ever so softly, eyelashes fluttering as little non-sounds exit his mouth, hints, whispers of snores.

He hasn’t slept over since the first time. You’re not sure if you want the trend to continue, or if you just want to be a little bit selfish tonight, greedy, taking and taking and taking. He’s so beautiful like this, so innocent and gentle and soft. It would be such a shame if you had to wake him.

And so, gingerly, you rest your head against his own, breathe in the quiet little sounds that leave his parted lips, memorize the feeling. It’s not the first time Jungkook’s accidentally fallen asleep on you, but there is something about this moment, sitting on your couch a few minutes past midnight, as the rest of the world celebrates around you, that is so intimate. Like here, in your apartment, you and Jungkook have your own little bubble, tucked away in a corner of the universe far from the noise of the rest of the world. And it’s here that you wish you could stay forever, for once never wanting the feeling to end. Wanting time to freeze in its very steps, the clocks stop and the orbit halts, and it is just you and Jungkook, forever. Like characters in a movie, on pause for eternity.

The moment ends when Jungkook shifts beside you before eventually coming to, slowly opening his eyes as he turns to look at you. You smile at him, dazed and tired, as he sits up properly, staring down at your half-opened laptop and the half-full cup of tea next to it.

“Thought you’d end up sleeping here again tonight,” you joke, even though it isn’t really a joke. Maybe, somewhere deep down inside you, in the crevices between your bones and the dark corner of your heart, you had hoped that he would stay.

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” Jungkook asks, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. It’s nearly two-thirty in the morning.

“Just for a bit. I didn’t want to wake you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to head back to your apartment or anything,” you tell him.

Jungkook nearly jumps up off the couch at that, like he’s got springs in his shoes. Suddenly he’s wide awake, brown eyes blown open as he scrambles to gather his belongings, taking the cup of tea and quickly dumping it out in your sink.

“Hey, don’t you want that?” You ask.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll come by some other time and have some, it was really good, I just fell asleep while drinking it,” Jungkook sputters, words moving a mile a minute as he tugs on his heavy black officer boots, scuffed at the tips from wear and tear. It’s as if he’s desperate to leave. Like your apartment has somehow offended him. Or worse, you.

“If you want to stay, Jungkook, you can,” you tell him, standing up to run to the door before he pulls the damn thing off his hinges with how fast he’s moving. “I don’t mind. My bed is big enough for the both of us.”

“No, I should—I should get going. My… plants need watering. Right now. I totally forgot.”

It’s not a completely bullshit excuse. Jungkook has a fair few pothos amongst his other worldly apartment belongings, hanging from his ceiling or potted in old mugs and janky shoes. But it’s still a pretty bullshit excuse. It’s dark. Jungkook waters his plants every Sunday, and it’s Friday. It’s obvious he wants to get the hell out of your apartment for whatever reason.

All you can do is hope and pray that it isn’t you who’s driving him away.

“Oh—okay,” you tell him, opening the door as he furiously laces up his other boot.

“Thanks for doing this. Next Halloween will be more fun, I swear. I won’t fall asleep on you. Or anything.”

“Okay, see you soon, then?” You ask, searching for a clue, a hint, anything that will tell you that it’s not you, that he hasn’t found you out yet. That you can still be friends, be best friends, because even if you want to kiss him, hold his hand, roll around in bed with him, loving him from afar is good enough.

“Yes, yes, definitely. Dinner? Uh… sometime this week? I’ll text you. I have to go. Plants. See you!”

He dashes down the hallway.

And you end your Halloween the same way you started it. Alone.

Jungkook ran out of your apartment the other day like it was infested with cockroaches. Or the Black Plague. Or your microwave had just beeped. It was as if simply being inside it was going to scar him for life.

Maybe your apartment is cursed. Jungkook does believe in ghosts. That’s another reason as to why he fears the microwave. Tiny ghosts could be living inside the microwave chamber and you’d never know. But Jungkook knows better. He knows that they’re there.

“He just… ran out?” Chaewon asks, clearly bewildered. The two of you have been working on the first floor of the library all day, obviously doing everything in your power to not actually complete any of your assignments.

“Yeah, something about his plants.” You sigh.

Chaewon narrows her eyes, the same way she does when she’s plotting something. “Interesting.”

“What?” You ask, nudging her to see if you can worm a less mysterious response out of her.

“Nothing,” Chaewon says with a nonchalant shrug. She clearly has something to say.

“What?” You repeat forcefully. Chaewon doesn’t get to go all cryptic on you just because Jungkook ran out of your apartment like it had set fire.

“I know I’ve only known you guys for, like, a year and a bit now, but you two have the strangest relationship I’ve ever seen,” Chaewon comments like it’s nobody’s business when it is, in fact, specifically two people’s business.

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” She pauses, thinking. In the silence, she begins to pack up her belongings, shoving her laptop into her bag and gathering up the small pile of candy wrappers slowly amassing in front of her. “I’ve never seen two best friends have a relationship quite like yours.”

“Thanks?”

“What are you doing for dinner? I’m eating with Yoonji, but you’re welcome to join if you want,” Chaewon offers. Even though you have no idea who Yoonji is, Chaewon would never exclude you from eating with them.

“I’m getting Korean food with Jungkook, but thanks for the offer,” you say, only to be greeted with Chaewon rolling her eyes. He said he’d meet us outside?”

Sure enough, when you head out of the glass doors at the front of the library, Jungkook is waiting dutifully on a bench close by, headphones in as he nods his head and taps his feet to the beat of the music, lost in his own world. He doesn’t even realize that you’ve left the library until you’re two feet in front of him, when he recognizes your beat-up white sneakers and looks up at you in glee, eyes crinkled into crescents.

“Ready to go?” You ask happily. Your stomach has been rumbling ever since Jungkook suggested you go out to eat this morning.

“Hell yeah I am,” Jungkook says, putting his earbuds away as he stands up. “You coming, Chae?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m eating with a friend.” There’s nudge against your shoulder, and when you turn to face her, she winks. “But you two enjoy yourselves! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

Before you can publicly berate her for being so goddamn obvious, she’s rotating 180 degrees on her heel and speed-walking in the opposite direction, zooming off so you don’t get the chance.

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” you comment mindlessly. Twenty-four hours away from Jungkook feels like a lifetime and a half. Forty-eight is a light year.

“I’ve been busy,” Jungkook says vaguely, shrugging his shoulders.

“Doing what, going out to fancy restaurants and galas?” You half-tease. It’s sad but true—Jungkook spends his nights living a life you could only dream of. And all of these rituals you share, from studying in the library until three in the morning to crashing at his place and taking naps on separate couches, get put on the backburner.

“Hey, it’s hard work pretending to be rich,” Jungkook pouts. “Besides, the craziest thing about going to those things is that rich Korean people don’t serve Korean food at their fancy gatherings. They serve shit like caviar.”

“Is that why you’re so desperate to get Korean?” You ask pointedly.

“Yes,” Jungkook emphasizes. “Man, I just want some tteokbokki.”

“Then we’ll go and eat all of the tteokbokki you can dream of,” you promise. You round the street corner and on the edge of the main road and an alleyway sits a tiny Korean restaurant the size of a bedroom, no more than six cramped tables inside. It’s run by a family who passes it down through each generation, dependent on the starving college students nearby to keep it alive.

It’s Jungkook’s favorite place. The owner gives him a discount every time he sees him.

(It’s impossible not to fall in love with Jungkook. Impossible to not be drawn to his presence, his personality. Like moths to a flame, you can’t help but come closer.)

“Ah, Jungkook!” The old man behind the counter greets as the bell above the entrance rings. “Sit! Sit!” He points to your favorite table, a round one in the far left corner that’s right next to the biggest window. “Usual?”

“Tteokbokki, too, please!” Jungkook shouts. The man gives you both a thumbs up and heads back into the kitchen.

“It’s been a while since we came here,” Jungkook notices. You both usually eat lunch on campus and Jungkook has been largely unavailable for dinner.

“Almost sounds like you missed it,” you poke fun.

“God, I missed it so much,” Jungkook exclaims, tilting his head back in exasperation. “I didn’t realize that it would be so much work to get dressed up in a suit and look hot.”

“Don’t make it sound like such a drag.” You frown. Jungkook needs to put in literally zero effort to look hot. Sitting across from him in this tiny Korean restaurant as he wears nothing but a massive hoodie and black joggers, he looks hot. When he wakes up in your bed in a raggedy t-shirt, he looks hot. When you catch him at three in the morning in the library after eighteen straight hours of studying, he looks hot.

Jungkook sits there and radiates light. Radiates warmth and joy and beauty. Laughter and hope. He’s the college version of a Disney prince. Perfectly imperfect and completely out of your reach.

“I wish I could take you with me, you might enjoy it,” Jungkook sighs. “Plus, I have literally never seen you wear something fancier than business casual. Imagine you in a ballgown!”

“In your dreams, Jeon,” you rebuke. “Free catered food sounds nice but having to mingle with the 1% does not.”

“Touché,” Jungkook concedes. “I don’t know how Chaewon does it.”

“She’s a goddess.”

“Indeed.”

Jungkook pours you a cup of water from the pitcher that the old man dropped off, and then pours one for himself. “Chaewon said that I did well, though.”

Not surprising. Jungkook excels at everything he does.

“Of course you did, you sexy beast,” you chide.

“She said I’d make a good boyfriend.”

You choke on your water as the man’s son brings out your food, and you desperately attempt to avoid eye contact as you sputter and cough into a napkin, gaze pointed away from both a surprised waiter and a concerned Jungkook, who awkwardly thanks the man and leans over to pat your back.

“You good?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Coughing, you say, “I’m okay, I’m okay. It just—it went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.” Jungkook doesn’t buy it, and the little coughs escaping your throat don’t do much to corroborate your claim. “Seriously, Jungkook. I’m okay. It’s just water.”

“You looked like you were on the verge of death,” Jungkook frowns.

“That’s just my face,” you fire back. “Just keep talking about what you were saying earlier. What was it?”

“Being a good boyfriend,” Jungkook says, and with no water near your lips to distract you this time, your mind bears the full force of his words, weighing down on your shoulders like a calculus textbook.

It’s not as if you aren’t already aware that Jungkook would be the best boyfriend in the entire world, bar none. Not as if you don’t sit in bed and dream of a parallel universe, a life other than the one you’re living in right now, where Jungkook is lovely and wonderful and yours. He knocks on your door at a random hour in the afternoon with Chinese takeout from the local restaurant. He remembers your homework assignments when you forget them. He sits in bed with you and judges the Instagrams of the guys on the latest Bachelorette season. It’s as if he was already yours.

