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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 4 months ago

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say you miss me | kylian mbappé

🥂 synopsis: you haven’t seen kylian mbappé in 10 years, but when he calls asking for a favor, everything changes. kylian, now a successful football star, is organizing a charity dinner and believes you're the perfect person to help him. warnings: a little angsty, a little fluffly. (around 3.5k words)

PART I

Théo raised chickens. That was the thing that made you interested in him, actually. The first time you met him was when your friend took you to his house for a random dinner party. In your first conversation together he told you about the chickens and how he ate fresh eggs every day.

He lived in a townhouse in the middle of Paris that somehow had a garden big enough for him to raise some chickens. Perks of being a rockstar, if you were to guess.

At the time you thought you wanted that more than anything – eating fresh eggs every morning with him. You kept thinking that for the following couple of years and until twenty seconds ago, when he got down on his knees in the middle of that same garden, with both of your families surrounding you.

Théo kneels before you and it’s so hard to understand what he��s saying. Your brain is simply refusing to make sense of the words coming out of his mouth. You’re hearing but you’re not really listening, it’s confusing. You start to hyperventilate because you’re seen it before – in the movies, but still, you know what he’s doing.

And then he says it, like he’s casting a curse on you.

“Will you marry me?”

“No…” Comes out so softly that you’re not sure you even said it. So you repeat it, “no, no…”

You’re being firm now. Your eyebrows are furrowed and you’re squinting your eyes trying to understand where the hell did he get this idea from. You never talked about marriage and then he decides to do this in front of your family?

“What?” Théo looks confused. Why is he confused?

“No!” You forget any other words you might have to say to him and just keep repeating: no, no, no…

Until you’re out of the door, on the street. It’s a warm Parisian spring evening, but it's difficult to appreciate the weather right now. Your cousin has her arms around your shoulder and it sounds like she’s giving you advice but you tell her you’re getting a car and going home. Your uncle insists on driving you but you finally manage to get your phone out of your purse and it’s ready to open a ride app.

That’s when you get a notification.

Kylian Mbappé has sent you a message.

You don’t know where he got your phone number – you haven't changed it in ten years, is it possible that he just remembers it? You feel your stomach getting sick but you still open the message because it doesn't make any sense doing anything else.

It’s an audio message, forty seconds. Forty seconds of him talking to you for the first time in ten years. You put your phone in your ear and bite your nails while you listen, paying attention to his words, with your cousin still holding onto you.

“Hi…” There’s a half-second pause. “Hey, I know it’s been a while…” Another brief pause. “I’m throwing this dinner party. Uhh… A fundraiser event. It’s a farewell party, in a way.” He giggles, you still remember his laughter. “I wanted it to be meaningful, tastefull.” You hear him taking a deep breath. “And I think you can help me with that. Uhh… I would love to meet up. If you can, when you can… Anyway, that’s it.”

Immediately after, he sends a text that you read right away:

sorry, i was trying to make the phone write it for me these things never work, right? i was going to send an email anyway how are you?

PART II

I've been sleepin' alone, out on my own I'm sure it seems like I'm takin' my time to get back to you You been doin' your part, working real hard I'm not lying, sure it seems like I'm trying to get back at you

He asks you to meet him at a restaurant for brunch, he’s there with his publicist and a couple of friends. The place is in the fancy neighborhood you never go to. In the venn diagram that is both of your lifes, this is the circle you avoid overlapping.

It’s not like you’re not used to hanging out with the rich and famous, but they’re usually all pretentious artists who think they’re underground / alternative / progressive but are actually nepo babies wasting their families fortune on what should have stayed as a hobby. No shame on your ex, of course.

Kylian looks amazing, and you hold your tongue not to cuss under your breath. You try to focus on your breathing but as he shakes your hand, it’s his perfume that invades your mind. He starts doing the whole ‘meeting an old friend and being polite about it’ routine, and it almost makes you walk out.

“It’s just funny that we’re meeting when you’re about to leave.” You say, for a lack of better words.

It’s difficult to hold a conversation at first, you find it difficult to even make eye contact with him. The restaurant is a bit crowded and the noise around you is helping you calm down, sometimes focusing on another's table conversation.

Kylian was never your boyfriend. You two never really dated. He was your first kiss and the first guy that saw you without your bra on, but it was never an official relationship. Even if your last conversation felt like a break up and even if it feels like you are sitting in front of your ex, you're not. Because he was never your boyfriend.

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.” He says with a big smile. Kylian looks genuinely happy. It’s almost contagious, but you try not to show it, feeling inappropriate. “Paris will always be my home.” He pauses then, searching for the right words. “But I have this feeling… That I need a proper goodbye before moving on.” And then faster than a blink, he corrects himself. “Not a goodbye, more like a ‘thank you and see you soon’.” Now he looks embarrassed, eyebrows furrowed, he’s trying to be honest with you, this person he hasn't seen in forever, trying to express his feelings. “With the club there was a goodbye, you know. We won a final title together…” He looks at his friend for courage and they all nod at him, so he continues. “I want something like that with the city. Because it’s the city I’ll miss the most. I think it’s about the feeling of leaving a place better than I found it.”

It’s strange seeing him pouring out his emotions like that, being trusted with so much information after so long, but at the same time it feels like no time has passed and it is only natural for him to share all that. Smiling brightly again, he asks:

“I heard you did something like that for Di Caprio, so why not me?”

You laugh loudly at that. The thing is, you work as an event planner at this really small company for the last 3-4 years, you also spend a lot of your time doing charity work in the neighborhood you grew up in. And because of your ex you got to meet all kinds of progressive / pretentious a-list artists. Including a certain Hollywood actor who hired you to organize his annual charity event. Now, how did Kylian find out about it? You had no idea. You took great pride in being a private person.

“So you want a Leo Di Caprio kind of party?” You ask, still chuckling. Kylian shakes his head and now with the help of his publicist and close friends, they all begin to explain to you what they were thinking. Is easy to understand and you think you already knew what he wanted the minute he contacted you. He doesn't want anything luxurious or it’ll look tacky and disrespectful, but nothing too simple or it’ll seem careless.

You nod throughout their explanation, knowing all you can do is hope that you’re really the right person for the job.

PART III

Do you miss me too? Baby say I'll miss you, just say you'll miss me too (Ooh, ooh, ooh) Do you miss me too? Baby say I'll miss you, just say you'll miss me too

He doesn't have to be here. But he shows up for the meetings anyway, and he has an opinion on every little thing being discussed. It will be a celebration of young athletic talent in Paris and there’s a few partnerships involving organizations that help those young athletes and invest in sports.

As it’s all being explained, you desperately try to slip your professional persona into place. His publicist is a polished woman in her mid-thirties, wearing a sleek black dress. She’s going over the logistics, but you’re barely listening. Instead, you’re watching Kylian as he nods along, occasionally interjecting with his ideas. He seems almost boyish in his excitement, and it’s hard to reconcile this version of him with the memory you have.

In your memory he’s still a teenage boy, in your memory he never really grew up.

“Alright.” You say, pulling out your phone to start making notes. “We’ll need to narrow down the locations, figure out the logistics, and–”

“Dinner.” Kylian interrupts, and you look up, confused.

“What?”

“Let’s go over the details tonight, over dinner.” He says, flashing you that smile – the one that always made you weak in the knees. “Just us. It’ll be like old times.”

You hesitate. He is half-joking because the two of you never had dinner together, ‘old times’ was just two kids hanging out after school and in between his football practice sessions. But then you see the way he’s looking at you, hopeful and a little vulnerable, and you find yourself nodding.

“Dinner it is.” You say, trying to keep your tone light, even though your heart is pounding in your chest.

He takes you to his favorite place where he knows all the people and shows off about understanding the menu. The food is actually so great that for a while there’s a comfortable silence at the table, the two of you focused on eating to the sound of silverware clinking. It’s Kylian that breaks the silence, almost wishing he hasn’t.

“You know, I was surprised you answered me.”

You look up. “Really?”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long time. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You ask him, genuinely puzzled. “We may not have talked in a while, but that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. Besides, this is important to you. How could I say no?”

He looks down at his plate, fiddling with his fork. “I guess I just didn’t know where we stood. I didn��t want to assume anything.”

You shake your head, a feeling of embarrassment creeping over you. You didn’t expect him to address the past so bluntly, so you try to play it cool.

“We were kids. I’m not holding grudges for something that happened when we were fifteen, and I hope you don’t either.”

He looks up at you then, and you can see the relief in his eyes. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. By the time you leave the restaurant, you’re both feeling more than a little nostalgic.

PART IV

I've been losing my mind, wastin' my time I'm not crazy, sure it seems like I'm lazy, let's get back to you You been takin' it hard, I know it's hard I'm not lyin' sure it seems like I'm tryin' to get back at you

As you step outside the restaurant, Kylian walks beside you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“Do you want me to call a car for you?” He asks.

You hesitate, glancing around the mostly empty street. “Actually… would you mind walking me home? It’s not far.”

He looks pleasantly surprised, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sure, of course.”

The walk is short, but it feels longer with every step. The conversation is light, mostly small talk.

When you reach your building, you stop at the entrance, turning to face him. Kylian looks at you, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The street lamp casts a soft glow, and you can see the way his eyes search yours.

“Well… this is me.” You say, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You don’t really want to say goodbye.

Kylian nods, his eyes lingering on you. “Yeah… I guess this is goodnight, then.”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat of silence where you should probably just say goodbye, but instead, you find yourself stepping closer. It’s like something takes over, something that has nothing to do with reason or thought – just pure instinct.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you lean in and press your lips to his. The kiss is quick, almost like a reflex, and the second it happens, you freeze, pulling back slightly, shocked by your own boldness.

“Sorry, I didn’t –” You start to say, already kicking yourself for acting on impulse, but before you can finish, Kylian reaches out, his hand gently cupping your face.

“Don’t be.” He whispers, and then he pulls you back in, his lips finding yours with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

This kiss is different – deeper, more intentional. Like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours.

Time stops for a moment, and all you can think about is the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand cradles your face like you’re something precious. You melt into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater as if to anchor yourself to the moment.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other. And then you start to panic.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” You blurt out, your hands shooting up into the air as you take a step back from him. Your heart races, and your mind spirals into a panic. “That’s… Wow. That’s crazy, right?” You look around your completely empty street, trying to lower your voice not to awaken your mostly elderly neighbors. You start taking quick, deep breaths, feeling your anxiety level go over the roof. “I just got out of this super long relationship, like a week ago!”

Kylian chuckles, a sound that’s both comforting and maddening to the mental state you are. “Oh, so I’m the rebound?” He asks, clearly amused by your reaction. His relaxed demeanor only makes you feel more frantic. He’s very obviously not taking the situation as seriously as you are.

You shake your head, running a hand through your hair. “No! Well… I don’t know. The guy proposed… I think my brain is in this fantasy, ‘what if’ mode. Meeting you again is just making it worse. I don’t know!” The words tumble out, each more confusing than the last.

“Hey, hey.” Kylian interrupts, stepping closer but keeping his hands at his sides, giving you space. “Breathe, okay? It’s fine.”

His calmness is like a lifeline, and you latch onto it, trying to match your breathing to his steady, measured pace. He’s not panicking. Why isn’t he panicking? Shouldn’t he be panicking?

“I just kissed you!” You exclaim, still unable to fully grasp what just happened. “I didn’t even think – I just… did it!”

“And it was nice.” He says gently, his voice low and soothing. “But it doesn’t have to mean anything unless you want it to.”

His words start to sink in, and you feel the tightness in your chest begin to loosen. You take a few more deep breaths, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” You say again, more softly this time, opening your eyes to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean to freak out on you. I just – this is all a lot, you know?”

Kylian nods, his expression full of understanding. “I get it.” He smiles a soft, genuine smile that makes you feel warm all over. “So… Do we say goodnight again?”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension finally breaking. “I guess.”

He grins, leaning in just enough to brush a kiss against your cheek, a sweet, lingering gesture that doesn’t send your anxiety skyrocketing this time. “Goodnight.” He whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“Goodnight.” You echo, your voice steady, your heart finally slowing to a more manageable pace.

PART V/THE END

Baby say I'll miss you, just say you'll miss me too Baby say I'll miss you, just say you'll miss me too

After the party ends, you stick around, helping with the cleanup, organizing the last of the decorations, and gathering up stray glasses. It’s late – well past midnight – and you’re beginning to feel the weight of the day settling into your bones.

Kylian lingers too, standing off to the side, watching you with a quiet intensity. His presence is both comforting and distracting, making it hard to focus on the tasks at hand. His mother and sister-in-law are still there as well, keeping a watchful eye on him, but more relaxed now that the crowd has thinned out.

Eventually, the staff finishes up, and you all find yourselves sitting at one of the now bare tables. The tablecloths and decorations are long gone, leaving only the plain wooden surface beneath. The room is dimly lit, a soft glow from the remaining lights.

His niece and nephew are fast asleep in the arms of their mother and grandmother. You’re not entirely sure how you all ended up sitting down together, but once the conversation started, it was hard to walk away. There’s a comfortable rhythm to it, a natural flow as you swap stories, forgotten memories from childhood, and update each other on old friends.

Kylian’s mother tells a story about a long-ago summer when Kylian and his brother got into some trouble, and everyone laughs as Kylian sheepishly confirms the details. Melissa chimes in with a joke about a recent family gathering. You find yourself laughing along, feeling more at ease with each passing moment.

At some point, you look at the time and realize it’s well past 1 AM. “I should probably get going.” You say, reaching for your phone. “I’ll call an Uber.”

“Nonsense.” Fayza says, waving away your concern. “His driver will take you home.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble –”

“It’s no trouble.” Melissa insists, adjusting her sleeping child in her arms. “But he’ll have to make two trips. We’ll go first, and then he’ll come back for you and Kylian.”

You start to protest again, but Kylian gives you a reassuring smile. “That sounds good to me.” He says lightly.

You nod, conceding, and soon enough, the driver arrives. You help Fayza and Mel bundle the kids into the car, making sure they’re all settled in for the short ride. As they drive off, you and Kylian are left alone.

He looks at you, his gaze soft and lingering, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment. “I’m glad you stayed.” He says, his voice low and sincere.

“And you’re leaving in a week.” You reply, slightly shifting the conversation.

“It’s Spain.” He bargains, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I’m not going to Japan. It’s only a few hours away.”

He looks down at his shoes, and for a moment, there’s a boyishness to his face that makes your heart skip. “You should kiss me again.” He says, almost casually.

“You’re crazy!” You laugh at him, the exhaustion making it hard to hold a conversation without giggling.

“Are you scared of airplanes? No? Then kiss me again, please.” He pleads, his voice playful.

“No way!” You’re still laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“Just say you think I’m a bad kisser, it’s okay, I won’t get offended.” He’s trying to joke, to lighten the mood, but there’s something else there too – something almost vulnerable.

“I would never. I never thought that of you, you know that.”

“So you enjoyed kissing me?” He asks, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.

“Well, yes…”

“Then do it again.”

“Are you crazy? You’re leaving in a week. What are you asking me?”

He shakes his head, a little exasperated, but still smiling. “It’s Spain,” He repeats, stretching out the word as if to emphasize how close it is. “Not the end of the world.”

You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious or just messing with you. The way he’s looking at you, though, you realize he’s not entirely joking. There’s something real in his eyes, something that makes your heart flutter despite yourself.

Before you can overthink it, before you can talk yourself out of it, you find yourself closing the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s both tender and intense.

When his driver arrives the two of you have been kissing for a while. His hands are warm on your skin, his touch both familiar and electric, sending shivers down your spine. You’ve forgotten about everything else.

The soft cough of his driver clearing his throat brings you back to reality, but even then, you’re reluctant to let go. You pull back slightly, your lips tingling from the contact, but you keep your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling in the cool night air.

“We should… we should probably go.” You murmur, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Yeah.” He agrees, but neither of you makes a move to step away.

For a few more seconds, you linger, savoring the warmth of his body against yours, the way his fingers gently brush your cheek.

Finally, with a soft sigh, you both pull apart. As you slide into the backseat, you decide – almost defiantly – that you’ll worry about the aftermath of this decision tomorrow. As the car pulls away, you glance at him one more time, and he gives you a small, knowing smile, as if he’s thinking the exact same thing.

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader #football fanfic #kylian x reader #kylian x you

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oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

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When the End Comes | ch 4 (jjk)

☆summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)

☆genre: breakup!au, slice of life!au, angst with a big A, smut

☆warnings: fear of getting stood up, alcohol, pet names, curses, Jungkook's scars, angst, stubborn Jungkook, pessimism, depressive episode, cliffhanger at the end I'm sorry, explicit content: jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), Jungkook taking pictures of them during (I apologize, I have sinned), balls sucking/fondling, pain kink (Jungkook), deep throating, mouth fucking, unprotected sex, hickey, clit play, degradation, fingering, cum play (ish?)

☆word count: 14.3k

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: Rereading each chapter to edit is a challenge bc I just be sobbing the whole time :') I hope you enjoy this one, though it does really hurt oop

☆a/n pt2: Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3 and thank you to @jessikahathaway for supporting me with this project, you are amazinnng

☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!

☆Add yourself to the taglist here (if you were on the taglist for The Forgotten Spaces, you're already on the taglist for When the End Comes!)