“Believe me,” you scoff. “The people know how great of a boyfriend you are.”

“It’s fake, though,” Jungkook reminds you. “It’s only for a night. An evening, really.”

“Better than nothing,” you sigh. “If only I had enough money to rent myself a fake boyfriend for a night.”

“If only your parents were the CEOs of a multibillion dollar cooperation,” Jungkook adds on.

“Truth,” you say, and you and Jungkook toast to that. Toast to knowing that some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Toast to knowing that some of those people can get for themselves something you can only imagine in your wildest dreams—a night with Jungkook. More than just a night. A night spent dressed up in your fanciest clothes, arms wrapped tightly around each other. A night spent as a couple, rather than you and Jungkook.

Toast to knowing that even if you’ll never get to have him like that, you get to have him like this, and you’d rather it be like this than nothing at all.

“You don’t need to rent a fake boyfriend for a night, Y/N,” Jungkook tells you once you’ve downed the water in your glasses (stay hydrated!). “You shouldn’t feel pressured to spend time with people you don’t want to spend time with.”

You don’t understand, you sigh. I’d give anything to spend time with you.

Jungkook pays. He says that he’s made more money accompanying wealthy socialites—even ones that don’t go to your school, because word gets around—than he would in a month’s worth of shifts at the call center. He says he’s never looking back. He’s probably not going to give up the gig for a while, either.

“Just because you have cash now doesn’t mean you get a free pass to pay for everything we do together,” you warn. You’ve always split the price of meals, split the price birthday cakes for your friends. In the beginning of freshman year, Jungkook ate a quarter of a bag of goldfish you had and paid you fifty-three cents to account for his consumption, which you immediately sent back to him. You still fight over it, finding surreptitious ways to incorporate it into the Venmo payments you make to each other.

“I’m rich, I can do whatever I want with my money,” Jungkook proclaims. “And if that means treating my best friend to a meal, then that means I’m gonna treat her to a meal.”

“That’s very rude of you,” you tell him pointedly. “Zero out of ten, worst best friend in the entire world. Will not accept my Venmo payments.”

Walking down the sidewalk, side by side, Jungkook wraps an arm around you and pulls you in for a side hug as you come to a stop at a traffic light. “You always do so much for me and Chaewon. You deserve to be treated once in a while, Y/N.”

“Why, ‘cause I go out to CVS at ten at night to get you Nyquil after you catch the common cold from some sweaty guy at the gym?”

“That,” Jungkook nods, conceding, “and also because you’re one of the best friends anyone could ever ask for. The people who know you are lucky to get to say your name.”

If only Jungkook knew that he was the exact same. It’s an honor to know him. It’s a blessing to love him.

“What fancy clothes do you own?” Chaewon’s lying on your bed, scrolling mindlessly on her phone.

“I don’t know,” you respond, brows furrowing. You get up from your desk chair to start fishing through your closet, “I have, like, some business casual stuff.”

“How about a dress?”

You whip around suspiciously, eyeing Chaewon as she lounges around in your room and acts like she isn’t plotting something nefarious. “Don’t you think you could tell me what you’re trying to convince me to do before you ask me if I have the appropriate clothing?”

Even lying on her back, Chaewon still manages to roll her eyes, sitting up to meet your gaze. “There’s a gala tonight to celebrate some big business deal being closed and I want you to come with me,” she says like it’s a chore, exasperated.

“Me?” You frown. “Why not Jungkook?”

“He said he had some thing to do for some other girl,” Chaewon says. The topic clearly is not at the forefront of her mind. It’s a little too obvious that it’s at the forefront of yours. “Besides, I was given no date restrictions and you deserve to have a little fun tonight. It’s a Friday!”

“I just want to stay in bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you tell her.

“You’re already out of bed,” Chaewon points out unhelpfully.

“Well, then I want to get into bed and play Legend of Zelda,” you rephrase.

Chaewon pouts. “Noooo, please? It’ll be fun, I swear,” Chaewon pleads. “It’s a huge party and hundreds of people are going to be there. Everybody gets to bring a plus one. You won’t be the only person who doesn’t know anything about business and has to cling onto their date in order to survive.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me want to go so much,” you deadpan.

“Seriously, Y/N. When was the last time you went out on a Friday?”

A while ago. You and Jungkook started having Mario Kart nights on Friday in the middle of your freshman year after you both came to the conclusion that every frat party smells, sounds, and tastes like the same fifty shades of college regret. You haven’t gone out since.

“Not that long ago,” you lie. It’s been months.

“Yeah, right,” Chaewon scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t see your Bitmoji on the SnapMap sitting in your damn apartment on a Friday at 11PM,” she scolds.

“I’m gonna turn off my location,” you declare. You’ve had enough of Snapchat exposing you and your location. People can live in mystery about your whereabouts from now on. They don’t need to know. Chaewon certainly does not.

“No excuses, you’re coming with me to the gala! You must have something to wear in that closet of yours, don’t you?” She slides off of your bed with a thud and joins you as you stand in front of your clothes. None of them scream fancy. None of them even whisper it. You stand back as she shuffles through your clothes, hangers squeaking as she shoves them along the rail. Chaewon tears through your clothing faster than you skim through your economics readings. “Aha! What do we have here?”

She whips out a dress from the very back of your closet, right behind the blazer you never wear because you’d rather be caught dead than in business attire. It’s old—you don’t think you’ve worn it since the beginning of your freshman year when you thought you actually had to dress up for parties. Needless to say, you dry-cleaned it the following Monday and never wore it again. You don’t even recall bringing it to college this year.

“This is perfect!” Chaewon cries. “Really says ‘I can fucking dress myself’, don’t you think?”

“Are you implying that I can’t dress myself?”

“You should definitely wear this,” Chaewon decides, dodging the question. ��Gucci and Louis Vuitton are overrated, anyway.”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I.” Chaewon thrusts the dress towards you.

Chaewon shakes her head. “Of course you don’t.”

Three hours later finds you one makeup and hair session later, standing in the lobby of a magnificent skyscraper wearing a dress that maybe could have done without the cup of frozen yogurt that you ate before you arrived. Now you remember why you haven’t really worn it since the beginning of last year. Has it shrunk?

“I feel like a loser, Chaewon,” you hiss as she bats her eyelashes and gets directed to the private elevator that will lead you both to the top floor. “A money-less, jobless loser.”

“At least you’re honest, Y/N,” Chaewon whispers back as you step into the elevator. Despite being nearly an hour and a half late (“Fashionably so!” Chaewon exclaims.) you are crowded into the back corner, several other couples stepping inside to join you, all of them wearing clothes that cost more than your tuition for all four years of college, combined. “That’s better than most of the people here.”

Nothing separates the rich from the poor like morality.

When the elevator doors open, you and Chaewon are the last group to step out, milling about in the corner until the path is free. And when you turn your gaze away from her, you realize just why Jungkook’s so keen on going to events like these, why he never turns down an offer when it lights up his phone screen.

In movies, rich people flaunt their wealth so extravagantly that it almost looks fake. From gigantic ice sculptures to ten-feet-tall chocolate fountains, entire orchestras and dresses worth thousands of dollars, it makes you wonder if rich people really do see those items as necessities when throwing a party. They rent out entire European castles and the press publicizes every one of their actions. To you, it looks contrived, unrealistic. Even if rich people have enough money to sustain the bottom 99% for hundreds of years, how could they spend their money on nonsense like this?

As it turns out, the ice sculptures and chocolate fountains are only half of the story.

At this gala, the hosts have spared no expense. The entire penthouse is made purely of glass, from the ceiling, to the floor, to the walls in between, giving you an absolutely breathtaking view of the city lights dozens of feet below you, of the stars millions of light years away. It’s as if you’re standing in a bubble, frozen in time, the world sparkling and twinkling and shimmering around you. You didn’t even know a place like this existed on Earth. The price to book it must be astronomical. The view, even more so.

“Holy fuck,” you murmur, mouth dropping open at the sight. It’s a movie come to life. It’s a picture straight out of a fairytale.

“Pretty sweet, right?” Chaewon says, clearly proud of herself for convincing you to join her. “The Parks and the Ohs really felt like celebrating.”

“No shit,” you say, dumbfounded. Chaewon wraps her arm around yours and leads you out of the elevator, her poise and grace akin to that of a princess. She’s been to this place before. She could do this in her sleep.

“Pictures first, then we eat, and then we mingle,” Chaewon instructs, and you nod diligently. She’s the only way you’re going to make it out of this night unscathed. Without her, you don’t know what you’d do.

On the average day of an average life of an average person, pictures means getting a stranger to take a single pic on your shitty iPhone at your worst angle, which you will begrudgingly post to your Instagram later after extensive editing.

But this is not your average day, and these are not average lives of not average people. Pictures means professional photographers with entire setups, standing with their cameras held up to their eyes, poised and ready for the next shot. It means couples, one by one, stepping in front of a gorgeous backdrop and posing, over and over, as five photographers at once cram to get their best angle, the cleanest photo.

You don’t know how to pose for photos. You barely remember what the proper formatting is for your essays, depending on the citation structure. And yet, Chaewon is ushering you over in front of the photographers, immediately striking one of her classic, perfect poses as you flail about, trying to figure out what to do with your hands.

“Just relax,” Chaewon advises. Even standing beside you, she can see you panicking in her periphery. “And smile. You’re beautiful, so show them that.”

Eventually, as the photographers switch positions to get different angles, you stop worrying about your hands, stop worrying about your bag, your feet, your head tilt, and just grin. You may not have millions of dollars to your name, but it’s a Friday night and you’re living the life of a billionaire with no responsibilities. You deserve to live a little.

When the next group comes up, Chaewon nudges you out of the way and whispers to one of the photographers, who nods dutifully in response. Wrapping her arm around yours once more, she guides you to the massive catering setup, tables and tables lined with delicacies from every country you could imagine. And of course, a gargantuan chocolate fountain in the middle of it all.

Your stomach rumbles. Clearly, the frozen yogurt was not enough to hold you off. Or maybe it’s just because you’ve been eating college dining hall food for weeks now, and are probably going to throw up if you have to have dry beef one more time.

“If you want to, you should try the caviar. It’s delicious. Avoid the eggplant, it tastes like foot, but the brussel sprouts are delicious. Kimchi’s good, too. Classic,” Chaewon instructs as you walk around the tables, placing servings the size of quarters onto your plate just so you can have a taste of everything. Chaewon sticks to some ribs, pan-seared salmon, and a vegetable so expensive you’ve never even heard of it before.

“Im Chaewon, is that you?”