☆☆☆☆☆

But love never leaves a heart, where it found it, found it You found it Someday, I'll fall into you That's where I'll be now when the end comes

When the End Comes, Andrew Belle

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, September 8th

You clutch the gift bag in your hand. It feels strange to be meeting Jungkook again, after last weekend. And even after last weekend, you’re not sure where you’re standing.

Did he spend his whole week thinking about you the way that you were thinking about him?

You texted a little, over the week. Each time a notification from him popped up on your phone, you felt like you’d gone back in time. Like maybe, maybe you took a time machine to a past of better days last weekend. It’s bittersweet in a way, because you feel like there is still so much left unsaid between you and him.

But he’s willing to try. Even if you broke him, even if you’ve been wondering if there’s anything salvageable after all, he’s willing to try. Willing to meet you at a Korean barbecue restaurant halfway between his place and yours.

You check the time, anxiety flooding your veins. He’s running late, though he texted you to tell you he was almost there. A part of you wonders if he’s going to stand you up – you think you’d deserve it. Because you’re not sure you deserve this chance, yet you don’t want to lose it, don’t want to let it go.

You look down at the bag. You bought the gift on a whim this week, and you have no idea if he’ll still want it. It’s a lens he was looking to buy months ago, before he left for Paris, and there’s a high chance that he’ll have bought it for himself since then…

You just couldn’t think about anything other than that to gift him. Even though his work was your demise, you know Jungkook loves photography. Always will, no matter where you two will end up. And since it was his birthday last weekend – before you’d reconnected – you thought why not? Why not get a gift and show him that you still care, that you remember?

Because you’d never forget, when it comes to him. You think, if you had dementia, he’d be the last thing you’d lose, if at all.

You worry at your lip, glancing around. Luckily enough for you, there is a bench outside of the restaurant, though you can only sit on a corner of it as the rest is still wet from the rain earlier. It was raining when you left work, but it fortunately stopped as you were getting ready for the date.

You sigh, looking down at your phone again. Twenty minutes late seems like a long time, considering that Jungkook’s not one to be late usually. A sense of dread takes ahold of your heart, and you already feel tears forming in your eyes.

You were foolish, stupid. Idiotic, if you thought there was a way things could be set right.

You get up, looking towards the door of the restaurant. A couple are waiting in the hall, arms around each other as they hug with not a care in the world. It aches deeply, makes you crave the physical intimacy last Saturday held and you gulp as you swallow around the lump in your throat.

Still you stay rooted in your spot. There’s a light tremor that starts taking a hold of you, and you regret not putting a jacket on even though it isn’t remotely freezing today. Your eyes fall to the gift bag, and you think about May. About the moment you’d let him go – has he gotten too far for you to reach him now?

A tear wins. Or perhaps it’s the gravity, growing ten times stronger as your heart breaks again. As the hope gets lost to you, replaced by that same deep sorrow you’ve become accustomed to. You sigh, the breath of air trembling on the way out.

And then you almost let out a scream as someone touches your arm.

Jungkook startles just as much as you, taking a step back, his big, doe eyes widening even more as he meets your gaze. Your mouth remains open, yet no words come out. You just take him in, take his appearance in – his piercings, the beanie he’s wearing, his flushed cheeks. He looks like he was running, and you think maybe he was.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you.

At that your eyes drop to the bright pink bouquet of flowers he’s holding, and something inside of you heals, as if you’ve found a cure to the disease.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you let out. You meet his gaze again. “You didn’t have to.”

He pulls at his piercings, shrugging sheepishly. “I wanted to.”

It’s warm. Whatever is blossoming in your chest is warm, a stark contrast to the winter you’ve been stuck in since the night you lost him.

“Thank you,” you murmur, and you blink away the tears in your eyes.

You freeze when he wipes the one that’s already rolled on your cheek, frowning slightly at the sight.

“The florist I wanted to go to first was closed,” he says as an explanation. “I had to run around to find another one.”

You offer him a small smile, and his features immediately smooth out into a soft expression too.

“I was scared you were…” you trail off, wetting your lips as you refuse to voice your fear.

Refuse to admit you didn’t have faith in him.

“I thought you would,” he answers carefully. “Hence why I ran.”

You nod. “I…” You look down at the gift bag, holding it up. “I got you a birthday gift.”

His smile is teary when you look at it next, and you take a moment to delve into the depths of his gaze. There’s a small twinkle there, though it is faint, barely even noticeable. If you didn’t know him like the sun knows the moon, you wouldn’t recognize it.

He’s hopeful. It’s strange – there was no hope in Jungkook’s gaze last weekend. Or there had been, for a fraction of a moment, until it had been blown away by the wind. You can only hope that this time it will hold on strong.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, though the curve of his pink lips tells you he appreciates the thought.

He grabs the gift bag, not looking through it right away. Instead, he hands you the flowers, and you delicately take them, bringing them close to your nose so that you can inhale the fragrance. Your eyelids flutter shut, and a content smile moves on your lips.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you meet his gaze again. “And…” You motion towards the gift. “You deserved it. I think you’ll like it.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, as Jungkook looks down at the bag. He offers you a tight-lipped smile, and you cock an eyebrow.

“What?” he lets out.

“Aren’t you going to…” you vaguely answer. “Open it?”

“Oh, now?” He chuckles awkwardly, glancing around before pointing towards the restaurant. “Shouldn’t we go in to give our names?”

He’s got a point. Especially considering that it’s a Friday evening. So you do just that, giving your phone number to the hostess as she tells you there will be a thirty minutes wait. You and Jungkook move back outside after that, and he guides you towards his car, a few streets down.

“How was work this week?” he asks on the way.

“Better,” you admit, remembering how you’d told him that you didn’t like the new department in which you worked.

And it’s true – it has been better. Maybe because the excitement of receiving texts from him through the days made it easier to handle. Or maybe it’s because you haven’t been so damned cold since last weekend. All in all, work has been easier, even if it isn’t as interesting as it used to be.

“I’m glad,” he says, offering you a smile.

Silence surrounds the two of you, only interrupted by a car honking in the street. You startle a little, and Jungkook chuckles.

You’re struck. His chuckles have healing properties, you’re convinced of it. They spark hope into you, so bright you think you’ll be blinded, retina forever burned. Yet your eyes don’t lose focus on him, even as his lips return to a neutral expression.

“What about you?” you ask as your heart picks up in your chest. “What were you up to this week?”

A small crease appears between his brows, but it disappears so quickly you think you might have imagined it. “I’ve been going to the gym,” he answers. “And looking around for some jobs.”

His last sentence turns the hope into a firework show inside of you. “Yeah? Any luck so far?”

You reach his car, and as he always does, he opens the door for you. You blush, something you haven’t really done with Jungkook in forever, and you’re struck thinking that this feels new.

Perhaps this will be a new chapter in your relationship with Jeon Jungkook after all.

“Thank you,” you mutter as your cheeks burn. You sit in, and he closes the door before moving around the car to get in. You watch him do so, and he sits next to you, turning the car on just long enough so that you can roll the windows down.

“Now,” he lets out, eyeing the bag. “What’s this?”

For some reason, it makes you chuckle, and he shoots you a dumb smile that makes you think you’ve delved right into the heat of summer, warmth spreading through you. It erases the winter, replaces it with blooming flowers and bright sun rays, golden sunsets and the feeling of a soft breeze threading through your hair.

Needless to say, you want to cling to it before winter comes again.

“Open and you’ll see,” you answer, your heart racing as you glance at the bag, before going back to his smile.

He nods, and he opens the bag, taking out the paper first. Your heartbeat increases tenfold because, what if he doesn’t like it?

What if he takes it as an affront that you’ve given him something photography related?

But then he sees it. Sees the lens you bought for him, and his features turn somber, but not in a bad way. They settle into a calm expression, with a softer smile that barely even tugs at the corners of his lips. He takes a deep breath, and then looks towards you again.

Teary eyes find yours, and you think maybe this is it. Maybe this is where the end will find you. Lost in the swirling depth of his gaze, in the forgotten space of you and him.

He whispers your name, emotion making it heavier than the whole world. You nod once, as no sentences take shape in your mind to reply to him. You’re not sure you have to say something – he sees in your eyes the emotions you can’t quite voice.

“You really didn’t have to,” he adds, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps. “Fuck.”

He looks down at the lens, takes it out of the bag so that he can examine it thoroughly. You observe him as he does so, as if you’re watching a show. And you think, maybe he is a show – a movie meant for you to admire on and on until you go old and blindness seeps into your gaze.

“I wanted to,” you reply.

He shoots you a quick look, just as teary as the initial one. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

And then he laughs, a small vulnerable laugh that has you blinking back the wetness building up on your waterline. You echo it with one of yours, though it comes unexpectedly to you. But then again, you reckon you share the same feelings.

You always have, haven’t you? Your soul is in sync with his, has always been, no matter if distance put an end to the story of you and him. Or tried to, because he’s here today.

So are you, and if he allows it, you’ll never leave again.

“I’ve wanted this lens in forever,” he says, voice small as he turns it in his hands, looking at it in every possible angle. “You…” he trails off, meets your gaze and smiles again. “You remembered.”

You nod. “How could I forget?” You worry at your lips, shy away from his gaze to watch your wriggling fingers in your lap. “There isn’t a day I didn’t think of you.”

The revelation seems out of place, in a parked car on the side of a busy street. Yet it comes naturally to you, and meets him just as naturally. Because he nods, and then reaches for you. Grabs your jaw, gently, so that he can turn your head towards him. There’s a moment when you think the whole world holds his breath, and then he leans forward, brushes a soft kiss on your lips.

“I missed you,” he admits as he pulls away, letting go of your jaw reluctantly.

A tear slips on your cheek, and you quickly dry it. “I missed you too.”

And though the moment is heavy with emotion, you don’t want to run away from it. When you were younger, you would have fled like a deer hearing a branch crack in the woods. But today, today you want the weight of this emotion to rest upon you, like a weighted blanket that reminds you you’re alive.

The emotion lingers, past this moment and into the next. As you get the text that a table is ready for you and him, and you move back to the Korean restaurant. As you sit in front of him, watch him smile and laugh in time with you at the stupid jokes that you make.

You and him make more sense than you realized. Or maybe you forgot. Maybe the distance made you forget, but right now you think you know he’ll always be the one. And if you lose him again, he’ll be the one that got away, and you’ll search for him through every connection with temporary people.

Because there can’t be permanent people after him. He’s permanently inked into your heart, carved into your bones.

“How has your family been?” he asks when there’s a lull in the conversation.

You offer him a tight-lipped smile, though you know he means your father, Isabel and Louis.

You know he’d never talk about your mother as part of your family.

“They’ve been great,” you answer. “Dad’s been looking to retire, or at least to have a lesser charge at work.”

Jungkook furrows his brows, but says nothing as he puts some meat on the grill between you and him. You observe him as he does so, wincing when flames erupt and he pulls his hand away – quickly enough, thankfully.

“How old is he again?” Jungkook asks after that, meeting your gaze again.

“Fifty-nine,” you reply. “But I don’t think it’s about his age. He just wants to spend more time with Louis.”

The softness that takes over his doe eyes makes you want to curl up in him, against him. Makes you want to listen to his beating heart until the day that it ceases, decades away from now. It’s a strong feeling, and you’re forced to blink away tears again.

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook gently says, and he reaches to pat your cheek.

It makes you laugh. Of course it does, and he offers you a dumb smile again. For the first time that night, you notice that yes, it does reach his eyes. The smile lights up his gaze, though there’s wariness, etched in the lines of his face.

It’s not that you missed it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it. But right in this instant, it’s all you can see, and it makes his smile fall until his eyes follow, moving to the grill. He turns the meat as you busy yourself with eating japchae.

And you don’t like this silence. You don’t like the ache that it carries, so you force yourself to try. To try and fight for him and prove that, after everything, he really is where the end will be, when it comes for you.

“What about your family?” you ask, throwing him a lifeline in the storm you’re sure he’s been plagued with too.

“They’ve been great,” he answers. “My brother’s wife is pregnant again.”

For a moment you forget about the torment between you and him as your mind zeroes in on the fact. “That’s amazing!” you let out, and your smile comes easily. “They must be so happy.”

Jungkook looks at your smile, taking a deep breath. It seems he takes a decision then, because his lips curve up, and some of the wariness fades away. He looks softer like this, younger, and your heart shines under his light.

“It really is,” he says. “I was thinking on going to Korea to see the baby when Yuri gives birth.”

In another world, you would have said you’ll go with him, but right now you don’t think you can. So, instead, you reply, “That’s a good idea. I’m sure your family will be happy to see you.”

He nods, and then he puts some meat in your bowl, taking the two other stripes for himself. You mindlessly pick one of the pieces up, mixing it in ssamjang before eating it. You wince as you burn your tongue a little, and quickly eat the meat so that you can take a long gulp of water.

Jungkook must have expected you to burn yourself, because he laughs at your expense as he refills your glass. “You good?”

You nod. “Sorry, just burned myself.”

“Don’t apologize.”

So you don’t. For the rest of the evening, you try not to apologize. And you think you succeed – you both speak as if distance wasn’t a thing between you. As if time hasn’t come to pass between you too – as if you’ve never been apart. As if, seven years ago, the stars told the truth as they sparkled in the July night sky.

You finish eating while chatting like this, while sharing thoughts about movies you’ve seen. As he tells you about working out, about Bam and the songs he’s been listening to. He drinks a beer as you speak, and you once again take a moment to admire him.

You’d never admit it, but the beanie makes him look good. Comfortable and soft – as does the jean jacket, you reckon. But then again you know Jungkook would look good in anything, one of the advantages of him being gifted with pretty privilege.

And when he clinks his glass with yours, claiming you have to finish drinking even though you’ve only been drinking water, you still laugh with him, still down your glass as he chugs the beer. And you wonder, how long will it take to erase the distance?

Will it take more than this moment in time, to undo the distance and rebuild the closeness?

And you think, maybe it just needs now. Because as you walk out, bellies full and minds buzzing with a slight tinge of alcohol, you accept Jungkook’s extended hand. You let him guide you to his car, even though yours is parked on the other side of the restaurant. He opens the door for you again, but you hesitate for a moment.

Long enough to step closer to him instead, and pull him down so you can peck his lips. He looks surprised, and his features fall serious as you share a long look.

“Can I come over tonight?” you whisper.

He nods. “I thought it was a given.”

Of course he would. And you’re not even mad that he would. You’re rather relieved, and you can’t help yourself. You can’t help pulling him down in a more heated kiss, even though you hate public displays of affection. There are just words your lips can’t say any other way than this, and he gets it. He’ll always get you. He always will, and he kisses you with the same intensity, one hand cupping your cheek gently while the other presses on the small of your back, resting flat as he pulls you in. You hold his delicate waist, sighing in the kiss as your thumbs draw idle lines on his sides.

Jungkook pulls away to press a kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a small eternity that leads to you wrapping your arms around his waist. He lets you do it, and you wonder if his soul has found yours. You hope it has, for there are things your soul can say even better than your mouth can.

Apologies don’t mean much when they are shaped in words. But you think your soul could show him, and maybe, maybe tonight he’ll allow you to show him.

“Are you parked somewhere you can leave your car overnight?” he asks softly, lips moving against your forehead.

You nod. “I am.”

“Then let’s go home.”

*****

It comes as a surprise, when you realize Jungkook has moved in the same building as Kiko and Yoongi. Even more so as they run into you on the way in, knowing smiles on their lips as Jungkook holds your hand tight. They don’t really say a lot – both of them aren’t man and woman of words, except when they pour them into the lyrics of a song.

But Kiko does hug you. Does whisper in your ear that she wishes everything will be set right for the two of you, and when you pull away to meet Jungkook’s gaze, you think it already is. Especially as you’re clutching the flowers he got for you, and their sweet fragrance surrounds you.

And then they walk away, as they were leaving to go on a late walk, and you and Jungkook walk in the building, making your way to the elevator. Jungkook presses the call button, and then pulls you close to his chest so that he can press a kiss on the top of your head.

“Well, that was awkward,” he says.

You chuckle. “It wasn’t really.”

His grip tightens around you before he lets you go so that you can enter the elevator. He follows you in, and he intertwines your fingers as he presses on the fourth floor. As the elevator starts moving, you pull him closer, tilting your head back as you pout slightly.

“What?” he asks.

“Kiss me?”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He immediately dives in, and you’re surprised with the strength of the kiss. As if he’s pouring his entire soul in it, and you think maybe he is. After all, you kiss him back with all the fire in you, and it’s burning brighter than it ever has.

Unfortunately, the moment is short-lived as you reach his floor and the doors slide open. He pulls away, presses a kiss on your forehead as if he wasn’t sucking on your tongue a moment ago, and then he pulls you behind him as he walks towards his door.

It’s further down the hall, and you wait excitedly as he unlocks. Though you’re a little worried about seeing Bam again – what if he doesn’t recognize you?

Which, you reckon was a stupid thought, because the dog comes barging out, tail wagging wildly, when Jungkook manages to get the door open.

“Bamie!” you exclaim, and Jungkook carefully takes the bouquet of flowers from your hand to allow you to bend down and pet the dog.

He licks at your face, whimpering as if he thought he’d lost you. It brings tears to your eyes, and you giggle like a kid as you pet him, rubbing his short fur as he keeps running all around you.

“I think he’s happy to see you,” Jungkook deadpans, and you burst out laughing.

You look up to try and look at Jungkook, but Bam jumps in your vision, which makes you giggle again. And then, something magical happens. Something you didn’t think you’d hear again – Jungkook laughs that childish laugh of his, the one that usually only comes forth when he’s really happy.

You act by pure instinct. You stand up, wrap your arms around Jungkook’s neck. His giggle dies against your lips, but he’s quick to kiss you back as he snakes his inked arm around your back. You let out a breathy sound, and then burst into a fit of giggles as Bam jumps on you.

“I think he demands attention,” you state and Jungkook nods as you part, though he keeps his arm close to you.

“We should take him on a walk,” he says, and you notice his cheeks are flushed red. You reckon yours probably are too, but there’s something about seeing the effect that you have on him, even after everything, that makes you come undone.

“I’m so happy to be with you right now,” you murmur.

He gulps, eyes shining suddenly. “Me too.” He adds your name softly, before repeating, “Me too.”

You walk in his apartment after that, to put the flowers in a large glass of water since Jungkook doesn’t own any vase. Meanwhile, he disappears in what you assume is the bedroom, only to reappear with his camera. To your surprise, he’s already fitted the new lens on it.

It’s endearing. There’s something so incredibly endearing at the thought that your gift is loved already, that Jungkook already wants to use it. It makes a line of silver appear in your eyes, and you don’t even blink it away as Jungkook angles the camera towards you to take a picture.

“Huh,” he lets out as he looks at the picture. He adjusts some settings, and before he’s had time to take another picture of you, Bam comes up to you, jumping up. His two paws rest on your waist as you laugh, and that’s when Jungkook snaps the picture.

You glance his way to see him smiling softly, and then he nods appreciatively. “I’m going to use this lens way too much,” he comments.

It makes you laugh. “I’m glad.”

And then you’re going outside with the dog. Jungkook brings the camera, and he snaps pictures of the surroundings, of you and Bam. He even takes one of the three of you, though you reckon the angle is clearly unflattering.

It doesn’t feel like it matters. Because you’re struck realizing that this, this moment matters. It matters enough for him to want to commit it to memory, and you wonder if he’s going to add it to all the frames you left behind.

But then again, did he even put them up in his new apartment? From what you could see when you were in, there was no picture visible.

It aches, but then he tells you to smile and you do. You immediately do, because there’s nothing easier than smiling when you’re with him like this. The wariness still clings to him, but it’s barely visible, like a mirage that’s about to fade in the distance.

“Stop taking pictures of me,” you say as he takes another one.

He lets out a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulder. “Why?”

You pout as blush creeps on your cheek. “You haven’t taken this many pictures of me since�� Chicago?”

He shakes his head. “I took more pictures on our first trip to Korea.”

A beautiful trip, where you’d met his family for the first time. You had gotten along with everyone well, even though your Korean was poor. You got better through the years, but you still have a long way before you can speak in Korean without feeling like everyone is going to judge you.

“That’s beside the point,” you mumble. You motion towards Bam, who’s patiently sitting next to you. “I’m pretty sure he’s done.”

Jungkook pouts, and butterflies take flight in your stomach. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

You’re not quite sure why.

“I just…” he adds, and then shadows cloud over his features. They resemble the sorrow that was surrounding him last weekend, and just like that you think summer has ended. “I haven’t used my camera since…”

You don’t need for him to say it, because you know exactly what he was going to say. Still, it hurts, and your gaze drops to the ground.

“Gosh,” you whisper. You let out a strangled sound. “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just grabs your hand, raising it to his mouth to press a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“We said we’d try,” he reminds you, or maybe he’s trying to remind himself. “Let’s try. For real. So no more apologies.”

“I feel like you deserve thousands of apologies and more,” you admit.

He kisses your forehead, and it’s against your skin that he whispers, “I just want us to move on from what happened.”

You nod, wrapping an arm around his waist to loosely hug him. Unfortunately, Bam pulls on his leash, and you have to let go of Jungkook far too quickly. Still, you meet his gaze, nodding your head again.

“I want to move on too,” you tell him. “If I could, I’d erase everything but…”

He holds out his hand for you to interlace your fingers with his. “But it’s in the past.”

He’s right, yet you see the wariness. It’s still there, though you think soon the mist will dissipate with the rays of the sun. So you follow him in, let him feed Bam before he shows you around his small apartment. It feels like him, in ways you can’t really describe, and you want to stay. You think, if he’d ask you’d never leave again.

“I like it,” you tell him as he finishes the tour in his bedroom, which is only occupied by an unmade bed with white sheet and a small night table with his pair of glasses on top. You notice the LED lights, and a smile moves to your lips. “Please tell me these still shine purple like they did at the house with the boys.”

Jungkook nods, offering you a grin. “Yeah. I thought it’d be great to have a… reminder of a simpler time.”

He turns them on, and you get it. You get it so much you grab the lapels of his jean jacket, pulling him closer to you. His lips are upon yours in an instant, hungry, insistent, ravishing a kiss that makes you light-headed. Especially as he grabs your face, holds on to it like it’s a life buoy in a storm. The piercings push into your bottom lip, their colder temperature making your tongue dart to them, as if to warm them.

Jungkook groans, and then kicks the door of his bedroom shut. He’s had to stop kissing you for that, but he’s kissing you again half a second later, and it’s even more intense, more desperate.

You let go of his jacket, hands blindly moving to his belt as he pushes his tongue in your mouth. You suck on it, moan lightly when he groans again. You fumble with the buckle, but soon enough you get it undone, and you move on to the button of his jeans.

You just want him. Need to feel his body against you, in you. And clearly he needs the same thing, as he pulls away from the hug to take your shirt off. Right as you get the button undone, and then unzip his jeans. You slip your hand in, letting out a breathy sound as you find him already hard. He sits heavy in your hand, and you squeeze him unabashedly.

“Fuck,” he curses, head thrown back as his eyes close. “Baby.”

The pet name has you drop to your knees, and you pull his pants down just enough for his dick to spring free. He doesn’t try to stop you, and you admire him for a time. Admire the brown base of his tip, the veins that run along his length. A bead of precum appears on his slit as you look, and you’re quick to lick it clean. The salty taste fills your mouth, and you look up at him, to see him watching down on you, strands of hair falling in his eyes where they’ve escaped the confines of his beanie.

“Suck it, mmh?” he says.

You grab him, jerking him off loosely. “Yeah?”

His eyes darken behind the strands of hair. He bites at his piercings, cocking his head to the side. And then he’s glancing away and to your surprise, he asks, “Can I take pictures of you while you suck my dick?”

You swirl your tongue around his tip, and he bucks his hips forward. In answer, you sit back on your heels, looking up at him innocently. “Right now?” He nods. “You want to take pictures of me while I suck your dick?”

“If you want to,” he answers. “If you don’t want to it’s fine.”

You close your lips around his tip, sucking once. “You’ll keep the pictures to yourself?”

You don’t know why you’re agreeing. Only know that the lust in Jungkook’s gaze is making you forget everything about common sense. But then again, you highly doubt that Jungkook would ever do anything to harm you.

Jungkook’s mouth falls open as he was about to answer, but when you take his dick as far as you can, he’s silenced. And he’s hard in your mouth, a rod of steel you’ve missed since last week.

“Yeah,” he finally breathes out.

You sit back on your heels. “Then it’s fine.”

He smirks, nodding his head as he finishes taking off his jeans and underwear. “Wait here.”

You purse your lips as he walks away, and you watch him leaving his room to head to where he left his camera. You patiently wait, feeling shy even though you have nothing to be shy about. This is just Jungkook – it’s not like he hasn’t seen you half-naked and on your knees for him before.

It takes him a moment to come back, but when he does, it’s to sit on bed. He’s still hard, and he leans back on a hand as you move closer.

“If you want me to stop, you tell me, okay?” he gently says as you run a hand along his thighs.

You glance at his scar, the familiar knot of skin giving you more confidence than you expected. “You’re going to jerk off to these pictures, mmh?”

He gulps, angling his camera towards you as you lean closer to his dick. You lick at it, and the shutter goes off.

It has you dripping in your panties, unexpectedly.

“So what if I do?” he asks as you grab his dick, stroking him.

The question is rhetorical, and your answer is to wrap your lips around his cock as your eyes flutter shut. You swirl your tongue around the tip and hollow your cheeks as you go down. You hold the gag reflex in as he hits the back of your throat, and you can’t help but moan as you hear his camera again.

You flick your tongue at his frenulum on the way out, and then you stroke his dick as you sit back. You move one hand to his balls, squeezing gently before thinking better of it and leaning forward, sucking on one. He grunts, and you keep your eyes locked on the camera as you jerk him off faster.

Another picture added to the list. And you’re dripping wet. Already you want to sink on his dick, want him to be so deep inside of you that you’re just one.

“Kook…” you murmur, and then you’re back to sucking on his dick, though this time you make sure to squeeze his balls too, the way that he likes it. Hard, but not too hard, and you’re choking around his dick in no time as he starts fucking up in your mouth, clearly forgetting about the pictures.

It goes like this for a while, with his dick growing impossibly hard. Your jaw aches by the time he pushes down on your head, hand lost in your hair. You gag, and he moans loudly. You think he’s coming, but he somehow manages to keep it in before pulling you off.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.” He breathes for a moment, as you wipe your mouth and chin from the drool.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. You glance at the camera. “Any good pics?”

That brings him back to the land of lust and passion, and he offers you a smirk. “We can look at them after. I’m not done with you yet.”

You laugh, because you know you’ve barely started. Know you’re likely to be unable to walk tomorrow. Because the lust in his gaze hasn’t shone so bright in years, yes, but also because you almost lost each other.

Or maybe you have, and this too is just a dip in the past.

You stand up, hands snaking to your back so that you can unclasp your bra. Jungkook watches you carefully, before taking a picture as you massage your breasts. It makes you bite at your lower lip, and you look at his hard dick where it rests on his stomach.

“Can I ride you?” you ask breathlessly.

He smirks. “You don’t want me to finger you first?”

Instead of replying, you finish undressing, taking off your pants and panties at the same time. You then push on his jean jacket, and he takes that as a cue to remove it. You motion to the shirt too as he was about to lean back on his hand and he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow raised. When you nod, he takes it off too, and it makes his beanie fall.

His hair is a mess, and you can’t resist but step forward so that you can push it back, though you think the jet black strands are currently untamable. You give up after a few seconds, pushing on his chest so that he lies back.

His eyes are on you as you climb on his lap, and you grind along his length, coating it with your juices.

“Shit,” he lets out again. “You’re fucking dripping.”

You nod, moving up just enough so that you can grab the base of his dick. His tip prods your entrance, and he pulls at his piercings as you wait there, teasing him with a corner smile on your lips.

“Fucking tease,” he growls.

It undoes something in you. Because yes, you wanted to tease him. You wanted him to beg you to fuck him, but now you sink down on him, until he reaches your cervix. Even the pain of him hitting the back of your pussy doesn’t make you move, and your walls clench around his dick as he grunts out a curse, followed by your name.

“Kook,” you purr. “Fuck me good.”

He chuckles as you circle your hips, and his free hand rests on your hip as he angles his camera to take a picture of you again. “You can’t do the work?”

He says it condescendingly, and you find enough challenge in you to start bouncing up and down. It shuts him up, and the following moment is spent with you fucking yourself on him as he groans under you, your breathy moans filling his room. Soon enough he stops taking pictures, putting his camera down next to him so that he can hold your hips with his two hands.

And then he’s fucking up in you, and you cry out as you lean forward, wrapping an arm around his neck while your other hand holds on to his shoulder.

You’re a mess, yet your heart clenches in your chest as he fucks you like this. As you remember a land of winter, that somehow doesn’t feel as distant as it should. Maybe because of Jungkook’s wariness tonight, or maybe because you know all good things come to an end.

The thought douses your arousal, until Jungkook stills deep inside of you and whispers, “I want to be with you, like this, forever.”

You nuzzle your face in his neck and suck a mark on his skin. “Me too.”

And then he’s fucking you again, hard and quick. He holds you close, grunts in your ear as you lick at his neck. It’s an abundance of sensation, and your brain focuses on the way he hits your clit whenever he pushes up. Whenever his hips snap against you, and soon there’s an orgasm in the distance.

It finds you when he lets you sit up so that you can fuck yourself on him again, and his thumb finds your clit to press expert circles on it. It finds you hard, and your pussy spasms repeatedly on his dick. He helps you through the high, and when you finally come down, a dumb smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Fuck,” you let out.

“Felt good?” he asks with a teasing tone to his voice, the one you know he only reserves for you.

To hear it right now makes you love him so much you think you’ll die on the spot. Because yes, tonight has been great. Yes, it’s almost been like before, but what if he doesn’t take you back?

What if, in the end, this was just an extended moment meant to be closure for you and him?

“Yes,” you still reply.

Because no matter how much your heart aches in your chest, you’ll never lie to him.

“Good,” he says. He sits up, wraps an arm around your waist to steady you as he brings his mouth to yours.

You go in for the kiss. Meet him halfway, and you moan against him as he moves under you, albeit clumsily from the position.

His lips will make you drunk. Make you dumb, make you forget that there’s a world outside the door. That, in that world, you might not belong to him anymore. But then again, you think you do. To you, you always will.

“Lie on your side,” he says after a moment, lips moving against yours.

Jungkook pecks your lips one last time before you move, and then he kneels behind you. His dick prods your entrance again, and he grabs his camera to snap another picture.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he praises as he pushes the tip in, taking another picture. “Such a good little fucking slut.”

And then he pushes all the way in, until all of him is embedded in you. You grip the sheets as a broken moan escapes your lips. He holds your hip with one hand, fingers digging in the supple skin as he fucks you hard, chasing his own orgasm.

He looks good doing it. Long hair sticking to the sweat on his face, eyes narrowed in pleasure, mouth open as soft grunts echo through the room. The purple light makes his honey skin glow somehow, and you feel another orgasm reaching for you, though it doesn’t hit right away. It just feels so good – as he always does – and you can’t help but clench your walls against him.

That’s what undoes him. He comes, ropes of white painting your insides, as he swears and says your name in a litany that almost makes you go over the edge too.

“Baby,” he says at the end.

It feels like a confirmation. Like a confirmation that, maybe, maybe you will work this time around. That maybe distance won’t destroy you again – maybe you’ll grow old and gray by his side.

“You came so much,” you say as you feel his hot cum sitting deep inside of you.

He pulls at his piercing, nodding once. And then he pulls out, and he takes a picture of the cum dripping out of you. He decides to push it back in, curling a finger inside of you, and your walls clench as you moan.

“Touch your clit,” he tells you.

You don’t need to be told twice. You quickly move your fingers to the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing quick circles on it as he pushes another digit inside of you, fingering you until the second orgasm finally finds you.

You cry out his name, a broken plea that doesn’t really make any sense as your vision turns white. And it stays that way for a long time, blinding you until ecstasy is swimming in your blood. And when you come down from the high, all that you can think is how much you missed him.

“Kook,” you breathe out.

“Baby…”

He puts the camera away, and then bends to press a kiss on your lips. It’s soft, and you grab his face to hold him in place, not even wincing as a bead of his sweat rolls on your cheek. You kiss him with a heart heavy with emotions, trying to show him that you’re never going to leave again. When he pulls away, you notice his teary gaze.

“Can we be together again?” he asks, and you watch in horror as a tear rolls on his cheek. You sit up, drying it with your thumb.

And you don’t care if it was too quick. Don’t care that there’s a high chance it won’t last. You still answer, “Yes, Kook. Yes we can.”

He smiles, nodding his head. “Let’s take a shower. I want to hold you tonight.”

You want to cry from the statement, want to tell him that you wish he could hold you forever, but the words get lodged in your throat. Instead, you follow him as he gets up, interlacing your fingers with his as he leads you to the bathroom, uncaring that his seed is rolling down your inner thighs.

He turns the shower on, and soon enough you’re standing under the hot water. He watches you carefully, presses a kiss on your forehead when you stand in front of him. You wrap your arms around his waist, holding him as close as you physically can. Even then it’s not enough – you want him under your skin, or to be under his.

You don’t think you’d survive being parted from him again. Maybe that’s why you let him fuck you again when you return to his room, slower this time, lips entwined in a never-ending embrace. Love flows between you and him, and it’s etched in the way your bodies move together, in the way you’ve been molded perfectly for him, and him for you.

You wonder if outside, the stars are shining. And you’re struck thinking that tonight, tonight they’ve aligned for you and him again, the universe agreeing for this second chance between you and him.

So you hold him close, and pray that this time around, forever is waiting for you.

Saturday, September 9th

Jungkook wakes up slowly. Softly, the same way waves hit the shore at low tide. He’s unusually warm, and he frowns as he shifts, trying to turn on his side. Then, he realizes his arm is stuck under something. His very dead arm, and he cracks an eye open.

That’s when he remembers that it’s you. You’re the one sleeping next to him, mouth slightly agape as you breathe softly. You’re also the one crushing his arm, and he tentatively clenches and unclenches his fist to try to get the blood circulation back on track. It doesn’t really work, so then he stops, figuring he’s going to have to make you move somehow.