“Mrs. Kim!”

A strange older woman comes up to the two of you as you’re dishing up, and Chaewon’s face immediately lights up. The woman goes in for a hug, a barely-touching pat of the shoulders and hands. Over her shoulder, you watch as Chaewon rolls her eyes and pulls a face.

“How are you, dear? You look so grown up,” Mrs. Kim says. You watch as the light slowly fades from Chaewon’s eyes with each second that passes.

“I’m very well, Mrs. Kim. Did you get your hair done? It makes you look so youthful.” Chaewon’s a master. She glares at you when Mrs. Kim isn’t looking, raising her eyebrows as if to say learn, young padawan. This is how it’s done. They go on for a couple minutes, showering fake compliments on each other as you slowly begin to eat. You scrunch your nose up. Chaewon’s right. The eggplant does taste like foot.

“And who is this?” Mrs. Kim asks, turning her focus onto you. You look up like a deer in headlights, a brussel sprout puffing your cheek. You were not meant to mingle and eat at the same time.

“This is one of my closest friends, Y/N,” Chaewon introduces for you. You nod your hello, chewing the brussel sprout in the most nondescript manner possible in an effort to save whatever is left of your dignity. “She’s pre-law.”

You are not pre-law.

“Oh, how wonderful! You must have a lot you want to accomplish in life,” Mrs. Kim says. God, you couldn’t care less about how Mrs. Kim feels about you.

“Yes, definitely,” you say awkwardly.

“We really must be going, Mrs. Kim. My parents will want me to make sure I do my rounds,” Chaewon says, a hand on your arm as she makes to get you both the fuck out of there.

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Kim concedes, sending you and Chaewon one final goodbye before moving on to find her next victim.

When she leaves, Chaewon seems to let out the biggest exhale of her life. “Holy fucking shit, I thought she’d never leave,” she exclaims, grabbing a flute of champagne and downing it in a single go. “She’s an associate of my father’s, so she’s always trying to kiss my damn ass. Like, sorry that you need to brown-nose your boss and his daughter just so you bribe your idiot son’s way into college.”

“You like mingling, I take?” You joke.

“Just murder me.”

“Have any tips?”

“Flex as hard as possible without actually flexing. Try to speak to people your age because they are usually more bearable than people older than you. The best conversationalists are anybody under the age of ten,” Chaewon tells you. She picks up another glass of Prosecco. “Want some champagne?”

“You have it,” you tell her. “I think you need it more than I do.”

Chaewon shrugs. Not as if they’re running out any time soon. She gulps it down and places it on the tray of one of the caterers as they whiz by her.

The rest of the night passes by in the same way the beginning of it did. Chaewon drags you around the penthouse, talking with her father’s business partners and associates and their sons and daughters and husbands and wives for no more than two minutes each before moving on. She’s got her technique down pat. Greet, compliment, shade, flex, compliment, say goodbye. It’s foolproof, because you immediately notice that everyone else in the room has adopted the same approach.

Business gatherings like these are just one big game of who can be the most-liked and the least-liked at the same time. And the answer: everybody, all at once.

Halfway through the evening, Chaewon collapses against the back wall, totally unafraid of the possibility of the glass giving out behind her. She doesn’t care. If it breaks, it breaks.

“Tired?”

“I just need a break,” Chaewon declares. “Because everyone in here is so fucking fake, and you’re the only one I can talk to without wanting to rip out my eardrums.”

“I’m honored,” you say sarcastically.

“When I say you’re the only honest one here, I mean it,” Chaewon says. You lean back against the wall next to her, looking out into a sea of people in fancy clothes with fancy food and fancy friends. “Look at all these people, Y/N. All these fucking people, and you’re the only one who’s true.”

And then, you spot him.

He’s far away, standing in a group of people you don’t recognize, a hand on the small of another girl’s back. He’s wearing a navy blue suit, tight-fitting and tailored, a silver watch sparkling on his wrist as he adjusts his sleeves. One of the other young men in the group says something funny, and he tilts his head back to laugh, chuckling as the girl beside him curls into his arms.

You suppose it would have been ignorant of you to assume Jungkook was elsewhere on a night like this, at a gathering where everybody who knows anybody is here.

Jungkook must not know you’re here. He mustn't, otherwise he would have come over to find you. You must have entered at different times, spent the night wandering around different parts of the penthouse. Clinging onto Chaewon’s arms, you must have avoided his gaze, and he, yours.

Chaewon hasn’t spotted him either. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better, if you’re the only one stuck with the knowledge that he’s here tonight. Chaewon would pity you. Other people would ask you how you knew such a worldly, experienced man like him. And you would spend the night wallowing in sadness, wondering why it’s never you that gets to spend the night next to him.

From this distance, you can see Jungkook perfectly. The light from the moon shines down on him like a goddamn spotlight, catching the sparkling on his wrist, leaving a silver gleam in his slicked back hair. You watch as he laughs, smiles, talks, grins and beams and socializes. Of course he’s here. Of course. He’s so good at this, so good at being real and genuine and happy.

Chaewon says the only person in the room who is true is you, but how can that be? How can that be when Jungkook, the most honest, wonderful, real person you know, is standing in front of you? You aren’t honest. You aren’t true and real and whole. You stand on the sidelines, a wallflower in a room of daisies and roses, and pine from afar. Watch as he pretends to date a girl that’s not you, wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her cheek, and you act like everything is alright.

It sucks, being trapped like this for fear of him seeing you. You know that would be worse—if he saw you standing alone and decided to take matters into his own hands. Seeing him up close in a penthouse like this, a movie set, shimmering and sparkling, it would be worse. Jungkook pulls the girl beside him in close to his side, smiling as he listens to someone else speak. She’s the perfect height in those heels, just tall enough to rest her head in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. You imagine them walking into the room together, hand in hand. Imagine them posing for the pictures like a real couple, a pair of celebrities.

You suppose you have no reason to be jealous of her, of him, of what they have. Jealousy is when resenting someone for having something that you once had. You never had a life like that with Jungkook. You’ll never have a life like that with him. Never get dressed up to go out, never get to be his date to an event. Never get pictures taken of you as a couple, never feed each other candies and strawberries dipped in chocolate. You can’t be jealous of her. You were never in the running to begin with.

“Ready to get back out there?” Chaewon asks, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

A waiter comes by with a tray of champagne flutes, offering it to the both of you.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chaewon tells you as she takes a glass for herself.

You sigh, casting another glance over at Jungkook. He and his date are moving around now, joining another social circle on the opposite side of the penthouse. He looks so at ease, so comfortable. He belongs there, in the middle of it all, talking and laughing and grinning. And you? You belong back at home, underneath your duvet covers playing a game of Mario Kart. Not here.

You shake your head. You could use a drink or two in this state. “I’d love one, actually. Thank you.”

That night, you stay at Chaewon’s place.

“You’ve been acting weird.”

“Hello to you, as well,” you say with a scowl as Chaewon sits down across from you at the local ramen place.

“Listen,” Chaewon begins, “I’ve been thinking. You need to confess to Jungkook.”

You nearly spit out the complimentary water you were served. “Excuse me?”

“You need to. You’ve been acting weird and that’s the only thing that’s going to fix it,” Chaewon declares.

“What do you mean I’ve been ‘acting weird’? Care to explain?” You ask, offended. You haven’t been acting weird. Well, that weird. Maybe a little weird.

“Jungkook told me you haven’t seen each other for the last eight days,” Chaewon points out. Eight days? It’s more like seven and a half. Not that you’ve been counting, or anything.

“So? We’re busy people,” you defend. It’s a good enough excuse. You’re sophomores in college. You have classes. Clubs. You have to meal prep.

“So? You guys are best friends. You make time to see each other at three in the fucking morning if you haven’t seen each other yet that day. And you haven’t seen each other for eight whole days? What’s wrong with you?” Chaewon demands.

“Nothing! What the heck, I invite you out to a best friend ramen date and you just blaspheme all over me like this?” You accuse. This is not how you imagined today to be going. This isn’t how you imagined this week to be going. “Besides, it’s only been seven and a half days. He’s over-exaggerating.”

“Seven and a—holy fuck, you are literally the worst. Can you just stop resisting? If you tell him, everything will be fine and go back to the way things were,” Chaewon says, blinking, flabbergasted.

“No, they will not,” you hiss. “Everything will change if I tell him. We’re best friends, Chae. Imagine if I told you that I loved you. What would you do?”

“I’d love you back, that’s what!” Chaewon tells you. “You deserve to be loved back, Y/N. Nothing would change between us. I already love you. You’re one of my most favorite people ever. I would never regret something if it was with you.”

“It’s different with him, though,” you try to explain. You don’t know why—you just know that it is. The way you’re friends with Chaewon and the way you’re friends with Jungkook are entirely separate. You love Chaewon. You’re not in love with Chaewon.

“Is it? How?” Chaewon says.

“I don’t know, I just—it’s different with him.” There’s no way to describe it. Jungkook appeared in your life and it was as if everything just clicked into place. There isn’t a single thing in your life that makes more sense to you than Jungkook. “It’s always been different with him. With you, I—I knew that we would become really close friends once we started talking a lot more in the beginning of freshman year. But with him—I don’t know. From the moment I met him, I knew that I would fall in love with him. When he said hello to me, I was fucked. There’s never been any hope for me, Chae. I just have to live like this forever.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes. “No, you don’t. You don’t even see what the fuck is right in front of you.”

“You?”

“God, I’m friends with idiots. Literal idiots. How you guys have made it through nearly a year and a half of college is beyond me,” Chaewon says to nobody in particular. “Seriously, tell me, Y/N. What do you think will happen if you tell him? Just out of curiosity.”

“I don’t know—” you pause. A lot of things. He tells you he just wants to stay friends. He rejects you because he’s not interested that way and you can’t really be friends anymore because it’s weird now. He’s already interested in somebody else. He’s already dating somebody else and you never even knew. He’s not looking for a relationship right now. Things get awkward because you confessed to your best friend that you’re in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same. You end up never speaking to each other. You never see each other. You go through the rest of university seeing each other on the Green by chance and not knowing what to do. You graduate and move on with your lives. And suddenly, he’s just a past friend you used to have. No longer a part of your life. No longer given the chance to. “He rejects me. We never speak again and have to avoid each other at all costs. He lets me down easy and I feel like a total loser for having confessed in the first place. There’s a lot.”

“Jesus, Y/N. Aren’t you forgetting a possibility?” Chaewon says, eyebrows raised high.