But you look peaceful, in the light of the rising sun. Serene, like there’s never been anything wrong in this world. This morning, Jungkook wants to believe it. Wants to believe that happiness is all he’s ever known – that accidents, heartbreak and pain are all constructs of his imagination.

He’s too realistic for that. Or perhaps the breakup has made him pessimistic. Because the peace of the moment doesn’t really linger, and he’s stuck reliving the moment you left, that night in May. Stuck reliving the wait for you to come back, only you never did.

Or maybe you did, months later. Maybe you really are back, and this time you’ll stay.

You mumble something in your sleep, startling him. It takes him a few seconds to realize you’re still deep asleep, but when you move he quickly does too, pulling his arm from under your head. You frown, lick your lips, and then your features smooth out as you return to your peaceful slumber.

He turns on his side, watching you carefully. He’s aware that watching you sleep is creepy, but he can’t help it. Not when his bed has been empty for months.

He stays like this for a while, unable to fall back asleep. Because, what if you’re gone when he wakes up again? He doesn’t want to risk it.

Unable to help himself, he gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. You sigh, and he’s afraid he’s woken you up. When a small smile appears on your lips, his heart skips a beat, yet you don’t show any other sign that you’re awake. He assumes you aren’t, and then decide to take a picture of this moment.

He feels like he’s going to need it. Like all the pictures he took yesterday – he was desperate to commit to memory as much of you as he possibly could. He feels bad – he said he’d give you a chance, he is giving you a chance, but some part of him is just waiting for it to blow up in his face.

Maybe if he expects it it will hurt less.

He carefully grabs his camera where he left it on his night table. He doesn’t dare take a look at the pictures you took yesterday, a little ashamed that he asked you to do that in the first place. Silently, he takes a picture of you, and then puts the camera away.

Only, the reminder of the kind of pictures he’d find in the camera was enough to make his blood stir, and he picks it back up almost immediately.

And then there you are, in all your glory. Beautiful as ever, pussy filled to the brim with his cum, with his cock. Tits squeezed in your hands, in his, and his dick goes rock hard as blood leaves his head.

He wants you again, and he wants you now. He doesn’t care that it’s early morning, that he never liked waking up early. All he can do is put the camera down and slide closer to you. He pulls you back into his embrace, and you sigh softly as he wraps his arms around you.

Jungkook holds you tighter, nuzzling his face in your hair. The inebriating scent of your shampoo fills his nose, and his dick twitches in his underwear.

You hum, and he holds you tighter. “Morning,” he says, voice low and gravelly.

You make another sound that can pass as a hum, but you move against him, until you’ve wrapped an arm around his middle. There’s a moment where silence reigns again, and Jungkook is afraid you’ve fallen back asleep, but then you say, “Morning.”

He smiles. “Slept well?” he asks, kissing the top of your head.

He’s convinced you’re smiling against him as you say, “Want to sleep more.”

He whines, which earns him a chuckle from you that makes the wariness settle back in, even as his heart feels full in his chest.

It never felt full without you. Another reason why he needs to be ready for the blow, whenever it comes.

“I want you,” he admits. “Can’t sleep.”

You hum again, and your hand slides down his back. You squeeze his ass, and then move the hand back up. “You’re going to have to try.”

He whines, lips jutting out in a pout. “Boring.”

At that you laugh, pushing him slightly until you’re able to look him in the eye. He keeps the pout on, knowing that it always worked with you before.

“It’s not even morning,” you point out.

“The sun is up.”

You roll your eyes, though your lips are curved upwards, your gaze beaming as you hold his. “We fucked twice last night.”

He shrugs, rolling on his back so that he can stare up at the ceiling. He pulls at his piercing, the new one, and then turns his head towards you again. “Yeah, and?”

“Surely you don’t need to fuck right now,” you tease.

He frowns, looking away again. “Not my fault if I haven’t fucked since… May. Last weekend doesn’t count.”

“I’m pretty sure it does,” you say, laughing lightly. You prop yourself up on an elbow, blinking away the tiredness as you meet his gaze again. “And besides,” you pause, features turning confused as a crease appears between your brows. “Haven’t you fucked while we were…” you trail off, motioning vaguely around you.

And then something occurs to Jungkook. Something bad – maybe the explosion was closer than he expected it to be. Maybe he’s been standing in the radius of impact, waiting for the bomb to go off. And maybe your sleep deprived brain forgot the measure of protection, maybe it forgot he was standing there.

Because your eyes go round with fear, right as a drop of lead solidifies in Jungkook’s stomach.

“What?” he lets out.

What a stupid question to ask. He wants to beat himself up, because he knows.

He knows now that you’ve been with someone else. Why else would you be surprised that he hasn’t?

“I’m just saying…” you try, but it’s too late.

The bomb has gone off, and all that’s left is rumbles.

“Get out,” Jungkook says, and somehow it’s lacking bite. It’s lacking anger, lacking any signs that he cares for you.

It surprises even himself – doesn’t he care? Or is there nothing left of him in the aftermath of the explosion?

“Kook.”

“You’ve fucked someone else,” he states. When you don’t say anything, just watch him in horror, he sits up in bed. “Get out.”

“Come on,” you let out this time, following him up. You wrap yourself in the blanket, his blanket, and he wants to rip it from your body. Doesn’t want anything that’s his to be in contact with you anymore. “It didn’t mean anything,” you say, and you’re suddenly blinking back tears. “It was just one-time.”

“Frankly, I don’t want to know,” Jungkook says, and he really doesn’t. Doesn’t want to think about another man’s hand on you, or he’ll break.

He’s done breaking for you.

You don’t fight the tears, as you understand that the end really has come. At least that’s what he thinks happens – you just sit there, gaze heavy with tears until they fall, little droplets that carry a world of regret.

After all, the distance really was enough to break you up, wasn’t it?

Jungkook watches you, surprised that his heart is not clenching in his chest. No, he feels nothing as he watches you – he’s already cried enough for you.

“We were broken up,” you murmur, holding his gaze. “It’s not like I cheated.”

At that he laughs, shaking his head. If you can’t understand that he’s done, that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore, then he’ll do it the harsh way.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he says. “I couldn’t be with someone else. I tried, and you were all I could think of. And…”

“You tried!” you interject. “You tried and you’re giving me shit for it?”

He gets up, trying to put distance between you and him, as if that’ll make the fight easier.

“I still chose not to do it,” he coldly states. “The girl was willing, she even kissed me and…”

“You kissed someone else?”

He laughs again, the absurdity of the situation dawning upon him. “Yeah? Tae set me up on a date, and the girl kissed me at the end and I told her I couldn’t. I didn’t fuck someone else.”

The way he’s throwing the blame at you feels selfish, especially as more tears join those already sliding down your cheeks.

“How is that fair, that you’re mad at me when you literally went on a date with someone else?” You pause, choking on a sob as you try to dry your cheeks. “Come on, Kook, it meant nothing.”

“Who did you fuck anyway?” he asks.

For a reason unknown, your tears stop. Entirely, there a moment and gone the next. “Why do you want to know?”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t fucking want to know, and he scoffs as he runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands. “Get out,” he says again, still as stern and void of emotion.

“It was Harrison,” you still say. “I switched departments because I didn’t want to see him again after that.”

Now, there’s an inkling of pain tickling the carcass of his dead heart. As if there was still more, for him to feel, even after everything. As if pain is but a constant of his life now, and he thinks maybe it is.

“Your colleague?” he repeats, dumbfounded.

He’s met Harrison a couple of times, throughout your relationship. He’s always thought the guy was decent, but now something very ugly settles deep in his core. Something that tells him, ‘Hey, maybe he’s only ever wanted to fuck her, maybe he was waiting for his chance’.

The words are on a loop in his head, and he doesn’t even think he can see you anymore. All that he sees is Harrison with his hands on you, in his ever-too creative mind.

He startles as you put a hand on his arm. He shrugs your grip off, steps away from you. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Kook, I swear, please listen to me,” you beg, and now you’re crying again.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to.” At that he shuts his eyes, runs a hand on his forehead and then through his hair. “I really don’t want to. I don’t want you to be here anymore.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you say, an echo of something you said earlier. Though this time you say it differently, as if you too sensed the finality in Jungkook’s tone.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever want you to be around anymore. He was stupid to give you a chance after you broke his heart – you chose to break up, months ago. Why would it be different this time around?

“It doesn’t matter,” he tells you, as softly as he can. Because he knows you’ll break even more, and some dark, twisted part of him is satisfied that this time, this time he’s the one with all the power over you. “I’m done, Y/n.”

The words sound like thunder, in all their calmness. In all their softness – or maybe that was the sound of your heart breaking. Whatever it was, Jungkook really is done. He wants you gone, wants to be able to break in the quiet peace of his home.

A home you aren’t a part of anymore.

You nod. He expects you to fight more, but you nod. Choke out a sob, turn around, and start putting your clothes on. He figures he should dress too, so he does, picking up discarded items of clothing on the floor, not caring that they probably aren’t clean. All that he cares about is to get you out of his apartment, out of his sight.

And when you’re ready, he walks you to the front door. Lets you say goodbye to Bam, a crushing parallel to the time you’ve said goodbye in May. Bam still looks confused, and Jungkook feels bad, for a moment. Because you were the dog’s mother – he’s been looking for you ever since May. Jungkook can only hope that, this time around, Bam understands that it’s farewell.

When you straighten, you mutter an apology. Jungkook ignores it, holds your gaze expecting something to hurt, but he’s just empty. Empty and tired, and all he wants is to go back to sleep and to never wake up again.

“I can’t let you go,” you let out, voice stark with pain.

He shrugs. “You should have realized that in May.”

You close your eyes, and you look so fragile. Like glass – it never survives the shockwave of an explosion, doesn’t it?

“Please,” you beg. “Let me make it up to you.”

He laughs bitterly. “How? You’re going to go back in time and not get fucked by him? You’re going to go back in time and not break up?”

You look like you want to curse him, and he almost wants you to. He wants you to fight, wants you to make him feel something other than this emptiness. Instead, you shake even more, sobs racking through you.

“I wish I could.”

“Leave.”

“Jungkook, I swear,” you insist. “Let’s not lose each other over this.”

He wets his lips, tongue pushing in the inside of his cheek next. “We’ve lost each other already. It’s time we realize that we have.”

And that does it. You fall silent, defeat washing over you like a tsunami wave – there’s nothing left after its passage, and you look tired, sick, standing there right next to the door.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize again.

He shrugs. “It’s whatever. The past is the past.”

You look like you want to say something else, but somehow you remain silent. Somehow you look at him for a time, bloodshot eyes taking in his features as if it’s the last time you’ll ever see him again. He surprises himself by doing it too, mostly by instinct. Because right now, looking at you makes him want to be sick, but he knows that it won’t last.

He knows that the echo of pain in the distance is a good indicator that he still has it in him to break for you. That he’ll break for you forever, perhaps. Because he doesn’t think that there’s an end to you and him. It’s always going to be a cycle, and it’ll never end well.

“Goodbye, Jungkook,” you murmur.

He offers you a tight-lipped smile. “Goodbye.”

All he can do is hope you know it means farewell.

Thursday, October 5th

You used to love fall. The cooler weather, the long walks that smell like soil and fallen leaves and pumpkins. Nowadays, you hate fall.

You hate it because he loved it, and every reminder of him is poison to you. And though the season is still early, the days are getting shorter, and the longer the night, the more you drown in thoughts.

You haven’t slept in weeks. Have barely eaten too, and you’ve been off from work for a week. It’s allowed you to stay in, to just sit and try to breathe, hoping that it’ll help.

That it’ll fix something that’s never going to be fixed.

You’re lost. Lost in a town that used to be your home, lost in memories that used to be beauty brought to life – now, you’re seeing the ugliness in beauty. Because beauty is temporary, and like all temporary things in life it doesn’t last long enough. Beauty, and the ending temporality of it, leaves nothing when it goes but a bitter taste in mouth.

Perhaps that’s why you haven’t been able to eat properly.

You haven’t spoken to anyone, since the early morning he asked you to leave. Yet for some reason, you’ve felt the need to go outside today. To walk around, aimlessly perhaps, but you couldn’t stay inside a second longer. Too many tears were shed in your apartment, and you hoped the cool weather would help you feel better.

It does, a little. Because you feel like you’re breathing him in every time you inhale, and then carry him out on an exhale. You feel close to him, in a distant way that’s bound to only make you break harder tonight, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care. You do hate the reminders of him, but you need them. Viscerally, as he was the oxygen in your lungs for so long.

You’re going to have to learn how to live without him, one step at a time.

So you take another step, let your instinct carry you where you have to go. Maybe it knows how to heal.

The sun is descending in the sky, and the absence of clouds lead to a sea of azure you’d swim in if you could. You’d soar up high, so high that there isn’t oxygen anymore, and maybe then the pain would cease. You’d ride a sunray into the night, where you’d finally be able to fall into a well-deserved slumber.

As you look up, a tiny bird flies across the sky, a small speck of brown that goes so fast you think you imagine it. Like the years with him – they went by so quickly, the crushing wheel of time spinning down the slope towards the end.

Seven years ago, almost to the day, you kissed him on a hotel roof lost in Chicago, under clouds painted with fire. Who knew seven years later you’d be trying to live without him, clearly failing at it.

You sigh, pushing the thought away as you reach a crossing. You wait for the light to turn green, then follow the parallel white lines across the road. You avoid a pile of leaves, though a strong gust of wind makes some of them swirl around you, spinning like Mother Nature’s tiny dancers.

The foliage in the trees along the street is golden and red, bright colours that look out of place in the bleakness of your heart. You follow them, wonder if they know that they are about to die. The answer is one you’ll never have, and so you walk under the trees, the autumn breeze playing with your hair.

You don’t know where your steps have been carrying you. You’ve long gone past the places you usually go to, heading towards the middle of the city. The no man’s land between you and Jungkook, spread wide in a maze of streets you want to get lost in.

So you do. You press on, walk until the sun becomes a ball of melted gold nearing the horizon, and it’s on the corner of a street that a glint in a vitrine catches your eyes.

You eye the rings, crafted by an expert hand. Bands of gold, with diamonds and emeralds and gems you don’t know the name of. They look expensive, elegant, and you wonder if you would have had a ring on your finger one day, bought by him.

Recklessly, you walk into the shop, wishing to peruse its vitrines, hoping they’ll offer you dreams to survive the night. And you can almost see it – a ring on your finger, a proposal under a star-sprinkled sky, an intimate wedding for you and him. A dance, always and forever, of love shared like a secret in the night. Your secret, as the end would have one day come for you and him, an eternity of life later. You would have been old and grey, yet your love would have been young and eternal.

In this dream, he would have never taken the job overseas. You’d have stayed here, together, growing old by his side. You would have gotten more dogs, maybe even a cat, and you’d have lived happily ever after.

You wonder if, in a parallel universe to yours, the dream is unfolding. If parallel-universe you has the chance to experience it, and you think she does. You think she does, and the love is so strong it’s shaking through universes, picking you up like you’re just a leaf in an autumn wind.

Because why else, then, do you find yourself buying a gold band? Too big for you, masculine in its simplicity. Something you think he would have worn, had you been in that other universe.

You sit on a bench outside, after, as the last of the sunlight finally fades away, replaced by a blue dusk that matches your mood far better than the sun ever could. You have no idea where you are in the city, no will to brave the trek back home – you’ve been out for hours at this point.

You grab your phone, long forgotten in your purse. You haven’t touched it all day, and to your surprise you’ve received a couple of texts while you were walking, all by the same person.

[04:37 pm] Jimin: hey, this is going to sound crazy [04:37 pm] Jimin: and I’m really sorry to be telling u this [04:37 pm] Jimin: can u go check on JK? [04:38 pm] Jimin: he’s been unreachable for days and at this point I think he’ll only talk to u

You want to text him back to fuck off, to leave you alone, yet you hold on tighter to the velvety box in which the gold band hides. After all, even if you’ve received the texts hours ago, you’re realizing perhaps that that’s where your steps have been leading you anyway.

It’s stupid – he asked you to leave. Hasn’t contacted you once since then, and it’s like the wedding and the week after never happened. Like you’ve been broken up for months, like you barely know him anymore. He’s a stranger now, in your life, something you’d never thought he’d become someday.

And why would he talk to you? Why would he want you in his vicinity, when he made it clear as spring water that he was done, that the end had come to pass between you and him?

But if the end has come, why is that you’ve been feeling like you’re surrounded by him, today? Like you’ll always be – just a drop of water in the sea of him. Perhaps you are weak, to feel for him the way that you do, but seven years ago, the cataclysm that started you and him shook you, and its repercussions are still felt today. Will be felt until your dying breath, until all that’s left of you is stardust.

So you let your feet carry you, weightless in the way that you’re moving forward. Like you are once again but a leaf carried by the wind, and you can only hope that it’ll let you land in the right place.

You don’t really know how you make it to his building. Perhaps you were closer than you initially thought you were – all that you know is that you recognize the building, and that you sense his proximity through the walls.

Your heart reaches for him, longs for him in a way you can’t ignore anymore. Because you’ve been dead, without him. Just a shell of what you should be, of what you want to be. Because yes, you could learn to live without him. After everything that you’ve been through, you know well enough that you are strong enough to do it.

But you don’t want it. You want that dream you’ve found in the jewelry shop, want to make it possible. Want to prove that, no matter who would ever get close to you, he’ll always be the owner of your heart.

So you walk in. Reach the elevator, press on the call button. Then on the fourth floor, reminiscing the night you rode the elevator in his company, right before the fall. The new fall, a harshest one that made you reach those low levels of hell that living without him are consisted of.

You awaken when you are standing in front of his door. You think you can almost hear him inside, moving around through his home. You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat, where you’re standing. If he too can tell that you’re nearby once again, even though you shouldn’t have been.

Even though farewells have come to pass between you and him.

You don’t knock. You don’t have to. To your surprise, the door opens in front of you, slowly, before you’ve even managed to raise your arm to knock. Then his voice fills your ear, as he tells Bam to wait. You just stand there, dumbfounded, and then his eyes move from the floor to your face, and his mouth falls open.

Bam jumps on you, tail wagging wildly as you take a step back from the force of impact. You pet him on the head, pushing him back to the floor as you try to focus on Jungkook.

And then it dawns upon you that you have no clue what to tell him. You reckon you maybe should have prepared something in advance, because you’re wordless standing in front of him.

“Hey,” you eventually say, and you think the world has time to revolve around the sun three times before you manage to say something else. “How are you?”

His mouth slowly shuts, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He pulls on Bam’s leash, tells the dog to sit, before he finally addresses you. Just your name, and the way he says it make it sound formal, like you’re just a stranger.

“What are you doing here?” he asks after another moment.

You look down at your hands. At the box you’re holding, and his eyes follow after you. “I was thinking of you, today,” you admit.

He sighs, and his eyes shut. “You were?”

You nod as he meets your gaze again. “When am I not?” Your comment doesn’t ask for a response, and he doesn’t offer you one either. “Jimin told me you’ve been unreachable.”

“Yeah,” he lets out. “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh.” You try to look behind him, as if you’ll find his reason to be busy there. “Can I talk to you?”

He says your name, this time like an apology. “I told you we were done.”

You shrug. “I know.” You gulp, fingers playing with the velvet box as if it’ll help ground you. “Can I walk Bam with you, then?”

He looks conflicted but he gives in. Says yes in a defeated way that rips your heart from your chest, in a way that makes you cling to the ring box even more, hoping that it’ll offer you salvation.

Being outside in the early fall evening with him feels like the Earth has finally returned to its normal axis. You don’t say anything, unable to find the words, and he remains silent too. You just enjoy his company, watching over Bam as he sniffs at plants before peeing on a pole.

Stars are twinkling in the sky up above. The breeze is still soft tonight, caressing your features in a gentle embrace that resembles the one he’d used to offer you, though it’s far colder than his. You spare a glance at him – he’s already looking, and he doesn’t look away as your gazes connect.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again.

You wet your lips. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“How is that an explanation?” A shrug of your shoulders is all the answer he gets. He scoffs, shakes his head slightly, and then his head turns toward the door of his building. “I have hot chocolate inside,” he tells you, once again sounding defeated. “Do you want a cup?”

Turns out salvation wasn’t to be found in the velvet box you’re holding, but in the gentle angles of Jungkook’s features, behind his big doe eyes that will forever feel like home to you.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you tell him, voice soft. “I just wanted to… talk.”

“Then let’s talk over a cup of hot chocolate,” he says.

Which is what you do. You follow him in, feeling like you’re out of place in his life. Like he’s only giving this to you because of what you used to be to one another. Yet you don’t care. You’re slowly finding words, your brain shaping them into sentences to change an ending you can’t come to terms with.

Jungkook prepares the hot chocolate in silence, as you sit at his small dinner table. You play with Bam as he does so, a game of tug-of-war that you’re bound to lose as the dog is far stronger than you. Yet you still indulge, as you’ve missed Bam far more than you even thought possible.

The game is only interrupted when Jungkook rests a cup of steaming hot chocolate on the table next to you. You let Bam go, and the dog trots away to go play somewhere else, you can only assume.

“What did you want to talk about?”

You’ve left the ring box on the table. You’ve noticed Jungkook glancing at it repeatedly since you’ve put it there, and you worry at your bottom lip.

“I wanted to apologize again, for what it’s worth,” you answer. “I felt horrible when it happened, and just wanted to forget all about it.”

His features turn harsh, and his eyes drop into the cup of hot chocolate he’s nursing for himself. It reminds you of a café, of a conversation you had years ago, that led to you opening up to him, and to him opening up to you.

“I love you,” you continue. “I haven’t stopped loving you, and if I’d known that breaking up would hurt so much, I would’ve fought harder. I wish I had, and I wish I’d never let you go.”

“But you did…” he says when you remain silent for a few seconds.

“But I did. And I understand if you hate me for it. If you don’t want to ever see me again. But shit, you’re the only thing that I’ve been able to think about. Just you, and everything that could have been, had I been stronger.”

You grab the cup of hot chocolate, the warmth of it slowly seeping through your cold fingers. For the next few minutes, you don’t say anything, and neither does he. You just drink the hot chocolate, hoping you’ll find more words to say at the bottom of the cup.

“The distance was hard,” Jungkook eventually says. “I don’t blame you for wanting to end things over it.”

It surprises you. Makes your brain go entirely empty, and you just watch him with wide eyes for a few seconds.

He shrugs as you don’t say anything. “What?” He looks down, tongue darting out to play with his piercings. “I’ve been thinking about everything too.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “I over-reacted, when you told me you had sex with Harrison,” he admits.

Totally not expecting the conversation to take this turn, you’re stunned silent.

“I was shocked, and needed time to process,” he continues. “You were right, the fact that I went on a full-on date is just as bad, differently. We were broken up, we didn’t owe each other anything.”

As much as it pains you to agree, you still do, nodding your head. “We didn’t.”

He purses his lips, holds your gaze for a few seconds before glancing down at his cup. The silence is more comfortable now, as you think maybe, maybe then the dream you’ve dreamed about isn’t just a distant mirage of what could have once been. It’s foolish, but you can’t help it.

You think your heart is beating for the first time since you left that morning weeks ago.

“Did you want to speak about anything else?” he asks after he’s taken a long sip of his hot chocolate.

You take a deep breath, and somehow courage finds you on the long exhale. “I don’t want us to be over.”

You think you hear him gulp. “You don’t?”

Blinking away a few tears, you shake your head no. “I really don’t. I walked around all day today, and all I could think about was you. All I could think of was all the years between us, from when we met to a few weeks ago. And I don’t know, I refuse to accept that the end has come.”

“When does it come, then?” he asks.

“When the end comes?”

He nods.

“After years and years,” you say, allowing yourself to voice your dream. “Hopefully after we’ve had years to live together. After we’ve gotten married, and maybe even after we’ve had kids. Not that I want some.” You pause, and you look down at the table, unable to carry the weight of his gaze anymore. “Or maybe after we’ve had plenty of dogs, a cat or two. After we’ve had a house with a white picket fence, after we’ve danced under a thousand different night skies.” A tear rolls on your cheek, and you do nothing to stop it. “After we’ve travelled the world together, after we’ve had a chance to live, together.”

“And what happens after we’ve lived together?” he presses.

You shrug. “Then we die together. Then we turn into stardust and memories. I don’t care. As long as it’s with you, I don’t care what happens to me.”

Blurry behind the wall of tears in your eyes, you see Jungkook run a hand through his hair. “You don’t?”

“I don’t,” you echo. “I just want to get to love you.”

At that you do cry. And not just a little bit. Your heart longs and yearns for him, reaching in the space between you, trying to find a beat to sync with. You wipe your cheeks dry with trembling hands, before pressing the heel of your palms on your eyes, hoping to stop the cascade at the source.

“It’s a nice dream,” Jungkook says after the few minutes it takes you to collect yourself, your hands falling to the table.

“Is it?”

He nods. “Yeah. I don’t think we’d do a white picket fence though. I’ve always found cedar trees make a better fence.”

Something stirs inside of you, and you want to take a hold of him, and to never let go. “Yeah?”

He sits back in the chair, looks up to the ceiling as he blinks away the silver in his own gaze. You wonder if he’s crying because he saw you cry, as the sympathetic crier that he is, or because he shares the emotions in your heart.

“Where would you want to get married?” he asks then.

You push the velvet box towards him. “This is for you.”

He doesn’t acknowledge this, instead repeating the question.

“Somewhere in the countryside,” you answer. “Maybe the cottage where it all started.” You think about Julys of a world ago. “Under the night sky.”

“People don’t usually get married when it’s already dark.”

“Right,” you let out. “Then we’d have a ceremony for just us two when it’s dark outside.”

At that he grabs the box, opening it. You reckon he must have known what the content was, because he doesn’t say anything as he takes it out. As he tries to put it on his finger, though it doesn’t fit. It’s too tight, and it makes him chuckle, a sad sound that almost kills you on the spot.

“Do you think we’d dance under the stars?” he asks as he turns the gold band in his fingers, and light glimmers on it.

“Yes,” you say, nodding your head. “We always would.”

“So you came all the way here to tell me this?”

He meets your gaze again, for the first time in a while. He looks struck with emotion, much like you feel – the depths of his eyes are swirling with love and ache and yearning. You fall forward, fall in his eyes, trying to find home again.

“I came here to ask you to marry me,” you finally say, as it dawns upon you that, yes, your steps were leading you to this all along. “Jungkook, will you marry me?”

He smiles, a world of sadness etched in the sweet curve of his lips. “Can it be this easy?”

You shut your eyes. “It can. Please. Let’s not lose what we have again.”

“When would you like to get married?” he asks.

“Are you saying yes?”

He plays with his piercing, takes a deep breath as he chases tears away from his gaze but to no avail. You watch the two drops as they slowly roll down his face. “When would you like to get married?”

“In July,” you answer easily.

“Next year?”

You nod.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds more, then looks at the gold band again. His fist closes around it, slowly, as if he’ll be able to crush it in his hold. For what you don’t know. All that you know is that his features grow tortured, pained. It doesn’t last long – another deep breath later the expression is gone.

“I need to tell you something,” he says then, his voice so small you can barely hear it.

You prepare yourself. As well as you can, expecting the blow before it comes. You sense it – in the eternity it takes for him to speak again, you see every moment of you and him before this day, your life flashing before your eyes as if you’re about to die.

And then he says it a first time. At first you don’t even understand the words, as if he’s speaking a foreign language. So you let out, “What?”, hoping that it will change the cruelty that this world holds.

But nothing can, after the end has come. Nothing, especially not as he repeats the words, softly, their meaning tainting the dream you’ve just painted with him, until all that’s left of it is a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

“I’m permanently moving to South Korea.”

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

I'm sorry for the angst, for the cliffhanger, for them to be so stubborn and for how life is working against them now. I hope you don't hate me too much after this :') let me know what you think of this chapter!

Taglist: (add yourself to the taglist here) (strike-through means dumblr isn't letting me tag you):

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twost3ps · 24 days ago

Note

*Trojan war au?* Adam as Helen of Sparta

Lucifer as Paris

and (maybe) Michael as Menaleaus?

I find this funny because I was just bingeing sarcastic products videos and just watched the video on her lol but I’m so down for that

But im down for all of that

I think the most confusing part is the colors cuz Troy is seen as blue and Spart as red when Mike is Blue and Lucifer is red so,,,, LMAO

Anyway I tried to quickly whip up some art for them/ this week has been very busy so sorry it took a while :’)

They are not up to scale lol Mike and Lucy are supposed to be around chest height (Also I did change my michaels design a bit to fit what I thought menalaeus would look like)

Also small note tho I might also draw this out Adam’s garments are purple but that shade of purple changes throughout the story

Are these clothes highly inaccurate? Yeah but I can’t bring myself to gaf I hate designing stuff. They're not what I wanted or what I wanted to look like but they're here so you get the idea

Anyways the purple starts as a bluish purple to show that Adam is Michael’s. However it’s still purple meaning there is a bit of red in there foreshadowing Lucifer soon to come in Adam’s life

When Adam becomes Adam of Troy the purple becomes reddish purple symbolizing that Adam is now Lucifer’s. However again, still he’s still purple and not red, showing that Adam still has emotional ties to Michael and is still in love which him despite marring Lucifer.

When Adam is taken back to Sparta, the purple turns into true purple as Adam’s heart is equally in love with both Michael and Lucifer. While he is now Adam of Sparta and with Michael once more, Adam still loves Lucifer just as much as he loves Michael. However Lucifer is dead now so yeah.

Ik people think menalaeus as the bad guy but that's like a modern iteration of him to justify Helen and Paris' affair 🧍‍♂️ headass felt bad for him

I think the plot would go as this…? If you wanna see it anyways it’s very abridged and very quick lol

So we have Adam, son of Sera, who is to be betrothed as to settle the crowd of suitors who want him

Adam chooses Michael as the one he wants, and the two get happily married

On the other side we have Lucifer who is dealing with Eve and Lilith on who the most beautiful sorceress is so that they are able to snatch Roo's apple and have the title as most beautiful

Eve promises Lucifer greater power over his nation and to rule the world

Lilith promises Lucifer the heart of the most beautiful mortal which he accepts

As the tale goes on roughly as it does in the tale

Lucy goes to Sparta

Lucy meet Michael and Adam

Adam gets hit with the spell for the succubus that was sent by Lilith. I do think it would be interesting, though, if Lucy also got hit by the succubus to ensure that they fall in love and Lucifer wouldn't back down once he realizes Adam is already married.

Michael leaves Sparta for idk reason, leaving Adam and Lucifer alone.

They steal stuff from heaven and sail off.

Michael returns. The news gets to him, and the start of the war begins.

While the love starts as artificial, fueled by the lust sent on by the succubus, a very real part of Adam does genuinely start falling in love with Lucifer. Lucifer is genuinely very charming. He's a lot of things michael is not but at the same time very familiar.

The succubus influence sort of wanes and they become more conscious of the weight of their affair.

Even under the influence, Adam had begun to regret running away with Lucifer as the war raged on. Not only did he betray his first husband, but he also betrayed Sparta. The was was going on because of him. That spell waned Adam gets very conflicted.

He lives lucifer and is married to him, but he also yearns for michael again.

Adam stays because he does love Lucifer to an extent- he is an excellent lover both romantically and in bed- but also because it's safe. How could michael truly take him back when the war is caused by him and has gone on for so long?

If we follow lucifer getting hit by the succubus as well, he also feels regret as he just stole someone's lover. But also really lives Adam as well and to say the least, followinb paris.. he is a a selfish guy. So um... there's that.

As the tale goes, Lucifer does die- shot from a poisoned arrow from Uriel I guess???

So war goes on Yada yada

Sparta is winning

Trojan horse happens

Sparta wins and Michael goes to find Adam

Michael wishes to shed Adam’s blood with the rage he has from war, but when he sees Adam again, he can’t due to how much he still loves him and takes him back as Adam of Sparta.

Also alternative end cuz I love a good threesome when Michael demands Adam back Lucifer almsot refuses till adam butts in. He can sense a good threesome and Lucifer and Michael meet and agreement to just share lolol happy end :')

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel michael #hazbin hotel lucifer #guitarhero #adamsapple #guitarstars #hazbin hotel au #trojan war au

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why4anne · 1 year ago

Text

Money Power Glory

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Category: Mafia! au

Part: 2/?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Stalking, drugging, kidnapping

Summary: When you accidentally found yourself in the middle of a mafia show down you had no idea that your life was about to change, forever. For better or for worse.

Masterlist

The days that followed the gala were a whirlwind of emotions and contemplation. Charles Leclerc's unexpected presence in your life had left you in a state of curiosity and caution. You couldn't deny the magnetic pull between you, but the dangers and secrets that lurked beneath the surface still weighed heavily on your mind.

You found yourself torn between the intrigue of Charles's world and the desire to lead a simple and safe life. Yet, as each day passed, you couldn't escape the lingering thoughts of that fateful night and the green eyed man who had played a pivotal role in it.

It was on a quiet evening, you were sitting on the couch in your cozy apartment, when your phone buzzed, breaking the stillness of your thoughts. The message was simple, yet it sent a shiver down your spine: "Meet me at Hotel de Paris tomorrow at 8 PM - Charles."

The message was oddly straight forward and cryptic, but it held an air of urgency that you couldn't ignore. It was an invitation that you knew you couldn't decline, not when you had already been drawn into this intricate web of secrets.

The following evening, you arrived at the luxurious restaurant in the hotel, a charming and dimly lit establishment that overlooked the glamorous heart of Monaco. The atmosphere was serene, a stark contrast to the chaos and danger you had encountered in Monaco as of late.

Charles was already there, seated at a secluded table near the window. His gaze lifted as you entered, and a warm smile graced his lips. He stood, kissing your cheek and pulling out a chair for you, a silent gesture that spoke of both respect and courtesy with an underlying tone of flirtatiousness.

"You came," Charles remarked, his green eyes locked onto yours as you took your seat.

You nodded, your curiosity once again piqued. "Your message left me with no other choice, Charles. What's this about?"

Charles leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur. "I wanted to talk to you, away from the prying eyes of the gala. I felt we needed a more private setting."

“We’re literally in one of the most popular restaurants in all of Monaco. I doubt we will be able to speak privately here.” You pointed out the obvious, but as you looked around you, you noticed that all of the other tables are empty.

“Don’t worry about that, love. I bought out the entire restaurant and the staff have all been paid off, they won’t bother us” He said nonchalantly, as if it was no big deal.