“I’m omitting a lot of them,” you tell her. Including the one where, in the next three years, you end up in a hellish dystopian wasteland and you have to band together to survive but it’s awkward and terrible because you love him still and he doesn’t feel the same, never has and never will, and now you have to fight off zombies and a corrupt autocratic government all while dealing with your own goddamn feelings. That may be the most unbearable one of them all.

“How about the one where he actually feels the same?”

“Too unrealistic,” you tell Chaewon. It’s the truth. Why else would Jungkook be traipsing around with beautiful, rich, worldly girls on his nights off? He does it for the money, sure, but he likes it. He loves the experience, loves living that sort of life. You’d never be able to provide that for him. “You know that’s never going to happen, Chae. We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, he thinks that we’re just friends. And I’m not gonna fuck everything up by telling him that I’ve been madly in love with him for the past year and a half.” You can think of nothing worse.

“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe he thinks that the two of you are just friends because you refuse to actually show him how you feel?” Chaewon asks pointedly, eyebrows raised in disapproval. She looks about ready to walk out of the restaurant. “You never do things to give him a reason to think otherwise.”

“Why would I?”

When your ramen arrives, Chaewon takes a deep breath, downs the rest of her glass of water, and moves on. It’s clear that if she thinks about this any more, her head will explode.

Nothing’s ever going to change between you and Jungkook. You knew, when you first met him, that it was always going to hurt like this. That loving him was something you had to sacrifice to stay close to him. He lights up every fucking room he walks into, and it’s all you can do not to sit there and bask in his warmth. You would rather catch a single one of his rays than be in the darkness. And if being friends with him means that friends is all you’ll ever be, then so be it. You’re lucky to have him like this. Why take the plunge?

“Just—” Chaewon says as you begin to pull apart the noodles in your own bowl. “I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now. And you deserve to be happy, Y/N. You deprive yourself of all of these wonderful things, and I just want you to know that you deserve every single one of them. But telling him? That’s something that even I know would make you the happiest. You shouldn’t live like this, Y/N. You have no idea what you’re missing out on if you do.”

The streak of not seeing Jungkook ends the next day, when you come back from an evening grocery store run to find him standing outside your door, hand about to knock on the wood. He’s all dressed up again, button-down and slacks, hair styled and parted, and you watch as he takes a deep breath, almost as if he’s waiting for the best time to knock.

“Jungkook?”

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, nearly tripping over his own feet as he lays his eyes on you.

“Oh, Y/N!” He exclaims. “I was just about to see if you were home.”

“You could have just texted, you know,” you say jokingly, joining him at the front door as you fumble for your keys.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jungkook admits sheepishly.

“Well, make it up to me by helping me unpack these,” you demand, kicking the door open as you reach down to grab your reusable canvas bags filled with groceries. Immediately, Jungkook is leaning down to grab all of them for you, hauling them inside like they weigh nothing. You stare as he heads over to your kitchen without breaking a sweat, biceps clenching as he lifts the groceries up onto the counter.

“What’d you get?” Jungkook asks, slowly beginning to take out the groceries. He’s in your apartment so often that he’s memorized where all of your food goes, from the correct shelf in the fridge for produce to the proper cabinet for cereal.

“Just like… groceries. I saw a box of peppermint chocolate bars that I thought you might like, they’re in there somewhere,” you say mindlessly, pointing to a random canvas bag. Immediately, Jungkook abandons his putting-away-groceries duty to fish through each of the bags, hunting for the box of goodies. “And I got some cheap Trader Joe’s wine. You know. Just for emergencies.”

“Trader Joe’s wine and peppermint chocolate bars,” Jungkook comments, nodding in approval. He finally finds the box and tears it open sideways. “Sounds like a perfect dessert if I’ve ever heard one.”

“What, did you eat already?” You ask, busting out the wine and a couple of mugs, because you don’t own any wine glasses. Nothing says cultured like drinking seven-dollar wine out of mugs with kitschy sayings like “don’t talk to me until this is empty” or “coffee is my first love” written on them.

Jungkook shrugs. He grabs the box and heads over to your couch, already kicking back and relaxing. “Yeah, I went to some restaurant for another double date,” Jungkook says. “It was one of those places where everything is so expensive but the portions are the size of my fist. Of your fist.”

“You sound hungry,” you note, filling up the mugs and joining him. “And mad.”

“I’m getting reimbursed for the money I spent tonight, so I suppose I could be angrier. But I’m starving. Let’s finish this entire box of chocolates and do nothing else.”

“Your words, not mine,” you say, although his proposal sounds more than appealing to you.

You turn the television on for some background noise, switching to a channel showing old reruns of unsolved serial killer cases, because nothing sets the mood better than the words “then, slowly, he took the knife with which he killed her and began to slice away at her body”. Jungkook doesn’t seem to pay the television any attention, though, instead focused entirely on the chocolate in front of him, calling his name.

He takes an enormous bite out of one before moaning far too sexually for your liking, tossing his head back in bliss. “Oh my God.”

“Good?”

Jungkook moans again in response.

“Please don’t orgasm on this couch. Who knows what other bodily fluids were on here before we bought it,” you ask calmly.

“I’d say that’s nasty, but you guys did cover this with one of those couch covers, so it’s not like my body is coming into contact with other people’s body stains,” Jungkook reasons. The couch cover is the single best purchase you’ve made this entire year. Possibly your entire life. “But they’re delicious. You made a good purchase.”

“I thought you would like them,” you say. “You’re the only person I know who actually likes the combination of mint and chocolate.”

“People who say that it tastes like toothpaste are brushing their teeth with the wrong kind of toothpaste,” he tells you pointedly. “I don’t understand. This is God’s combination. It’s perfect.”

“As long as you love it, that’s all that matters,” you tell him with a pat on his back, breaking off a square of the chocolate bar for yourself. It is pretty good, even if mint chocolate ice cream does sometimes taste like toothpaste. But you’d never tell Jungkook that, of course.

Jungkook takes a swig of the wine, picking up the mug and gulping down about half of it, the wine bitter on his tongue. “Goes great with this wine, too,” he jokes. You take a sip yourself. It’s… not very good. Actually, rather sticky. No wonder it was only seven dollars.

“You don’t have to lie to me, I know it tastes like ass,” you tell him honestly. To be fair, you and Jungkook have both had worse. Compared to the shit served at frat parties, this may as well be beautifully-aged Malbec.

“It only tastes a little bit like ass,” Jungkook compromises. “But it doesn’t not taste like ass.”

“Let’s finish it now so we don’t have to have any more of it later,” you decide. “You’ve probably had some of the best alcohol in your life this semester.”

Jungkook thinks back, tilting his head to the side as he begins to recall all of the instances in the past few months when he’s had anything to drink. “Soju’s still my favorite. But yeah, I’d say I’ve had wine that probably costs more than my textbooks for this semester if I hadn’t pirated them all.”

“The beauty of being a CS student,” you muse.

“You know it,” he says, holding his half-empty mug out as a toast to himself. “But seriously, even if this Trader Joe’s wine literally tasted like garbage, it would still be better than all of that other shit.”

You turn to him, skeptical. Even the single night you spent with Chaewon, in a penthouse amongst the stars, drinking champagne and eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, was more than you could ever dream of. You woke up the next day on an air mattress in her bedroom and wanted nothing more than to go back to basking in the luxury, desperate for another taste. It was addicting. How could Jungkook ever prefer what he has right now to what he had last night?

“Really? Don’t say that just to make me feel better,” you tell him. You can take it. Jungkook has every reason to prefer the fancy meals, the penthouses, the suits and ties to your janky little apartment and old clothes from high school. The two aren’t at all on the same level. They’re not even in the same goddamn game. If you could drop everything to have what Chaewon has, what the other girls and boys who pay for Jungkook’s company have, you would.

“I’m not,” Jungkook tells you seriously. “I mean it. I would rather sit in your room, hunched over your tiny Switch because you lost the HDMI cord to plug it into the television, playing Mario Kart than out there, pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“But it was fun in the beginning, wasn’t it? Getting to be rich without the moral ambiguity that comes along with being part of the upper class?” You ask. It must have been. Jungkook looked so happy when he first started doing these gigs, coming back to your apartment in a state of bliss, a little tipsy from the expensive champagne and steak. He’d knock on your door and tell you all about the night, from how older businessmen handed him their cards and offered him jobs, to the hundreds of ice cream flavors you could only ever dream of eating. Everything seemed so wonderful to him.

Jungkook shrugs, pouring himself more wine. “Yeah, I guess, but it gets so old after a while. Like, no wonder Chaewon was so desperate for me to go with her that first time. It sucks the damn life out of you. You walk around and mingle and pretend that you’re the greatest person on Earth, talking about yourself and kissing up to the other people for an entire night. Honestly, sometimes it’s worse than my CS homework. And I hate that shit.”

“Chaewon mentioned that the eggplant usually tastes like foot,” you add. Jungkook nods in agreement.

“Yeah, it does. She warned me about it the first night and I, like a fool, tried it because I usually like eggplant. And it still tasted like foot. Never again,” Jungkook says, shivering at the mere thought of it. It’s funny, actually, because you did the exact same thing. “But the food is like, the one thing I pretty much don’t have the right to complain about. It’s delicious and usually free.”

“But I hope that you’re having fun,” you tell him honestly, because you do. When you’re sitting in your room, eating two different pints of Ben & Jerry’s, you hope that Jungkook, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, is enjoying himself more than you are. Because he deserves it. You never want there to be a time when he’s sad, when he’s unhappy or bored. Jungkook deserves to live the happiest version of life he possibly can. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I do,” Jungkook says. There’s a second half to that sentence. “I do—it’s just that… It's so fake, you know? I feel like such a goddamn actor when I’m there. I get to live this extravagant lifestyle for a few hours but in return I don’t even know who I’m looking at when I look in the mirror.”

Oh?

“Like, I pretend to be this business student, when I’m not. I pretend to have millions of dollars to my name, when I don’t. I hold hands and pose for pictures with people Chaewon is vaguely familiar with and nothing, literally nothing, feels real. I don’t know.” Jungkook takes another swig from the mug. “Even the relationships I have when I’m there are fake.”

“Do you hate it that much, then?” You ask him. If it’s so awful and terrible, then why does he keep doing it? Keep dressing up and going out, holding hands with and wrapping his arm around them?

“No,” Jungkook says, sighing as he leans back into the couch. “I don’t hate it. I just—I wish I had something real afterwards to come back home to.”

Real? Like what? Like you? You aren’t real. You sit next to your best friend and pretend that everything is fine. That nothing hurts. You’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since you laid eyes on him, and you’re doing everything in your power to make sure that he’s the only one that doesn’t know.