“How is that even possible? This place is booked up for weeks in advance” You were flabbergasted at his confession. How could one person just shut down one of the best restaurants in Monaco?

“I know people” He brushed off the entire situation “Now, we have matters to discuss.”

Your heart raced as he spoke, your apprehension growing with each passing second. "What matters, Charles?"

He sighed, his gaze clouded with a mix of emotions. "The world I live in, Y/N, it's not as simple as it may seem. Monaco may be a paradise, but it's also a web of power, secrets, and danger. I need you to understand that what happened on the night we met was not a one-time occurrence and you being there put you on the map for some very dangerous people, myself included."

The weight of his words settled over you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. "What are you involved in, Charles? You're telling me that our paths crossing put me in danger from god knows what?."

Charles hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "I come from a family with a long history in... certain aspects of Monaco. The incident that night was a result of longstanding conflicts, and I'm afraid those conflicts are far from over."

The air grew heavy with unspoken truths, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were in over your head. The world Charles inhabited was far from the idyllic paradise you had envisioned when you first arrived in Monaco. You thought that you would be living the dream, attending your dream university located in the most luxurious country in the world. Yet, here you were, somehow caught up in criminal activities.

"Y/N, I won't lie to you. Being associated with me can be dangerous. But I’m also the only one who wants to protect you from that danger. I want you to understand the choices you're making."

You swallowed hard, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The allure of Charles's world, mixed with the dangers it presented, left you in a state of uncertainty. "What do you want from me, Charles? Why are you involving me in all of this?"

Charles reached out, his hand gently brushing yours. "I don't want you to be a pawn in a dangerous game, Y/N. I want you to have a choice, a say in how you want to be a part of my life. If you want to walk away, you will be in constant danger. But if you choose to stay, I'll do everything in my power to protect you."

The sincerity in his words was undeniable, and the way he looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and vulnerability, tugged at your heartstrings. You couldn't deny the connection between the two of you, a connection that had brought you into the heart of Monaco's secrets.

"I need time, Charles," you finally admitted, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I need time to process all of this, to understand what I'm getting into."

Charles nodded, a sense of relief in his eyes. "That's all I ask, Y/N. Take all the time you need, and remember that I'm here, waiting for your decision."

Five days later you were yet to notice the black car with the Leclerc monogram parked near your apartment complex. Or the amount of men dressed in black that were present in every place you went. After all, they were trained for this, to stay in the shadows, lurking, never getting caught.

You had no idea that Charles saying that you have any choice in this matter whatsoever was a big fat lie. He was giving you the illusion of choice and you were about to make the wrong one.

You liked your life as it were, you were studying in the country of your dreams, at the university you’ve always wanted to attend. You didn’t know what exactly would happen if you agreed to Charles’ terms but you were quite sure that you could kiss goodbye to your current level of freedom. You had made your choice, now it was time to tell Charles.

‘Can we talk?’ You took up your phone and sent him a message, sitting on the couch as you waited for his response.

‘Tonight, same place and time’ Was all that he sent back. You stared at the screen for longer than you would like to admit. The longer you stare the more you wanted to change your mind, but you knew you had to turn him down. You were not about to live in a sheltered box for the rest of your life, not when you were so close to fulfilling your dreams.

8 PM rolled around faster than you would’ve liked and you felt your pulse starting to pick up the moment you stepped into the lavish restaurant once more. There he sat, in his black suit, his hair perfectly styled and his intense green gaze following your every move.

“Good evening Y/N” He said as you got close enough, getting up in order to pull out the chair for you. “What is your decision?” He asked once you got seated and had ordered a glass of wine, the expensive kind, per his request.

“Charles, you’ve been very generous with me and I want to thank you for the offer but I have to decline.” You started, and before he could answer you continued. “I understand that there is a… risk, but I don’t want to live in a bubble. I am living my dream right now and I can’t lose that.” You explained, looking into his green eyes. Yet, you missed how his gaze turned cold, calculating. This was not the answer he wanted and he always gets what he wants.

“I see…” He finally said, his voice soft as honey, expertly masking his true feelings and intentions. “I understand and respect your choice, I’ll let you live your life on your terms.” He was lying straight through his teeth, he was not about to let you go that easily. You were his from the moment you stayed with him after he got shot, you just didn’t know it yet.

“Thank you for understanding, Charles” You smiled and placed your hand over the back of his.

“Of course” He nodded and turned his hand upwards, caressing his thumb along yours. “Well, let’s not waste this night on the boring stuff. What do you want to order?” He changed the subject and motioned for one of the waiters to come over with a menu. You happily took the menu and after a while you decided on their famous pasta.

“Good choice” Charles pointed out. “I’ll have the same dish” He told the waiter.

The night went on, the two of you making small talk and getting to know each other. Which seemed unnecessary, seeing as you probably won't see him again after tonight, but still, it was nice. You missed the way his jaw clenched and the geers turned in his head, forming a plan on how to make you agree to let him protect you.

“It was nice meeting you” Charles said as he walked you back to your cab.

“It was nice meeting you too” You smiled and got into the car. “Thank you for the dinner and good luck with everything”

“The same to you Y/N. If you ever need me, just ask” He reassured you.

“I will” You answered before he closed the door and all you could do was look back at him as the cab drove off into the night. Your eyes meeting for what you assumed would be the last time. Oh, how wrong you were, if he will have it his way, which he always does, you will be in his arms sooner rather than later.

Four months go by and Charles and his world was but a distant memory in the back of your mind. Only resurfacing when you walk by the restaurants where you would meet up. You moved on with your life, going to class, spending time around Monaco, but Charles did not. All he had done since that night four months ago was figuring out a way to make you his. To have you at his side and now he had finally come up with a plan to do just that.

The sun was setting as you walked along the streets of Monaco on your way back to your apartment. The bag on your shoulder was heavy with coursebooks and notepads but it was nothing you weren’t used to. You would like to say that you’re kicking ass at university but reality was that university was kicking your ass. After barely getting a passing grade on your last exam you’d decided to pull an allnighter in order to catch up.

The sound of your shoes hitting the asphalt beneath you was the only thing that could be heard in the young night. The sky was painted in a beautiful shade of pink and you smiled to yourself as you decided to put your airpods in and listen to some music in order to romanticize your life a little. You happily strolled along the sidewalk as the music tuned out the outside world and felt a smile spreading on your lips. You didn’t even notice as two masked men appeared from the shadows of an alleyway, too far gone in your own thoughts to pay attention as the two looming figures got closer and closer.

You didn’t even have time to scream before a hand wrapped itself around your mouth, cutting any and all sound off before anyone could hear your cry for help. Not that anyone would’ve either way, the street was completely dead, not a soul in sight, no one around to save you.

You thrashed and fought in a trivial attempt to free yourself from the man’s grasp. Your heart was in your throat and the adrenaline was pumping through your veins but he was just too strong for you.

You fought even harder when you saw the other man pull out a napkin from his pocket, drenching it in some form of liquid.

‘Oh fuck, they’re going to drug me’ You thought in panic as he slowly put it against your mouth and nose. You tried to hold your breath but it only lasted for so long. You took a breath, trying to keep it shallow but you could feel the effects of whatever you’d just breathed in.

Your vision started to blur around the edges as you fought to remain conscious. Your attempts were for nothing and you could feel yourself slipping into darkness.

“The target is secure” The man that wasn’t holding you said into an intercom. You felt yourself being picked up and carried away before you fully succumbed to sleep.

‘What the actual fuck just happened?’ Was the last thing you thought before blacking out.

#charles leclerc x reader #money power glory au!#charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 #charles leclerc x female reader #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x you #mafia au #Charles Leclerc Mafia #Charles Leclerc Mafia au #mafia! charles leclerc #charles leclerc fic

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milaisreading · 8 months ago

Text

That time Yn met the Chevalier family

🌱🩷: Yeah... so this happened...

Warnings: Reader uses a mix of she/her and he/him since she is crossdressing. The characters are aged up here a little. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

(Y/n) was exhausted from all the practices and games, so she had decided to take a break from practice and was given 2 weeks off to recharge her battery. Of course, she decided to travel for one week, and the other week she wanted to be back in Madrid to just sleep and go for walks. Somehow, Charles had found out about her plans and talked her ear off to come to France, where (Y/n) was at the current moment. And, although she was skeptical at first when Charles said he will be her guide, she came to like this arrangement. The boy knew his way around Lorient and took her to some interesting places to see. All in all, Charles was a lot more relaxing to be around and he grew a lot since the time she first met him.

On her last stay in Lorient, Charles had a brilliant idea about one final activity they could do.

----

"What?" (Y/n) blinked at the grinning French player. The duo sat in a small café, surrounded by a few locals who went on about their day, but (Y/n) ended up tuning them out as she processed the player's words.

'He wants me to meet... his family? But why me? It would make more sense if he asked that from Shidou, or Loki, they are close and teammates.'

"Please! You will love them!" Charles said again, sounding more desperate now than he previously was.

"But, why me? It would make more sense if you asked one of your teammates." (Y/n) argued.

"No! I like you and I want you to meet them! They heard so much about you and want to have you ever for dinner."

(Y/n) was left speechless for a while. They heard so much about her?

'I don't take many interviews. So how?'

"What do you mean by heard a lot about me? I barely even talk to the camera." (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as Charles grinned even wider.

"I told them about you!"

"Ah... Makes sense, then. But still, it's weird that you want me there." She argued again.

"You are nice to me, and I respect you as a player..and I... Never mind." Charles shook his head and looked back at (Y/n).

"Please! If you don't have time to visit Paris with me, you can have time for this. Mom is already preparing dinner for tonight."

"You said I will be there?" She asked in disbelief as Charles chuckled and nodded his head.

"Alright... what's the worst that can happen." She finally agreed, smiling when she saw Charles cheer in his seat.

That night, (Y/n) nervously fidgeted with the gifts she bought to the family as a small thank you for the dinner. Right as Charles opened the door for her, she was greeted by his parents, who were just as cheerful as Charles was.

"It's so nice to finally meet you! Please, come inside." The woman said as (Y/n) smiled greatfully.

"Thank you for welcoming me here. And thank you for the dinner." She bowed, handing her the presents later on.

"This is for you, Chevalier-san. Thank you again."

"There was no need, any friend from Charles is always welcome here."

"No need to be so formal around us, kid. Let's go to the living room now, I would like to hear some of your stories as a Re Al player." Charles' dad smiled and (Y/n) silently nodded her head, following after him while Charles and his mom stayed behind.

"He is so polite, honey." The woman said, nudging the boy. Charles smiled proudly and nodded his head.

"He is the best, you will see."

"I wonder if he has a girlfriend..." The woman muttered, causing the boy to look af her in confusion.

"Why?"

"Joana and him are around the same age, they would look cute together."

Charles froze at those words and looked at his mom like two heads grew on her.

"Big sis? No way, she isn't his type!"

"And how do you know that?" The woman raised an eyebrow as Charles shrugged.

"I just know."

'(Y/n) is definitely gay. There is no way he is into women...'

With that, Charles left his mom's side to follow his dad and (Y/n) to the living room.

-----

'Just how many siblings does he have?!' (Y/n) thought in shock as a little girl and boy tugged on her sleeves, while another girl kept saying some odd things to him.

"Are interested in urban legends? I read a lot of those Japanese ones. Is it true a woman at night will kill you if you say she isn't pretty." The girl with strawberry blonde hair asked in excitement, creeping (Y/n) out a little.

"Uhmm... I am unfamiliar with that one-"

"That's ok! I have more questions to ask, anyway."

"Great." (Y/n) forcefully smiled.

'Just how old is this kid?'

"What's it like playing for the pro league?! I bet it's exciting!!"

(Y/n) looked down at the boy, relaxing a little at that question.

"It's definitely a good time. Playing with and against great players like Luna-san and your brother. Do you plan on being a pro?"

"Mhm! I am already enrolled into a local club, and-"

"Can I please braid your hair?!" The other girl interrupted her brother, pulling on (Y/n)'s sleeve a few times.

"Yeah, sure." She nodded her head and looked back at the pouting boy.

"You said you are in a local club?"

The little boy perked up at the attention he was getting again, but before he could say anything, two new voices spoke up behind (Y/n).

"Can I get a picture with you?! You and Blue lock are quite popular among my peers in uni."

(Y/n) looked back to find a blonde girl, around her age, smiling excitedly while holding her phone up.

"Uhm... yeah, sure-"

"And an autograph for me! I got the new jersey of you that Re Al recently released." The older blonde guy said, pointing at the shirt.

"Yeah..." She numbly nodded her head.

'How many kids do these people have?!'

(Y/n) gulped as the girl from before started speaking about some random urban legend again, until Charles walked in and interrupted her.

"Ok! Don't overwhelm him so much! Come here." Charles said as he pulled (Y/n) away and behind him, glaring at the 5 siblings as (Y/n) tried to recollect herself.

'So many people...'

"Charles, don't be so mean. They just want to get to know your friend."

The father scolded the French player, who looked at him in disbelief.

"Look how nervous he is." He argued, pointing at the girl.

"Uhm..."

'Why did you put me on the spotlight, Charles?!' (Y/n) groaned as his father spoke up.

"Now, now. Kids, don't overwhelm him, and Charles, behave. They are just excited to meet him."

The player sighed in annoyance as (Y/n) looked between Charles and his brothers.

'Well... they might be somewhat different from each other, all 6 of them get easily excited.' She held back a laugh as the younger siblings approached her again.

_____

Charles loved his family, he really did. They were his main supporters and always made his worst days the best ones, but he can't deny that he was jealous at times. Specifically jealous of his siblings. There were times back in his childhood when they would steal their parents' attention from him. Charles especially felt that after his younger siblings were born. Although he understood it, he still felt mad about it, and he promised to himself that he would never feel like that again. But, now Charles sat in his living room, feeling the same anger and jealousy he felt years ago as he watched (Y/n) interact with everyone except for him. Every time he would speak to her, one of his siblings would interject and force her to focus on them, making Charles want to rip his hair out.

'This is stupid. Why did I even want this?! What if he starts liking them more and would rather hang out with them when he visits France?! Or worse, what if he falls for my sister?!'

Charles forced a smile as he watched (Y/n) speak with his older brother and said sister.

'There is no way he will like her... right? I am pretty sure he is gay, or at the very least my sister isn't his type.' The French player gulped silently, feeling uneasy at their closeness.

'Why do I even care so much? At the end of the day I probably annoy him, but he us one of the few people who solely focus on me when we talk.'

Charles shook his and continued to silently look at them, trying to ignore the whirlwind of feelings he was having.

But, his troubled state didn't go unnoticed by his mom and (Y/n). During dinner (Y/n) would try to make some conversation starters, but would just get very short answers before one of the siblings or oblivious dad would speak to her. It was so weird to (Y/n), but she decided to not say anything for now.

'I don't want to ruin the dinner for everyone. But it's so strange... He was so cheerful prior to bringing me here.' She hummed.

"How much do you practice during the day?"

The younger brother suddenly asked.

"Oh... We usually practice for 12 to 14 hours, depending on what our coach thinks it's the best and where we are during the season. Uhm... on my days off I sometimes practice for 3 hours alone." (Y/n) answered as the boy nodded while she was talking.

"I heard Japan has its own goth culture. What's it like?" The other younger girl asked.

"That's true, I heard sonin school at least. But, I am not much familiar with it-"

"Charles, can you come and help me with the cake cutting?"

(Y/n) interrupted herself as she heard his mother speak up, watching as the player nodded his head and got up from his chair to follow after her. (Y/n) waited a little before excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

"Do you need help to get around the house? I can come with you." The older sister offered, but (Y/n) quickly shook her head in protest, assuring her she will be fine.

'They can be quite over bearing...' She thought while taking in a few deep breaths.

'What's up with you, Charles?' She hummed and decided to quietly go to the kitchen and ask Charles to speak with him.

"That's quite childish of you, Charles. They just want to be friends with him. Don't forget, your younger brother is a fan of (Y/n)."

The girl stopped near the kitchen as she hear his mom speak, and then the said player sighing in annoyance.

'Why are they talking about me?!' She wondered, deciding to stay quiet and listen in.

"I can be annoyed at least once in my life at them. And you never try to see my point of view, it's always theirs. Every time I brought someone over they acted like this, they never give them any space." Charles said back, it was weird not hearing his cheerful tone.

"They are just excited. Stop being such an immature man. You are 19."

"You always take their side, both you and dad. I can never be right. And stop telling sis that she might have a chance with him, he is uncomfortable."

"Then he should say that. He is grown as well."

(Y/n) flinched at the woman's words.

'That's true... But, I know people will be mad or upset if I do say anything they don't want to hear. And it's just not worth the headache.'

"He isn't that direct, mom. I told you before he came here that he is more reserved and doesn't like upsetting people. Also, where are those sweets I got for his visit. Finding bakeries with Japanese sweets was hard." Charles' words surprised her genuinely, not having expected him to care that much to get those things for her.

"Your brothers liked them and ate them."

"Mom!"

"Don't yell at me. Now help me with that cake. And, stop being so moody."

"As always, my siblings can do no wrong." Charles muttered, but his mom decided to ignore the comment.

(Y/n) quickly backed away from the kitchen and walked quietly back to the dining area.

'So... I am guessing he didn't have the best upbringing...' She thought to herself, for a moment getting sad before an idea popped into her head.

'Well... I do have some more vacation days left that I didn't use up...' (Y/n) thought as she quickly took her phone from her pocket.

'Let's see...'

-----

"Thanks again for the dinner. I really liked the stay here." (Y/n) bowed as Charles put his shoes on.

"It was nice having you around. Visit us next time you are in France." The dad offered and (Y/n) slowly nodded her head as she said goodbye to everyone.

Charles kept quiet through the whole ordeal, only saying he will come home later when they left.

The two quietly walked down the sidewalk, (Y/n) enjoyed the warm summer night as she looked around the empty road.

'Everyone is home, I guess.' She thought.

"Sorry for my siblings. They can be quite overbearing." Charles suddenly spoke up, causing (Y/n) to look back at him.

"It's fine, they weren't-"

"They were. I saw how uncomfortable you were, don't lie." Charles said, looking back at her with a weird cold look. (Y/n) shut her mouth for a moment as the younger kept looking back at her.

"It's... It's fine, you don't have to apologize for them. Say, you are going back to Paris tomorrow?"

"Yeah, my train leaves a few hours after your flight to Madrid." Charles nodded his head.

"There is no reason here for me to stay longer. So I will spend the rest of my vacation in Paris."

(Y/n) bit the inside of her cheek and spoke up after a while.

"Uhm... say, you told me you wanted to visit that one new restaurant that opened in Paris a week ago."

"You remember that? Yeah, I did." The player asked in confusion as (Y/n) took her phone out.

"I reserved us a table for the day after tomorrow. I decided to stay in France a little longer so I will be going back to Paris tomorrow with you."

Charles stopped in his tracks as he read thebonline reservation she made.

'He did that for me?' The French player looked at (Y/n) for a moment before quickly hugging her.

"You are the best! Thank you! There are a few more places I want to take you to in Paris! You won't regret it!"

Charles smiled as his hug tightened. (Y/n) was meanwhile blushing from the closeness, but gave him a few pats on the back.

"Nothing worth mentioning."

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock #crossdressing #charles chevalier #bllk charles #blue lock charles

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myownwritings · 11 months ago

Text

One-(p)up - Lance Stroll

lance stroll x fem!girlfriend!reader

Summary: it's your boyfriend's birthday, and you have to think of a perfect idea to one-up his birthday gift to you, except… you somehow forgot his birthday was today.

Warnings: None. This is just one big floofy fluff.

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: this is my first Tumblr post. I hope I did the lay-out correctly.

Requested by @heartbreakinmiddecember.

‿︵‿︵ʚɞ『』ʚɞ‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵ʚɞ『』ʚɞ‿︵‿︵

It was October 29th, 08:00 AM, and you were pacing nervously through the kitchen. How could you have forgotten about your boyfriend's birthday? His birthday?! You rubbed your temples, trying to think of something that would be a quick fix. And it had to be something amazing. Because for your last birthday, he took you to Paris, showed you the entire city and spent a week in the French city of love.

And you, very confidently, then promised him you would one-up him.

But it is his birthday today, and due to all of the stress at work and him being gone last weekend, you forgot. Girlfriend of the year, right?

You opened the fridge; the least you could do was make him breakfast and hopefully get a wonderful idea before he would greet you in the kitchen.

And in the middle of your attempt to make breakfast, Lance entered the kitchen, only wearing grey sweatpants. You looked up from the pan frying the eggs and smiled at the sight, “My birthday boy.”

Lance returned the smile and walked to you, “Good morning, baby.”

“Happiest birthday,” you said and wrapped your arms around his neck as soon as he was close enough. “I am making you some breakfast.”

“Can I help you?”

You shook your head, “You’re not supposed to help me; it is your birthday.”

Lance chuckled and pressed his lips on your temple, “Okay then. Am I allowed to grab my own coffee?”

“Sure thing. I am almost done anyway.”

You tried your best not to be too nervous around him. Knowing your boyfriend, he was not even going to ask about his present– he did not care about materialistic things. That did help to avoid the subject for at least another few minutes as you danced around the kitchen to set the table.

“Lancey? Come eat breakfast, love.”

“I am right here, baby,” Lance said, taking a seat at the table. “It looks and smells delicious, thank you.”

“I tried my best.”

“I haven’t had a birthday breakfast in years.”

Last year, his birthday was during a race weekend overseas, making it impossible for you to celebrate his special day together, all the more reason for you to make this one special.

“Glad I could make you one,” you replied and took a bite from your breakfast. “When was the last time?”

“I think ever since I was a teenager. Due to the races, most of my birthdays were spent with hotel breakfasts.”

You nodded slowly, chewing and still thinking about the perfect birthday gift, “Are there other things you missed out on due to your career?”

Lance put his fork down as he tilted his head, visibly thinking about an answer. He had not expected the question; the two of you never really discussed childhood matters, as it was not necessary, according to you— you much rather focussed on the present time and the future, as those were the times you could still alter.

“Uhm,” he hummed, showing that he was still thinking about it. “When I was a kid, I always wanted a dog, but unfortunately, my parents never agreed due to my lack of availability to take care of it. They said they would hire someone for anything but taking care of a dog.”

“Ah,” You said, and a little smirk crept on the corners of your lips. “Good thing you’re living on your own now, then, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

You shook your head quickly, as a sudden idea had sprung to mind, “Nothing, baby. Just finish your breakfast so we can get ready for the day.”

Lance smirked smugly, “Ah, yes,” he said in remembrance. “You are trying to one-up the trip to Paris. Tell me, how are you going to do so?”

“Oh, Lancey, I can’t spoil your birthday gift already,” You grabbed both empty plates to start and clean up. You had an idea in your head, but you couldn’t arrange it with Lance still near you.

“Go get ready,” You spurred him on to leave the room. “I will clean this up.”

Lance nodded, gave you a kiss on the cheek, and left the room as you quickly loaded the dishwasher. You waited until you heard the water from the shower running before grabbing your phone.

The idea had suddenly snapped into your mind; there is a puppy ranch nearby, and you knew the owner from one of your previous summer jobs, one before you got your full-time job, and one before you knew Lance.

You dialed the number, and wonderly, the owner picked up before the third ring, “Hey, y/n! How are you?”

“Good morning, Henri,” You greeted your old boss. “I am good, but I need a favor.”

“Sure, tell me.”

“Did you, by any chance, have 8-week-old puppies at this moment?”

“Uh,” A little sigh rolled over the lips of the man on the other side of the phone, “I think I have one litter of puppies. One of the labradors had 7 puppies, but listen, y/n, 5 of them are already reserved and paid.”

“That means two are not, and I just want to bring my boyfriend over to cuddle with them, too. Is that possible? It is his birthday, too. I promise to buy whichever one he chooses.”

“Of course, you and your boyfriend can come over. I also have a litter of 5-week-old labradors.”

“Thank you, Henri!” You almost exclaimed; your plan was actually working. “We will be there within an hour.”

You hung up and walked to the bedroom. The shower just stopped running, and Lance stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his waist.

A playful whistle ran over your lips, immediately creating a grin on Lance's face.

"Do we need to hurry, baby?" Lance asked as you made your way to the bathroom.

"Within an hour, but it's nearby. Don't worry."

Lance nodded and got dressed while you took a quick shower and got dressed afterward. He waited patiently on the couch, scrolling through his Instagram as you came down. You smiled as you saw the amount of memes he passed on his following page.

"Ready to go?"

Lance put his phone in his pocket, got up from the couch, and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the tip of your nose, "More than ready."

He grabbed the keys to the car from the little dresser in the hallway, and that's when you put out your hand, insisting that he had given over the keys.

"You're kidding me, right?" Your boyfriend asked, almost laughing as if it was a joke. You, too, knew that he was no passenger princess, but for one day, your roles in the car were reversed.

"I am serious, Lance," you said. You shook your hand, another demand for him to drop the keys in your hand.

He rolled his eyes and gave over the keys to his Aston Martin. You had driven it before, mostly when he wasn't in London, you weren't with him to the races, or whenever you ran last-minute errands.

"It better be worth it," He said, taking place in the passenger seat.

"You won't be a passenger princess for long, baby," You reassured him. "And I will let you drive on the way home."

Lance nodded, and you started driving to the ranch. Lance looked out of the window, trying to find any clues on where you were going, but after ten minutes, the busy city street changed into the quiet countryside streets.

"Not long?" He chuckled as he got more comfortable in his seat.

"Five more minutes," you informed him, and that information somehow made him even more comfortable.

Arriving on the ranch, Lance got out confusingly, "Baby, are you sure we're at–"

"Y/n!" A stranger called for you, earning your attention as you turned to where the sound came from.

"Henri!"

Lance got even more confused; he turned along and saw how you quickly hugged the older man. He straightened his back and smiled at Henri as the elder one reached out for his hand.

"You must be the boyfriend," Henri said, shaking Lance's hand. "I am Henri. Y/n used to work for me when she was still a student."

"Ah," Lance retorted, quickly licking his lips. "I am the boyfriend, indeed. Lance Stroll."

"Familiar name," Henri muttered, returning his attention back to you. "Y/n, where did you pick this boy up from again?"

You chuckled, "He's a racing driver, Henri. And I met him when I was at the headquarters of Aston Martin for that job application I told you about."

You didn't get the job, but you did get Lance, who had offered to give you that same job multiple times, but by the time you and him had gotten serious, you were already in a perfect position at your current job.

"Of course," Henri said enthusiastically. "She told me a lot about you before she started that corporate job."

Your cheeks got red as Lance smiled amusingly, "She did?"

"Enough, please," you begged both of them. "Henri, please lead us to Lance's surprise."

The three of you walked across the yard until you reached the building in the middle; Henri stopped in front of the door, "I already let them loose in their playroom. You know how it works, y/n. Good luck."

And Henri walked away, leaving Lance very confused. He reached out for your hand on the doorknob, "What is going on, baby?"

"I am not going to ruin the surprise two seconds before you see it yourself. You heard Henri, I have worked here. I know what's going to happen and how to handle things."

Lance gave you a quick nod, and you opened the door, entering a small, empty hallway. You grabbed Lance's hand and led him to the only other door.

"Ready?" You asked.

"More than ready," he answered.

You opened the door, and immediately, seven puppies ran up to you and the– now very surprised and amazed– boy next to you.

"Oh my–!" Lance exclaimed as the puppies jumped against him and let out little, playful barks. Lance kneeled down to give them attention– big mistake. All seven puppies jumped against him, causing him to fall over.

The puppies took advantage of Lance's vulnerable state, jumping on top of him and licking his hands and his face.

"Y/n!" Lance called out to you, his laugh echoing throughout the room. "Help!"

You first grabbed your phone to quickly snap some pictures. Lance tried to give equal attention to all the puppies, but he was totally outnumbered and there was no way for him even to try and get up.

"Y/n, please!" Lance begged, but the laughs were too contradicting to immediately act on his cries for help.

"You're doing great, baby," You said instead and kneeled down next to him in an attempt to get one of the puppies to go to you instead of to him. "They just seem to love you totally."

Lance chuckled; with the attention of the puppies divided between the two of you, he could finally sit up and give you a cheeky smile, "This was an ambush."

"You did it to yourself. I would never sit down that fast."

"And you didn't think of warning me?" Lance carefully grabbed one of the puppies and started petting it gently before the pup jumped away again.

"You can have a slight do-over with the German Sheppards in the next room. But they are still with their mom, so mostly it is just watching and reaching out your hand when they come to you yourself."

Lance chuckled, "This is already amazing, baby. Thank you."

"You wanna know the best part?"

Lance crocked his eyebrow as he tilted his head, waiting for you to give him the answer.

"We can adopt one," You said happily. "If you want to."

You didn't know how to describe what happened on your boyfriend's face; it went from confusion to realization to shock and happiness.

"What?"

You nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah! We can adopt one of the puppies, which will be yours, entirely. I will just take care of them whenever you're away."

Still, you could not describe the light in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth must have started to hurt. Everything about him seemed light all of a sudden.

"You're not joking now?" He tried confirming with you.

"No, baby," you reassured. "This is my birthday gift to you."

Lance got up, maybe a bit too quickly, as the puppies tried jumping him again, but he made his way to you and crashed his lips against yours, "I love you so much."

You cupped his cheek and pressed your lips back against his before whispering, "I love you too."

It didn't take Lance long to sit back down and let the puppies playfully attack him again. You sat back as the smile on your face only kept growing. And the guilt you had felt this morning had completely disappeared.

Seeing your boyfriend so happy, so playfully, and finally in the off-season felt incredibly good.

"Hi there," Henri's voice cut through the laughs, giggles, and small barks. "Having fun, I see."

You turned around and smiled, "He's in another world."

"Lance," Henri only now gained Lance's attention. "That blonde over there and the brown one there are still up for adoption."

Lance looked at both the puppies, his eyes breaking a little just thinking about leaving one behind, "Can't we adopt both?"

He then looked at you, tilting his head as he gave you his best puppy's eyes. You let out a small groan, "Come on, Lance..."

"Baby, please," he begged you. "I promise we will do them good. They will have each other to play with. I will spend so much time with the three of you."

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk already gave away the answer you were about to give, "Only if you admit that I did one-up you on this birthday."

Lance crawled to you, kissed your lips, and nodded, "You definitely did, baby."

#lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #fanfiction

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marinettesaltprompts · 3 months ago

Note

Not sure if you're still active, but here's a 'prompt':

Maribat, but without the wish-fulfillment:

The bats-family comes to Paris, and the usual Maribat stuff happens. Shadowmoth is found, Lila gets revealed, Marinette gets to castigate her friends to the bone beofre dimissing them as vile people beneath her notice and Adrien gets summarily replaced because Plagg's Miraculous is apparently Ladybug's engagement ring and Damian is "just better". To top it all off, Marinette is taken under Batman's wing, and without an active threat in Paris leaves for Gotham.

It's not what she expected.

She realises the true depths of human cruelty without the insanity of Akumatisation to hide behind,

She gets to learn what it's like to be the last person to know plans because SHE'S not the one calling the shots anymore, indeed: she's the most junior person int eh chain of command. She's the one who has to shut and obey when push come to shove, and get excluded from decisions that effect her and information that she should have but Batman keeps locked up under "need to know". And she's not on the list.

Because why would she be? She was the child who struggled to find Shadowmoth while she had a box of magical superweapons- including one that could give her any power she asked of it- when it took Batman his Robins maybe a week at most to do the same with conventional methods.

She even finds out that Batman has a dozen contingencies in place to take the box and Miraculous from her if she goes rogue. Based on information he's accumulated from her while she spent time under his roof and trained to impress him.

Oh, and to add salt to the wound: Damian makes it clear that he doesn't consider her his equal. Guardian or not. Certainly not someone he's going to take orders from, or someone he's interested in romantically for that matter. It takes more than a reasonably attractive face and talent for magical devices to interest Damian Wayne; and beyond those things what's exceptional about Marinette Dupain-Cheng compared to the other potential love interests he already had?

Did it occur to her that he might already be in a relationship before she gave him the ring? Because it seems like she's committing the same sin that Adrien Agreste once did in assuming the bearers of Destruction and Creation have some special destiny to be together.

(Adrien could tell her how that works out).

So now Marinette's stuck in a new, far less friendly city, speaking a foreign language and in a home filled with strangers she impulsively threw her old life away to be with. And she has to live with it because of how she burned her bridges.

Great Post! You put a lot of thought into the prompt, and the idea of Ladybug being brought into a situation where she's way in over her head and not instantly the main person in charge (just because she holds a powerful set of magical earrings) actually sounds great! Though that itself could be its own fanfic idea.

I myself am not personally fond of the Maribat part of the fandom or the idea of even mentioning it, given that it and the the idea of Marinette and Damian ever being a thing represents everything bad about the salty part of the fandom, especially from people who likely never read any actual DC comic involving Damian.

However, I do appreciate how you deconstructed the idea of not only Damian instantly being Marinette's love interest, but also how Marinette meeting the Batfamily would instantly make her part of it or even their favorite, since neither of those would likely ever happen given the dark and gritty nature of Batman comics contrasting with the light and generally perfect world of Miraculous.

I mean, the idea of Marinette relating in any way to the BatFam would be ridiculous in canon, considering her generally perfect and happy family life in comparison to everyone in the BatFam differing flavors of trauma. By comparison, Lila being a bitch or her friends not believing her seems mundane by comparison.

Anyways, love the post!

#miraculous ladybug #marinette salt prompts #marinette salt #miraculous ladybug salt #maribat salt #that is to say salt on the whole idea of Maribat as a concept #Also salt on people who ship Marinette X Damian #Those people have no actual idea what Daimian Wayne is actually like in the comics #They've ruined Miraculous crossover fics with DC for me

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valkyyriia · 2 months ago

Text

Day 6 - Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi?

Kinktober 2024 Prompt List | Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 1626 CW: Voice Kink(?), PiV, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Standing Sex Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader Prompt(s): Voice Kink | Discipline/Punishment

Notes: When looking at the list I realized I didn’t really know how voice kink worked, so I talked to @natimiles about it (like I do everything, really) and she explained it and I had the wonderful idea of Comte realizing that the reader thinks it’s hot when he talks in French, so he starts doing it more in the bedroom, and as a result she basically Pavlov’d herself into getting horny when he speaks French to her.