“That’s why I’m always coming back to your apartment afterwards,” Jungkook says. He chuckles, but it isn’t his usual laugh. It sounds forced, contrived and fake. Jaded. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it almost immediately. Then, he breathes, long and slow. Thinks. The silence is almost unbearable. Waiting to hear what he has to say, even more so. “You’re the most genuine person I know. What we share—it’s real.”

Tonight is the least lonely you’ve felt in a long time.

Even though Jungkook has something tonight, you aren’t aching to be by his side, desperate to spend more time with him. He told you that he was really looking forward to this one, that it wasn’t going to be some stuffy gala or blind double date. He said something about going to karaoke with the girl and her friends, singing Britney Spears songs and taking shots of soju for hours on end, screaming his voice hoarse. And even if you aren’t there with him, you’re happy because you know that he’s happy, that he’s genuinely enjoying himself.

So, you aren’t that lonely.

Content with the state of your life as it is, you take the night off, ready to prepare yourself for a weekend that will almost certainly consist entirely of just work. Chaewon’s voice echoes in your mind (“I know that you aren’t as happy as you could be right now,” she had told you), but it’s different now. Because you are happy. You are happy, because Jungkook’s happy. The two of you see each other just as frequently as you used to. He texts you about his terrible CS homework and the Shiba Inu he just saw being walked across campus. It’s all gone back to the way it used to be. That’s what you had wanted.

You were prepared for this. You knew that it would eventually boil down to this, down to whether or not you could take Jungkook not knowing how you feel any longer. But right now, you don’t care. Jungkook not knowing has always been a part of your friendship. The love you hold for him, in the spaces between your bones and deep in the cracks of your heart, that has always been there. You see it, hear it, feel it, whenever you’re with him. Even when you’re not with him, it will remind you, appear in the silence, the emptiness. It will always make itself known, because it’s become a part of you. From the moment you met him, it had settled into your heart.

Staring out of the window by your living room, overlooking the ugliest parking garage on campus, you sigh. You can’t see the stars from here, not even in the dead of night, but that’s alright. There is something so peaceful about the navy blue sky. About how mysterious and unknown it is. It calms you. You put on a movie that you’ve genuinely been wanting to watch for a while, sit down in your bed, amongst your duvet and sheets, pillows and plushies, and enjoy yourself, for once. It’s a good night.

And then, much like most aspects of your terribly convoluted, over-complicated and confusing life, it all comes crashing down.

There’s a faint thud from outside, a soft little non-noise that you assume is coming from the street. Not wanting to interrupt your movie—she’s just about to confess, holy shit—you ignore it. It’ll go away eventually.

Then another thud. You pause, leaning towards your window to see if you can figure out the source. Silence. You’re just about to press play, when you hear it again. And again. It gets louder and louder, making up in volume what it lacks in rhythm and order, until you realize it’s someone knocking on your door. And not just knocking casually. It’s as if someone is shoving their whole body into it, shoulders and chest and feet hitting the wood as they bang on it.

“Y/N?”

Oh, God.

Pushing off your duvet, you tug on your slippers and wipe away the crust around your eyes as you rush towards the door. You know who’s on the other side. You’re not sure if answering it is the better or worse option.

You’ve always had an uncanny ability to pick the latter.

When you open the door, Jungkook, in a fancy sweater pulled over a white button down and black jeans that could almost pass for dressy slacks, is standing on the other side.

Correction: he’s sort of standing on the other side. He nearly topples over when you pull open the door, having clearly been leaning on it, and you barely have time to reach your arms out to catch him.

“Oh! Y/N!” Jungkook exclaims, as if he’s surprised to see you inside your own apartment. “I was hoping to see you.”

“I figured,” you tell him, laughing. You guide him inside, and even in his state he remembers to tug off his clean white sneakers, kicking them towards the shoe rack. “It’s so late, Jungkook, you should go home.”

“No,” Jungkook whines. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“We saw each other this morning, Jungkook. And this afternoon, right before you went out,” you remind him. The words go in one ear and out the other, and he pulls you in close to him, wrapping his arms around you as he presses his body against yours in a sweaty hug. His grip is tight around you as he rests his head on your shoulder, breathing you in as if you’d been gone for years. Slowly, after a few seconds, you pull away from him, a hand on his shoulder to get him to look at you through his too-long bangs, hanging over his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? I’m right here, don’t worry. I never left.”

“I had a lot to drink tonight,” Jungkook tells you, blinking rapidly. “Like, a lot. They just kept ordering soju and I just kept drinking it. It was really good. Have you had strawberry soju? It’s delicious.”

“I might have had it once or twice,” you fib, not able to recall having it one way or another. “Come on, sit down,” you point him towards the couch, but he refuses, clinging onto you even as you make your way towards the kitchen. “Jungkook, please, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“But I missed you,” Jungkook repeats. “I missed you a lot. I thought about you the entire time I was there.”

You can’t say you didn’t do the same.

“Next time we’ll do something together then, hey? Something really fun, like going to an arcade or bowling,” you promise him with a pat on his shoulder. “But you need to drink some water, JK. Can you please sit down?”

“No, I want to be with you,” Jungkook says like it’s nothing. Like the feeling of him wrapped around you like this, holding onto you and telling you that he misses you, that he thinks about you, doesn’t mean anything. You don’t think your heart has beaten since you opened the door to see him standing on the other side.

(You don’t think it’s beaten since you met him. Since he came up to you on the pavement, asking you for directions. Since you told him your name, and he told you his.)

“Ah, fine, just be careful, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you concede, because it’s so easy to let him have his way, so easy to say yes to him. You manage to grab an empty water bottle and fill it up with what’s left in your Brita, too lazy to refill it after it’s left bone dry. Slowly, you make your way to your bedroom, out of view of the central living space, where your roommates could burst through the door at any moment and see you taking care of your drunk best friend on the sofa.

Slowly, you settle on your bed, sitting off of the edge of it as you cajole him into drinking some water, whispering soft nothings to make sure he finishes the whole thing.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” You ask him, already looking around for the stash of Advil you usually keep on your nightstand.

“No, no, I’m fine, Y/N, seriously,” he promises, even if you can see the glazed-over look in his eyes, the way his sweaty bangs stick to his forehead. “You’re too nice, you know? Always treating me when I show up at your place. Even when you don’t invite me.”

“You know I never mind seeing you,” you tell him. “You can come over whenever you want. I’m always here.”

“No, you’re not,” Jungkook says with a pout, and it makes you furrow your brows. When have you not been? Jungkook’s been going out to events ever since the beginning of the semester, and without fail, you’ve always been waiting for him at home, knowing he’ll turn up one way or another. Except, there was— “That one time a couple of weeks ago, I went to this crazy big gala with Eunha, there were so many people there, and I came back home afterwards and knocked on your door, and your roommates said they hadn’t seen you all day. Where were you that day?”

He had come? You didn’t know if he would.

(Or maybe, you did. You knew he would show up at your door once he got back from that night, and selfishly, not wanting to see him after the fact, the leftover version of him, the part he leaves behind when he goes out. You knew he would be there and you couldn’t bear the thought of being the second girl he spends the night with. The other option. Maybe, you’ve known all along that you’ll never quite stack up to the girls he goes out with, and that sometimes, when you see him all dressed up while you’re in your hoodie and sweats, it reminds you is nothing more than a casual friendship.)

“I must have been out late with Chaewon that day, I’m sorry,” you apologize, letting him rest his head on your shoulder. “I didn’t know you would come.”

“I always come after my events. You know that.”

“I didn’t know if you’d remember to,” you correct.

“I’d never forget about you,” Jungkook says, the alcohol erasing his filter. Making him honest. “I really missed you, that day. I had been waiting the entire night to see you.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you promise, and this one is for real.

“You know, today?” Jungkook says, pulling his head back so he can get a good look at you, your eyes meeting his own. “Today, I was so sad on my way here. It was so terrible, because I was drunk and sad and I missed you.”

“You were sad? What happened?” You ask, leaning in. Jungkook? Sad? Who would do such a thing to him? Who would erase the smile on his face, his crescent eyes, and replace them with tears?

“This girl and I, she was a lot of fun. We sang a couple duets together and we were pretty good,” he hiccups, “kept winning. It was fun. She and I talked for a long time. I definitely liked her the most out of all of the girls I’ve gone out with. Besides Chaewon, of course.”

“What happened? Did she do something you didn’t want? You know you can tell me, Jungkook,” you ask, a hand on his arm.

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I don’t know. She was fun and I was drunk. We were on our way back in the Lyft when she leaned over and kissed me. And I kissed her back, and it was kind of nice. I haven’t really kissed someone like that in a while,” Jungkook tells you. And even though you’re hearing these words from him, hearing how he had all of this fun with a girl who isn’t you, how he kissed her in the backseat of a car, you rally, blinking away the tears you can feel forming in your eyes. It’s none of your business, you tell yourself. You and Jungkook aren’t together. You don’t get to feel bad about him kissing someone else.

“Did you like it?” You ask, each word a pin in your chest.

“It was pretty nice,” Jungkook admits. “We, uh, we made out a bit in the back of the car until we got to her place. And then we got out of the car and she asked me if I wanted to go back with her, to her room. And—and I almost said yes.” Jungkook looks about ready to combust. At his side, his fists are clenched so hard you’re worried he’ll pop a vein.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you tell him, looking him in the eyes so he knows that you don’t mind, that he can tell you these things without worry. Jungkook may be the love of your life, but he’s your best friend, first. He’s always been, before anything else, your best friend.

“But there is!” Jungkook cries, standing up in anguish. “There is, Y/N, you don’t understand! I almost had sex with her!”

“You’re allowed to, Jungkook!” You assure him, standing up to reach out to him.

“No, Y/N, you don’t get it,” he tells you coldly, pulling his hand away. “Why aren’t you mad? Aren’t you angry that I nearly had sex with her?”

“No, what the fuck, Jungkook, why would I be mad?” You shout back at him. “You can do whatever you want with your body, it’s not my job to police it! I’m your friend, not your mom!”

“But don’t you want to be more, Y/N?” He rounds on you. “Don’t you want to be the one kissing me, fucking me? Why aren’t you jealous?”

“Were you trying to make me jealous, Jungkook? Is that what you were trying to do? You wanted to get a reaction out of me because my best friend nearly fucked someone else and then didn’t? What the fuck, Jungkook? What do you want from me?”

“I just want you to tell me you fucking love me back!”

“Jungkook, what—”

Jungkook, eyes dark and furious, pushes you against your closet door as your lips part, feeling the breath get knocked out of your lungs. He’s so close. He’s right there, you can see him, watch as he looms over you, hands clenched in your hoodie as he presses you against the wall. And then, wordlessly, he’s leaning down, crashing your mouths together.

Suddenly, your heart starts. You gasp into the kiss, the feeling of his mouth on top of yours. It’s fervent, hot and angry and passionate, his body against your own as your hands reach out to press against his head. You seize up at the feeling, almost as if in shock, before melting into his touch, leaning into him, desperate. You can feel his breath mixing in with your own, feel the way his chapped lips meet your overly-moisturized ones, feel how his hands drift from where they’re bunched up in the front of your hoodie to your waist, your hips, your thighs. Jungkook kisses ruthlessly, kisses like he’s trying to prove a point. Holds onto you like he’s afraid to let go.

When you part, gasping for air, Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, blinking.

“Jungkook, you’re drunk—” you tell him firmly, refusing to let get your hopes up if what you have in front of you is really just an intoxicated best friend. Your heart is beating miles a minute, about ready to thump right out of you, chest heaving and mouth agape.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jungkook argues back. “Even when I’m sober I love you. Don’t tell me I’m confused because I’m drunk.”

“You show up at my place at one in the morning, tell me about how you made out with some other girl and almost slept with her just to get me angry, kiss me, and tell me not to tell you you’re confused?” You demand. “Jungkook, I’ve never been more confused in my life than right now, can you please just—”

“I love you, Y/N,” Jungkook says, and even though he’s angry, red in the face and sweaty, when he says it, it’s soft. It’s a whisper, a murmur. He says it not to convince you, but so you know. “I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long, ever since I fucking met you. And I thought you might like me back but you never did anything about it, and so neither did I.”

“You need to go home, Jungkook,” you tell him, hiccuping. When you blink, you feel the warm tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them. “You can’t just come into my apartment and tell me shit like that. How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Do you feel the same, Y/N?” Jungkook asks, looking you in the eyes. He’s angry, that’s for sure, but even underneath, you can see the desperation, see how he’s just waiting for an answer.

“Go home, Jungkook. Please. Let’s talk about this when you aren’t drunk, okay? I’m confused and I need to clear my head,” you plead, pushing him towards the door. “Please, okay? Be safe, too. I’ll call Chaewon to give you a ride,” you tell him, grabbing your phone.

Jungkook puts a hand on your wrist. “I’ll be okay, Y/N. I just… Please, tell me. Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it did, but Jungkook, I can’t—”

“It meant something to me, too,” he tells you firmly, lets the words sink into the air around you. He heads for the door, pulling on his shoes. He looks so sad. “Good night, Y/N.”

You place a hand on the doorknob. “Good night, Jungkook.”

It’s barely nine in the morning the next day when a knock wakes you up. It’s soft at first, one every couple of seconds, before it gets progressively louder. Slowly, you get out of bed, trying to tame your hair as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Y/N’s in her room. Is that for her? That’s so cute. Yeah, she’s probably awake. You can just knock.” It’s your roommate.

You scramble to make your bed, pouring some water from the water bottle by your nightstand into your hand and splashing your face, wiping it away with an old t-shirt as you run towards the door, pulling it open just in time.

On the other side is a much more tired, much less drunk Jungkook, one hand raised and about to knock, the other holding a bouquet of daisies.

“Hey,” he says shyly, mouth breaking into a smile the moment he sees you.

“Hey,” you say back. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, head hurts like hell, though,” Jungkook says. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah, s-sure, of course,” you say, stepping aside to let him into your bedroom.

“These are for you.” Jungkook holds out the bouquet towards you, wrapped up neatly in cellophane and tied at the stems with a bow. “So you don’t have to keep Febreze-ing your room all of the time.”

“They’re beautiful, Jungkook,” you tell him, grinning as you take them from his hands. Today feels different from yesterday. It feels lighter, fresher. New. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I—” He pauses, taking a second to think, “I meant what I said, yesterday. Maybe not all of it, but. Most of it, yeah. I meant it.”

“Why did you try to make me jealous, Jungkook?” You ask him. “Why did you think that would work?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook admits. “I shouldn’t have, and I fucked up. I just got so… so tired of waiting to see if you’d ever come around. I just wanted you to tell me. And then I guess I got so fed up that I told you instead.”

You place the bouquet on your dresser before walking towards him, reaching a hand out. “Yeah, that was a pretty big asshole move of you,” you chide, grinning to yourself.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighs.

“But I’m happy you’re here,” you tell him. “And happy that you meant what you said. Maybe it could have been said in a less angry way, but hearing it made me happy.”

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” Jungkook grins. “You’re my favorite person, Y/N.”

“When you asked me, yesterday, if that kiss meant anything to me? And I said it did?” You begin, Jungkook nodding in front of you. He’s positively beaming. “It still does. I want to do that every day, Jungkook. Every hour. Every single second for the rest of my goddamn life.”

“You do?” Jungkook asks.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. From day one, it’s always been you.” You smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Feels like you’re fucking flying. Like you’re weightless.

“I love you, too, Y/N. I never want to be away from your side,” he declares, and like a cheesy, rom-com movie, like the shitty novels you used to read in eighth grade, he pulls you in close and presses a kiss against your lips. Wraps his arms around your waist as he holds you tight, kisses you in the middle of your bedroom, in your hoodie and sweatpants, a bouquet of daisies on your dresser. He kisses you because he can, because for every second of every day for the rest of your goddamn life, he can kiss you, over and over and over.

“We owe Chaewon an apology,” you tell him when you’re parted, sitting on your bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

“Hell yeah we do,” Jungkook agrees. “She’s been on my ass for ages about telling you.”

“Mine too.”

“She’s such a great best friend,” Jungkook comments. “Knew all this time that her two friends were madly in love with each other and didn’t say a damn word to either of us. That’s loyalty.”

“We should do something for her, to make up for it all,” you suggest.

“You know,” Jungkook says, grinning, “I know this guy who made bank this semester by going on fake dates with a bunch of really rich girls. Maybe he could help.”

“I know him, too,” you joke. “He’s the love of my fucking life.”

Jeon Jungkook quits his job on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of his sophomore year.

You know this because on the ninety-eighth day of the fall semester of your sophomore year, he comes banging on the door of your apartment shared with three other girls at 7:18PM, eighteen minutes after he normally heads out on one of his many dates.

“Y/N!” He shouts, banging wildly on your door. You rush over to open it, letting the pasta water on the stove boil over and sizzle on the heat. He’s barely gotten in a second knock when you turn the doorknob to reveal your smiling boyfriend in his oversized hoodie.

“Don’t tell me you’re blowing someone off for me,” you say, inviting him inside. He places a kiss on your cheek on the way in, taking off his shoes and coat as you rush over to take care of the pasta.

“Me? Blowing someone off? Never,” Jungkook says, mock offended. “I actually quit the dating thing, this afternoon. A girl asked if I was free and I said that I wasn’t, because I have to go home to my girlfriend making me a meal. Don’t you love the sound of that?” He asks, pleased with himself.

“You quit? I thought you liked doing that stuff,” you say, using the spaghetti fork to move around the linguine. “Hope you’re cool with boring old pasta for your meal tonight. You could have had caviar if you hadn’t quit.”

“I don’t care, it smells so good,” Jungkook tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he stands behind you, watching you cook from over your shoulder. “Look at you, being all domestic and shit. It’s very cute.”

“Stop rubbing in the fact that you’re the better cook, I get it. Pasta is all I got right now.” You pout, turning down the heat as you move to pour yourselves two cups of tea. Jungkook follows you the entire way to the kettle, grip on your waist never faltering. “You can keep going on those dates, you know. I don’t mind. I get to see you in a suit when you get back, and then I get to take it off of you. It’s a win-win.”

Jungkook pinches your waist in response. “If you have a thing for suits, you can just tell me, you know. I won’t be mad.”

You turn around to whack him with the spaghetti fork. “I do not!”

“Alright, Y/N, guess I won’t wear a suit next time you call me at two in the morning—”

“I never said you couldn’t,” you interrupt, making Jungkook laugh.

“You’re so cute, Y/N,” Jungkook coos as you begin to dish up the pasta, making sure to add peas because Jungkook loves peas with his spaghetti. “But I quit because I have enough money to sustain me for the rest of the semester. I’ll work over break and get a new job next semester when the new work-study positions open. Don’t worry about me,” he assures you.

“But didn’t you like going out and everything? Getting dressed up and drinking fancy champagne?” You ask, setting the plates down at your dinky kitchen table, a single scented candle lit in the center.

Jungkook thinks about it for a split second, and then he shakes his head. “Nah. I like hanging out with my girlfriend more.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” you reason with a grin.

Jungkook laughs, leaning over the table to plop a kiss on your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

“Yeah, you pea-eating loser,” you chide, “I love you too.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #w: if i told you #god this fic.... i cant believe i wrote this.... how did i do it

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arvinsescape · 4 years ago

Text

Peter Parker’s Pianist.

A/N: So this is my first Peter Parker one shot that is not a request, it has literally taken me hours to complete! But I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think, I accept constructive criticism. This does not reflect any particular version of MJ, I love her as a fictional character!

Summary: Peter Parker is completely in love with his elegant piano player.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex and suggestive content. Mentions of guns, maybe a few typos and I think that’s it.

W/C: 5.5K

Peter had first met Y/N when he was scoping out a building that was apparently going to be robbed, he had been hiding out on the roof when he had first heard her play. It was a tune he was familiar with but couldn’t name, one of those beautiful classical pieces, he couldn’t help but sit on top of the roof as the music drifted out of the window.

Peter sat on the rooftop waiting for the mayhem to start, he’d been tipped off by the police that there was to be a burglary that night, some old music hall that still had a lot of valuable instruments in it. It wasn’t abandoned per se, it just wasn’t used very often. Peter had received the call a few hours prior, the police didn’t have the funding to deal with the incident and who better to help than the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman?

He became almost lost in the way the music was being played, it had his complete attention and he wondered if that was why he’d missed the group of men entering the building. He’d been told no one should be in it but clearly someone was, and they were pulling him into a trance he had to shake himself out of as he heard a crash from one of the lower levels. Shit, he thought to himself.

Whoever it was that was playing the piano so beautifully clearly hadn’t heard the commotion from the lower level and Peter felt a sense of protectiveness wash over him, whoever it was, he needed to get out of that building before he even considered approaching the men that were currently ransacking the place.

It would appear he wasn’t the only person that had heard the music and was in a desperate rush to get to them because as soon as he swung through the window to help whoever it was that was in there, four men burst through the door on the opposite side. That’s when the music stopped and she looked up from her sheet music, their eyes caught for a brief second before Peter sprang into action.

One of the men had aimed his pistol right at her and Peter fell into a panic as he aimed a web straight for it and pulled it from the man’s grasp. It all happened at once as she moved from her seat and Peter shot out a web to pull the woman towards him, a slight scream leaving her lips as her chest connected with his. It was like electricity started coursing through his veins, his senses running wilder than they ever had before.

He pulled her out of the way as he flipped a table, encouraging her to hide behind it as shots went off throughout the room. He watched as she pulled her knees to her chest and placed her hands over her ears, the fear in her eyes was prominent as she looked wildly at him, almost begging for him to help and he’d never in his life felt more of an urge to help someone.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Peter found himself saying softly as her eyes locked onto his. “I’ll get you out of here I promise. I just need you to stay here until I’ve sorted these guys okay?” He watched as a tear slipped from her cheek and he couldn’t stop himself from taking her hands in his as he forced her to stay focused on him. “I promise I’m going to get you out of here.” He said and she nodded slightly as a bullet flew over the top of the table, smashing a window behind them, a small scream leaving her lips.

This part was easy for Peter, a few careful dodges here and there, a few well placed webs meant that within five minutes all four men were disarmed and strung up waiting for arrest. Now he just needed to make sure the woman got home safely. She did exactly as she was told, he found her in the same position he had left her in. She still looked frightened, he supposed to her she didn’t quite understand that the threat was dealt with, she was safe now.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” He said as he held a hand out, she took it, a vice like grip to her hold, she looked so frightened and he wished she didn’t, wished she knew he was here to protect her. He helped her stand, her legs shaking like leaves, she looked as if she might be in some sort of shock, maybe she was. She was quiet, only speaking when she was directing him towards her home. When they eventually arrived outside her house she was less tense than she’d been when they set off.

“Thank you.” She said quietly and Peter smiled but then realized she wouldn’t have been able to see that, so he spoke instead.

“Anytime, just promise me you won’t hang around those places on your own from now on.” He said and he hoped she’d listen; he didn’t want her to put herself in danger again and he relaxed as he watched her nod.

“I promise.” She reassured. “Again, thank you. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t think about that. You’re okay and that’s all that matters.” He said and she gave him the first smile he’d seen from her and christ if he wasn’t enamored before he certainly was now.

He’d found himself looking for her as he swung through the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of her again or hear that beautiful piano through the night, but it had been two weeks and no such luck. It wasn’t until he’d finished dealing with a robbery fifteen days after the encounter that he’d heard her again.

He was on his way home, telling the police where he’d left the men when he heard the sound of a piano coming from the music hall across the road, the music was faint but due to his advanced hearing he didn’t miss it like other ears may have done. He couldn’t help as he climbed the building, he wanted to know if it was her again.

When he got to the window he felt his heart race, there she was, playing another classical piece he’d heard before, he was yet again thrown into a trance as he watched her fingers elegantly glide across the keys. The concentration on her face as she read the music sheet in front of her. She looked so beautiful, and the music only matched her elegance and beauty. He found himself sitting and listening to her play until she’d finished.

He couldn’t help as he waited for her to leave, kept a safe distance as he made sure she got home safe. He wondered if it came across stalkerish, but he only wanted to make sure she got home safely, a guardian angel of sorts, he thought to himself.

This continued on for a good few weeks, he found himself seeking her out at her new place of practice after every patrol, they way she played calmed in, he was becoming completely infatuated with her. Every time he watched and heard her play his feelings for the woman grew. It wasn’t until a month later that he finally plucked up the courage to speak to her.

“You’re really good. The best I think I’ve ever heard.” He spoke as he entered the room through the window, her playing coming to a stop as she turned to look at him.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to finally speak.” She said and her voice was much steadier than the first night he’d met her. Her voice was soft but firm, more music to his ears. He wondered if he’d ever get over his breakup with MJ last year and here he was, looking at the woman in front of him and knowing that he had. Peter’s face flushed in embarrassment; did she think he was some kind of weird stalker?

“I um,” Peter said as he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you’d realised.” He admitted honestly. She smiled back at him, one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen.

“Truth be told I’ve been hoping you’d finally say something.” She said, soft smile still gracing her lips.

“Sorry I just never wanted to interrupt your playing. It’s amazing.” He said as she gestured him to join her, he did, sitting next to her on the piano stool, the close proximity had his heart racing and his stomach doing flips. He felt like a teenager again, not the twenty-two-year-old he’d become.

“What do you want me to play?” She asked. “It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.” She continued.

“I don’t really know that many piano pieces.” He admitted shyly and she laughed, not in a mocking way.

“Any one you like, I’ll play.” She encouraged. “So long as I know it, or the sheet music is knocking around the room.” She added with a small laugh.

“Well, I like that moonlight sonata.” He shyly admitted, he felt out of his element, she probably thought he was ridiculous for suggesting such a well-known piece. She only smiled at him.

“I haven’t played that one in a while. I might be a little rusty.” She laughed as her fingers ran over the keys, he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but held himself back as he listened to her play. She played it perfectly and so effortlessly, a calm washed over him that he’d never had before, it almost felt like it was just the two of them in the whole world. It felt as though a parade could waltz through the door and neither of them would notice, he liked the calm it brought.

“Y/N, by the way.” She spoke as she finished. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting your name. Secret identity and all that.” She said with a small smile, and he found himself wanting to open up to her, tell her who he was but he didn’t.

This became a routine for the two. He’d sit with her as she played. ‘Moonlight sonata’ almost felt like their song, a song that was made for the two of them, it was one of his favourites she’d play. He fell in love with her at some point in the months they’d been doing this. She’d play for him, and he’d walk her home in return. He remembers when she found out who he was, his real name.

“I have really strong feelings for you.” He blurted out halfway through one of her pieces, her fingers suddenly stopped on the keys she looked at him, shock written all over her face.

“You what?” She asked, voice soft as ever, it held a hint of disbelief to it.

“I have really strong feeling for you.” He repeated. He didn’t want to tell her he was in love with her, didn’t want to scare her off. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go on a date?” He asked, hope laced his tone. “If you don’t feel the same, I understand.” He added quickly, he just needed to get his feelings off his chest.

“It’s not that I don’t feel the same, but I don’t know who you are under the mask. I can’t exactly go on a date with spiderman.” She said and his heart soared, she liked him back? “You’re the friendly neighbourhood spiderman and I’m just me.” She said and Peter hated it, hated that she couldn’t see how truly amazing she is.

“You know, under the mask, I’m just a regular guy.” He said.

“I imagine so, but I don’t know that guy.” She said with a sad smile.

“Do you want to?” He asked, he was never more sure of telling someone who he was in his life.

“Of course I do.” She answered honestly. He moved to remove his mask, he felt confident. She smiled again as he revealed himself to her, he knew he could trust her, every part of her screamed that he could and maybe that was why he had no hesitation now that the time was here.

“Then I suppose you should meet Peter Parker.” He grinned.

She’d never told a soul and their interactions became easier as they became more comfortable around each other. Some nights she’d sit in his lap as she played, his arms securely around her frame as he pressed his cheek into her back and listened to her play.

“Why don’t you play for other people to hear?” He asked one day, head on her shoulder as hers was thrown back onto his.

“I’m not that good Pete.” She said.

“You are.” He fired back.

“You’re biased.” She laughed.

“Am not.” He defended himself. “You could make a living out of how good you are.” He added. She turned her head to kiss his cheek.

“Nah, I like it just being you that hears me.” She said and Peter grinned.

“I love you.” He said as he turned his head to look at her.

“I love you.” She returned, almost instantly. He caught her lips with his and smiled as she happily returned the gesture. He pulled away as he rubbed his nose against hers, their relationship had blossomed into something so comfortable and serene. He loved her with everything he had to give, she was his first priority, always.

Although their relationship was so perfect to him, it didn’t mean they didn’t fight, they’d fought many times over the last two and a half years. He remembers when he’d missed a date because someone was terrorizing the city when he was returning home from work, he couldn’t just walk passed it. Although she was always his top priority, sometimes things came up, but never too often.

He knew he’d find her here. He felt immensely guilty for missing their dinner, she’d been so excited the night before, the texts he’d received throughout the day solidifying her excitement. She was playing the piano again, but this time more harshly than he’d ever seen her play, the tune was darker than usual. She was angry, he could tell through the way she was playing, it still sounded beautiful to him.

“Baby, I’m sorry.” He said as he sat next to her. She didn’t look at him as she continued to play. “I tried to text, but I had no service.” He added. When she didn’t respond he waited for her to finish, let her play through her feelings, once she’d finished he spoke again. “Baby, I’m truly sorry.” He said and she looked at him, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

“I know.” She said in defeat. “I understand, you’re spiderman, something came up, right?” She asked and he nodded.

“I tried to get there, I did. But it all ended up in me chasing them through the city in a car chase. I’m so sorry.” He said and she smiled sadly.

“I know. I’ll get over it, I’m just upset that’s all, I was so looking forward to tonight.” She said and Peter’s heart fell, he never wanted her to feel upset with him. “It’s not like it happens all the time, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be upset.” She said as she placed her hands on his cheeks.

“No I get it.” He said and she smiled again, this time less sadness in it as she leaned over and kissed him.

“I expect you to make it up to me.” She said as she looked at him, seduction clear in her eyes and Peter grinned.

“Oh baby, you have no idea.” He said as he captured her lips in his again.

Not all of their fights were worked out so easily. Sometimes their anger got the better of them both, being spiderman took its toll on both of them occasionally.

“Peter! Fuck.” She said as he fell through the door to their house, they’d moved in together recently, the house was gorgeous. Blood soaked his suit and he’d startled her as he fell through the door.

“Hi.” He said in a small voice. He tried to keep himself stood upright, tried to manoeuvre into the living room without getting blood all over the place.

“What happened?” She panicked as she made her way over to him, helping him stand. “You need to go to the hospital.” She continued her panic as she got him to the couch, reaching for her phone. Peter stopped her.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a few cuts and bruises.” He reassured and she looked at him with concern in her eyes.

“Just a few- Are you fucking kidding me?” She screamed as she set off towards the bathroom, muttering under her breath. This wasn’t the first time he’d come home like this. He worried that one day she’d leave him because of it, MJ had. MJ couldn’t deal with the missed dates and the constant worry that came with dating spiderman; she’d asked him to give it up but he couldn’t.

“Baby, I heal fast.” He reassured as she reappeared, first aid box in hand.

“It’s not the point Peter.” She snapped, he wondered why she was so angry, she wasn’t like this last time.

“I just got overwhelmed, that’s all.” He said and she shook her head.

“You need to be more careful.” She said and he nodded.

“I know. I’ll be okay though, I promise.”

“It’s still not the point.” She snapped and his anger flared.

“Look, I’m spiderman, these things are bound to happen from time to time.” She was yet to look at him as she patched up his hand. Her hands were so careful. “I don’t know what you want me to do.” He said.

“Be more careful.” She muttered and he grew annoyed.

“Right, because I went out tonight, not thinking to be careful. I wanted to come home looking like this.” He snapped. She still hadn’t looked at him.

“Just let me patch you up.” She sighed.

“You might hate the fact that I’m spiderman but it’s a part of my life, I don’t know what you want from me.” He said in frustration and that was when she looked at him for the first time and he instantly regretted his tone, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears, but his anger had risen now.

“It has nothing to do with that!” She said in frustration.

“Then what the fuck is it?” He shouted and her tears fell, his face softening completely, his anger washing away as he regretted his tone with her for the second time in a thirty second period.

“I’m terrified!” She shouted as she stood. “I’m absolutely fucking terrified that one day you won’t come home!” She said as she ran her hands through her hair. “I love what you do, truly I do. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for spiderman but fucking hell Peter, you can’t keep being so reckless.” She was shouting now; her tears had become uncontrollable. “I’m not asking you to give it up, I’m asking you to be more careful, I can’t remember the last time I saw you without some bruise or scar.” She was pacing now.

“And I know you heal fast, that they only last a few days.” She continued, he was watching her intently now, she needed to get this out and he needed to hear it. “It’s hard for me to watch. To pretend I’m okay with how much you get beaten up. I want spiderman to carry on doing what he does, fuck knows what the city would be like without him, but I don’t like what that does to Peter. I need you to be okay.” She stopped as she looked at him, desperation in her eyes. “I need you to always come home to me.” She admitted, tone defeated.

“Hey hey hey,” he said as he stood, he instantly engulfed her in his arms, neither of them caring about the transfer of blood. She cried into his chest as he rested his chin atop her head, one hand rubbing her back, the other in her hair. “I’ll always come home to you baby, always.” He said. “I love you okay. I promise I’ll be more careful. You’re stuck with me now.” He said as he let her get it out, let her cry into his chest as he held her.

He understood now, she didn’t dislike the fact that he was spiderman, not in the same way MJ did. It wasn’t because he missed things sometimes or because he wasn’t as available as she wanted him to be, it was because she loved him, and she didn’t want anything to happen to him. It made him realise in that moment just how much she was the one for him, she didn’t want him to separate the two she wanted him to take care of both Peter and spiderman.

She was scared he wouldn’t come home, whereas MJ had always been angry he missed things or came home after she’d gone to sleep. Y/N? No. She was concerned about losing him and it filled him with so much happiness, sure, he was a super-hero, but she wanted to take care of him, she wanted him as safe as he wanted her. Fuck, he loved this woman and he wondered, if she asked him to, if he’d give it all up. He decided he probably would, but unlike MJ, she’d never ask.

“How about we get cleaned up? Have a shower? Then I’ll take you to bed and we can cuddle okay?” He said as he coaxed her head from his chest, running his thumbs over her cheeks to rid her of her tears. “I promise I’ll be more careful. I love you so much baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what this was doing to you.”

“I love you.” She said as he picked her up, wincing slightly as she caught a particularly prominent bruise. “Sorry.” She mumbled and he kissed her temple in response.

“Please don’t ever apologize for loving me. I’ve never been loved by anyone the way you love me. Baby, I love you so much.” This was what she needed, she needed him to remind her that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he was all hers and that he would always, without any shadow of a doubt, come home to her.

He loved her, with everything he had in him. She was utterly perfect for him, asking her to move in with him had been the best thing he’d ever done. They’d bought an old house, one that needed a ton of work doing to it. Peter had spent hours and many late nights doing it up so they could live in it. There was one room he’d banned her from entering until he was finished, it was the room he took the most pride in.

“Okay, I hope you like it.” Peter said nerves evident in his tone.

“I’m sure I’ll love it.” She said, biting her lip in anticipation. Peter gulped slightly, he really wanted her to love this. He removed his hands that were covering her eyes and she gasped as she put her own over her mouth.

“Please tell me you like it.” Peter worried and she turned to look at him before throwing her arms around him, jumping on him, he only just caught her time. She wrapped her legs around his waist as she peppered kisses on his face.

“Baby, I love it.” She said as happy tears made their way down her face and Peter couldn’t stop his grin.

He let her down and watched as she made her way around the room that had taken him a week to perfect. The room was painted a purple she was in love with, not too bright and not too dark, almost a perfectly calm colour. She approached the bookshelf he’d made; it was a beautiful mahogany; she ran her fingers over it before looking back at him.

“Did you make this?” She asked as he nodded. “I love it.” She smiled. She made her way over to the one thing he’d spent months saving up for, the one thing he’d hoped to get right. He watched as she ran her fingers across the top of the grand piano. She looked mesmerised by it, completely in love and he felt proud of himself. He approached her as she examined the piano and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I’m glad you like it.” He said as he kissed her cheek.

“I love it. It’s perfect.” She replied as she turned in his hold to kiss him. The kiss grew heated quickly and it became the first room in the house they blessed. They’d had sex on that piano stool more times than either of them would admit to.

He remembers when she’d broken her fingers, an accident that had happened at work. She was so upset that she couldn’t play, and Peter didn’t know how to help her as she grew frustrated, especially when she was building the strength back up in her fingers, but he found a way.

“Peter, it’s pointless!” She said in frustration. “I can’t play anymore.”

“You can, you just need to build up the strength in your fingers again.” He comforted. He was sat next to her as he watched her try to play only for her fingers to cramp up after ten minutes.

“I wish I could get through a piece without having to take a break, it’s infuriating.” She let out a huff.

“Come here.” Peter said as he motioned for her to sit on his lap. He encouraged her to place her injured hand on top of his own. “Guide my hand, play through me, then you’re not constantly playing against a hard object.” He had no idea if this would even work but he was willing to try again, she’d grown so frustrated over the time she couldn’t play that he was willing to try just about anything.

It was awkward at first as she guided his fingers over the correct keys, awkward but it made her laugh as she watched him try and help. She said he had a ‘cute look of concentration on his face.’ It became something they enjoyed doing together, even starting to do it with both hands as it became a fun way for them to interact together. Eventually they got it right and Peter smiled triumphantly when they played a song together, he’d never remember they keys himself, but he didn’t care.

She eventually got her strength back but that didn’t stop them from occasionally revisiting their new way of playing together. Although usually it led to her being pinned underneath him as he made her a moaning mess for him.

He was completely head over heals for her and he knew now that she was the one for him, especially after his encounter with MJ a week prior. He always thought seeing the woman he’d first fallen in love with would bring back feelings for him, but it didn’t, not in the way he thought they would.

“Pete?” He heard from behind him, he spun around to look at the face he knew the voice belonged to.

“Hey, MJ.” He smiled; he was happier to see her than he thought he would be. He thought she’d bring back that rush of emotions, but she didn’t, he was still thinking about Y/N.

“Long time no see.” She laughed and he returned it.

“Yeah, how’ve you been?” He asked and she smiled.

“I’ve been really great actually, I met someone.” She said as she held her hand up for him an engagement ring sparkling on her finger. He felt genuinely happy for her, no feeling of bitterness but why would he? He had his Y/N.

“I’m so happy for you.” He said brightly and she smiled.

“What about you? You must be a taken man by now.” She asked and he smiled as he thought about Y/N.

“Yeah, I am.” He said a smile on his face that had MJ smiling for him.

“Who is she? Did we go to school with her?” She pried, only in an interested way, no mocking.

“No, we didn’t. It’s Y/N L/N, she’s amazing. I’ve never met a woman like her.” Peter gushed before realising what he was saying. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be, I’m happy for you.” She smiled. “Are you engaged or?” MJ asked carefully and Peter shook his head. “You should ask her, if she’s so amazing I mean. You wouldn’t want anyone to snatch her up.” MJ laughed and Peter joined but he thought about it, really thought about it and he wondered why he hadn’t asked her sooner. She was the one for him, that much was clear.

“Maybe I will.” Peter said.

So here he was sweaty palms and ring in his pocket as he followed the sound of her music through the house. She was in her music room, exactly where he knew she’d be.

“Hey.” She smiled as he caught her attention from the doorway, his nerves were setting in now.

“Can you play our song?” He blurted out and he watched as smile spread across her face, he needed to calm his nerves, and this was the best way he knew.

“Sure, you gonna sit or just stand there?” She laughed.

“Sorry.” He said as he took a seat next to her, she studied him before taking his hands in hers.

“You seem nervous.” She spoke as she kissed his knuckles, an action she also knew calmed him.

“I just wanna hear you play, it calms me. Always has.” He said and she smiled.

“Okay.” She agreed as she took her hands from his and began to play, Peter listened to the song as it the melody calmed him. She played so beautifully always has and she was enchanting him as she always had, he watched her play and listened to the music, his nerves leaving him. He was ready to do this, ready for the next step with her, he always would be. He waited until she’d finished before he stood, moving to stand in front of her, she looked at him confused before he got down on one knee, her hands covering her mouth as she gasped.

“Y/N L/N,” he said as he took the ring from his pocket, presenting it to her. She had tears in her eyes and Peter felt his own appear. “You have made me the happiest I have ever been. You had me from the minute I first heard you play, I’ve always found it beautiful and elegant, just like you.” Tears of happiness where streaming down the couples faces. “I can’t think of another person who gets me better than you do. You’re the first person in my life who has loved me for being both Peter Parker and spiderman and it means so much to me, more than you could ever understand. Baby, you are everything I want from life and more so please, will you marry me?” He finished and she cried as she flung herself at him, it caught him off guard as he fell backwards, she was on top of him.

“Yes!” She said as she placed kisses all over his face and he’d never felt his heart full of so much love and joy. She was going to be his forever; she’d just agreed to spend the rest of her life with him. He grinned as he let her continue place kisses on his face. She eventually ceased, sitting up as Peter followed, grasping her hand and placing the ring on her finger.

“Suits you.” He grinned.

“I’m so glad I was stupid enough to go that music hall on my own that night.” She grinned as she held her hand out, examining the ring on her finger.

“I love you.” He said as he kissed her cheek.

“I love you so much Pete. Now let me play our song again.” She said excitedly, getting up from her position on the floor, Peter following as they sat on the bench together. He was so glad he met her and she him.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n

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