Still not certain this is voice kink necessarily, but… it’s what I’ve got.

Edit 10/7/24: Thanks @floydsteeth for pointing out the context behind 'ma belle fille' and explaining how to fix it. It's really appreciated!!

You had accompanied Comte to a dinner party tonight. The two of you were seated next to each other at a banquet at le Duc de Guermantes’ manor. Le Comte was amicably chatting with le Duc, the two of them being old friends, while you were seated across from your friend, Claudine.

They were speaking in French, as one would expect in Paris. Generally at home, le Comte tended to speak more English for your sake. You were still learning French, after all. Your French had certainly improved after living with him for as long as you had and you certainly weren’t having trouble following the conversation they were having, but..

Something about hearing le Comte speak in his native language was just hot.

He could probably read you a copy of the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, entirely in French, and you’d still be just as hot and bothered.

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, a sigh falling from your lips. This did not go unnoticed, much to your chagrin.

Le Comte moved a hand to rest on top of your thigh. The warmth of his palm was nearly scalding as he caressed the clothed skin with his thumb. You looked up at him and saw his attention was still firmly on le Duc. Or well, if you hadn’t known him as well as you did, you’d think so, anyway.

No, with the way he was touching you, he was definitely more focused on you than he’d care for anyone else to know.

You looked away from him and across the table towards Claudine. She made eye contact with you and grinned cheekily, her eyes flickering over to le Comte’s profile before meeting yours again. You flushed and looked away. Her grin widened.

“Mademoiselle, are you feeling okay? Your face is flushed,” le Duc said to you, a look of concern on his face. Comte also turned to you, peering into your eyes worriedly.

“I’m fine,” you said, waving them off with a smile. “I’m just a bit warm. Do you mind if I step outside for a moment to cool off?”

“Of course not,” le Duc replied. “Take all the time you need.”

You moved to stand, Comte’s palm subtly leaving your thigh as you did so. He instead brushed the back of his hand against your forehead, testing your temperature. His hand was cool, thankfully, and you leaned into it.

He hummed. “You are feeling a bit warm, chérie. I hate to cut our visit short, Monsieur le Duc, but I think I should get this one home before she starts feeling any worse.”

You protested. “Comte, I’m fine-”

“Nonsense,” le Duc said, shaking his head. “We can always schedule a dinner for another time, just the four of us, when you’re feeling better. Your health is important, Mademoiselle. Take care of it.”

Your argument died in your throat. You couldn’t very well argue against that, even if you weren’t actually sick. It’s not like you could just tell them you were horny. You just sighed, accepting your fate, and nodded with a smile. Comte stood and held his hand out for you, which you took, and he escorted you out of the manor with an arm around your waist.

Once seated in the carriage and headed home, Comte looked at you questioningly.

“What?” You huffed.

“Care to tell me what’s got you so worked up, chérie?” Comte asked, switching back to English now that it was just the two of you.

You pouted. “I’m not worked up.”

Comte nodded. “Of course not,” he said breezily, lightly brushing his hand across your neck. You shivered at the contact and he raised an eyebrow.

You opened your mouth to snap at him, but thought better of it and just turned away instead. Comte chuckled and pulled you close to him, whispering into your ear with a slight purr. “You’re embarrassed about it, whatever it is.” His breath tickled the shell of your ear and you shuddered. “It’s not my voice. You don’t usually react like this when I talk to you.” Comte kissed your temple. “Or is it?” He repeated, slipping into French.

You swallowed and he chuckled into your ear. “I see,” he murmured thoughtfully, thankfully back in English. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, chérie. I will gladly speak to you in French as much as you’d like.” Comte kissed your cheek. “Perhaps I should start once we get home, hm?” He then continued in French. “Or maybe for the rest of our carriage ride?”

You swatted at him. “That’s not fair and you know it. You don’t even have to try!”

Comte just laughed.

The moment you were back in Comte’s bedroom, he was behind you and unlacing the ribbon that held your dress together. His hand was lightly caressing the skin there and he dropped his head to your shoulder, kissing the bare skin. If it weren’t for the way he was running his fingers over every inch of your body, you might think he was just trying to help you undress. But then he opened his mouth.

“You’re beautiful, chérie. Ma belle.” You shivered.

He continued to touch you, running fingers over your skin and kissing your neck and shoulders. All the while, Comte was whispering sweet nothings in French. Every kiss was punctuated with a sweet word, and every touch was followed by a kiss. Your dress lay puddled around your feet on the floor and he was still touching you, his fingers tracing every curve and plane of your body.

Comte had barely gotten your clothes off and you already felt like your skin was on fire, your center damp and aching. He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing his hands up to cup your breasts. His thumb and forefinger on each hand tweaked at your sensitive nipples and you gasped, arching into Comte’s firm chest.

“So séduisant, mon amour,” Comte purred, kissing your shoulder. “I love seeing you fall apart in my hands without me even really touching you.”

You whined. “Abel, please.”

His lips trailed up the side of your neck and he nipped at your earlobe, pulling another gasp from your throat. He worried the flesh between the blunted ends of his teeth before tracing the shell of your ear with his tongue. At the same time, his right hand released your breast and drifted down your stomach before dipping between the folds of your labia.

You moaned, leaning against him further, as his experienced fingers rubbed loose circles around your clit. He blew a puff of air against your ear and you arched again, inadvertently pressing your hips into his hand. Your backside rubbed against his clothed crotch and he grunted into your ear, pressing his hips against you insistently.

With one swift movement, his pants were off and he was inside you, holding your back against his chest as he thrust into your heat. His mouth was still next to your ear and he groaned, dirty phrases falling from his lips. Comte’s dirty talking was always superb, but hearing him whisper to you in French while he fucked you was transcendental.

You had barely even started and your legs were already jelly. Comte’s arms tightened around your waist, holding you upright as he pounded into you. You hadn’t even made it to the bed; the two of you were still standing right by the doorway. Comte hadn’t even managed to get his clothes completely off.

His cock was nestled deep inside of you, the angle causing the tip to brush against your sweet spot with every thrust. You didn’t even have warning this time before you came, a cry tearing from your throat as your inner walls suddenly squeezed his cock. He swore, not having expected it, and he promptly followed you off the edge. He rutted into you until he was completely spent, slipping from your warmth. Your mixed fluids dripped from between your legs as you all but collapsed in his arms.

Comte was breathing heavily, as were you, but he held you upright. He wiped your sweaty bangs out of your eyes before pressing a loving kiss to your shoulder. “Let’s get cleaned up and get to bed,” he said, thankfully in English this time.

You agreed easily, relaxing against him, your hands on top of his. He chuckled. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“Mhm,” you agreed. “My legs don’t work anymore.”

“The second best compliment a man could receive,” Comte laughed. “Alright, chérie. Let’s get you into the bath.”

You walked into the dining hall the next morning for breakfast, having been just a little behind this morning after the intense night you had had. Comte had gotten up just a little bit before you, intending on letting you sleep in. You stopped abruptly when you noticed that Comte and Arthur were chatting. In French, to your dismay.

When Comte noticed you, he smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You tensed up, giving him a warning glare.

“Bonjour, mon amour,” he said innocently. “Comment te sens-tu?”

You groaned and promptly turned on your heel, leaving the room without even sitting down. Comte chuckled and got up to follow you, his breakfast untouched.

Arthur, ever observant, watched you both leave before breaking into a conspiratorial grin of his own. “Sebas, I do believe your fellow housekeeper has fallen ill once again. I daresay we shan’t be seeing much of her again today.”

Sebastian’s exasperated sigh was his only response.

Dividers by @/natimiles

Taglist: @natimiles @queengiuliettafirstlady @candiedcoffeedrops @goddesswitchmother @candied-boys

@fang-and-feather @faustianfascination @villain-hotline

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire comte #kinktober 2024 #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #mdni #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire fanfic

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55sturn · 10 months ago

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please can u do dad/husband chris hcs??

i love ur writing 🫶🏾🫶🏾

omg i love this !!!

✮HUSBAND + DAD!CHRIS WHO…/ HEADCANONS

husband!chris headcanons

HUSBAND!CHRIS who is using every chance he can to tell people that you’re his wife, there is absolutely no hiding the marriage.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who proposes the idea of getting eloped about a month and a half after proposing because he genuinely can’t wait to be married to you.

after first you feel bad because you want your friends and family to be part of the big day but then you say fuck it, and the two of you are running to city hall as soon as it opens the next day.

after the elopement, you don’t really tell anyone aside from close family and then you guys take your honeymoon, i feel like chris would fly you to somewhere like greece or paris or london because it’s romantic and he wants you to have that movie-esque honeymoon.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who fucks you on every surface in your hotel room during the honeymoon.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who decides to help you throw a big informal wedding type-party with all your friends x family and announce the elopement publicly for the first time.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who treats the entire marriage as if it’s the newlywed stage, like he’s the type of husband who still flirts with you and pursued you as if he literally didn’t lock it down with a ring. he never wants you to feel like he doesn’t want or love you.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who decides that once you guys are married, that he wants to move into a house with you and begin the new chapter and try for a family.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who, once again, constantly tries to consummate the marriage everywhere in the new house. matt and nick refuse to visit until you and chris have hired a cleaning service to “disinfect” the house.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who is a very big believer of the saying “happy wife, happy life.” which means he’s giving and getting you everything you want without hesitation and refuses to let you decline anything.

dad!chris headcanons!

DAD!CHRIS who is a boy dad without question, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t adore his future daughter, that little girl would have him wrapped around her finger.

DAD!CHRIS who brings up the idea of trying for a family after about a month of living together and you’re relieved because you had found out you were pregnant two weeks prior, you just weren’t ready to say anything yet.

DAD!CHRIS who, the second you tell him you’re pregnant, is on his knees pressing kisses to your stomach before he’s resting his head against it with his arms tightly wrapped around you and he’s nearly sobbing, he’s just excited and unbelievably happy that his dreams of having his own little family are coming true.

DAD!CHRIS who is with you at every appointment and cries again when you find out you’re having a baby boy.

DAD!CHRIS who is getting the baby his first pair of jordans without question.

DAD!CHRIS who lets you design the nursery entirely on your own and how you want, because he feels a bit bad that he took wedding planning away from you when you guys got eloped.

DAD!CHRIS who decides that he and matt will build the dresser, changing table, crib, rocking chair, everything while you’re out with mary-lou, nick, and your mom buying baby clothes.

when you see that all the furniture is put together, the pregnancy hormones kick in and you’re sobbing in his arms, thanking him for it and he’s shushing you and telling you that you don’t need to thank him for doing the bare minimum.

DAD!CHRIS who had the to-go bags packed the day after you told him you were pregnant, he had everything you need and want in yours, and completely overpacked the baby’s to-go bag because he couldn’t sleep the night you told him.

DAD!CHRIS who, the moment you go into labour, has the car ready to go and is calling nick and matt as soon as you’ve been checked into the hospital.

DAD!CHRIS who, while you’re waiting until you’re fully dilated, is getting you ice, wiping your forehead, holding your hand, he’s very doting while you’re sitting there waiting to give birth because he feels bad that you’re in pain because he did that to you.

DAD!CHRIS who has tears streaming down his face the second he hears his baby’s first cries. once you and the baby are cleaned up and decently rested, he’s running out to the waiting room and collapses in his brothers’ arms saying “we’ve got a healthy baby boy.”

DAD!CHRIS who refuses to wear a shirt when holding his son, because he’s a full believer in skin to skin contact being an important bonding factor.

DAD!CHRIS who is so incredibly helpful, he refuses to be one of those dads that doesn’t get up when the baby cries and he’s doing a lot of the midnight feedings if you’re not breastfeeding.

if you are breastfeeding, he’s doing everything he can to make you comfortable and he’s always going to grab your son from the bassinet at the foot of your bed.

DAD!CHRIS who feels so heartbroken when the baby is teething because he knows his son is uncomfortable and in pain and there’s not much to be done about it.

DAD!CHRIS who is so interested in the types of foods that the baby is trying out once he’s weaned off milk.

DAD!CHRIS who he gets his brothers to do a baby food challenge on their channel and it’s one of the only times that your son is featured on the channel because he loves his uncles and they make him laugh.

DAD!CHRIS and UNCLE!NICK + MATT who are completely wrapped around the baby’s finger. he gets whatever he wants from all of you because he is the first baby out of the group and everyone spoils him.

he grows up with the coolest family, he’s always sporting some sort of merch from his parents’ and uncles favourite artists to sturniolo merch and fresh love that the triplets created as the announcement of chris being a father.

all in all, chris’ baby would be so incredibly loved, spoiled, well mannered, respectful, and all around the coolest baby in the fucking world.

taglist: @dylsdunbar @verosivy @soursturniolo @4sturns @sturnsclutter @spencerstits @meanttomeet @bluesturniolo333 @graciereid @abbie13sworld @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @mylifeisevenstranger @bethsturn @ifilwtmfc @themattgirl @lovingmattysposts @lacysturniolo @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @cupidsword @strawberrysturniolo @lustfulslxt @sturnifyed @carolsturns1 @teapartyprincess4two @mangosrar @querenciasturniolo

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo headcanons #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x fem!reader #christopher sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo oneshot #christopher sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x reader

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aphroditeslover11 · 11 months ago

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Hi! I hope that you're having a great day/night! Could I request Lenny Miller with a younger reader?

Love Of His Life

This came so naturally, I’m not sure if it’s what you were hoping for but it just flowed out of my hands!

Warnings: a little smut, age gap, not proofread

Lenny had met you when you were spending a year in Paris, having taken a French degree that required you to spend a year abroad as a part of your study. It took some convincing for you to go out on a date with the older man, but he was persistent and eventually won you over. After he had taken you to dinner at Le Meurice, picking up the tab himself, he had walked you home and sent flowers to your tiny chamber de bonne the next day along with a note thanking you for your company. The fact that he was old didn’t mean he was dull or sleazy as you had feared, it meant that he was a hopeless romantic who knew how to treat a woman properly. The next time you met he had taken you for a picnic in the Jardin Du Luxembourg, complete with amazing French cheeses and a bottle of expensive champagne. It was fair to say that pretty soon you were hooked. Everyone always said that you were mature for your age anyway, so the concept of the age gap quickly became irrelevant to you.

A year later and you had finished your degree. When it got towards the end of your time studying in France Lenny had taken the risk of proposing you after taking you back to Le Meurice like he had on your first date. You hadn’t thought before saying yes, he put in for a transfer to be near you whilst you finished your degree and life continued in your strange state bliss.

You tied the knot quite quickly after that, getting married in a small service. His parents had both passed and he was an only child. Neither had much in the way of family, but you had agreed to a wedding in the church where he had grown up in Hawaï, though he wouldn’t admit it you knew that it made him feel close to his parents. You had the perfect white dress and he was in uniform, a hang over from the days when he had been climbing the ranks of Navy SEALs before he had been recruited into the CIA. As there were so few people you didn’t bother having a proper reception, he opted to take you to the beach where he had spent his time as a child, eating cheap burgers as your wedding breakfast and replacing the lights of a dance floor with the soft glow of the stars above you.

After this you moved to New York, he was promoted and took over a senior intelligence post, stationed in the city. He was in and out of the UN meeting with his counterparts, meeting all kinds of people. You knew he worked so hard because he wanted to prove he was worthy of you, his young and beautiful wife. You were remarkably proud of him, even if he found it hard to believe it. He was smart and had invested some of what his parents had left him into the stock market back when he was in the navy and used it to buy a beautiful apartment on the Upper East Side. It had a beautiful kitchen diner where you would attempt to cook together, often ending up in resorting to ordering takeout after Lenny decided that it would be a good idea to modify your recipes. There was something beautifully domestic about this life, it was still unpredictable but safe. Lenny refused to tell you much about his past because he didn’t want you to view him differently, but he gave up the guns and the action so he could live a safe life with you, finally letting himself rest.

After having seen so many horrible things he would want to protect you from the harshest realities of the world. You were young and innocent and so perfect for him, he didn’t want to taint that. He would never let an argument go unresolved before you went to bed. On the rare occasion that you had a proper row he would usually cave first and give you your way. He would usually be so in control of himself, but when he did shout it was harsh and loud, it always terrified you and as soon as he saw the look on your face he would cave. He could never stand the thought of you being afraid of him.

Arguments would often end in the bedroom, he would be the gentlest lover after a fight, peppering kisses along your collarbones before slowly moving down your body. He would be attentive, bringing you over the edge as many times as he could with his hands and his tongue until he had finally made it up to you. Only then would he seek any pleasure for himself, sheathing himself within you and moving so gently it would be as if you were made of porcelain. He’d be terrified of hurting you after seeing you so vulnerable earlier.

There could be another side of him in bed though. A raw and passionate one that came out after a difficult day at work. You learnt how to bring it out yourself over time, how to tease him with subtle touches at the work galas that he took you to and how he could never control himself when he saw you in just your lingerie and a pair of Louboutins. On those nights he would go for rounds at a time. Voracious, like a starving man at a banquet. He delighted in having you spread out below him, completely vulnerable to him and at his mercy. You always looked so small from that angle, he could do anything he wanted to you, and moreover he knew that you would let him and enjoy it. No matter how hard he took you though, he always ended with his head buried in the crook of your neck, whispering passionate prose into your ear and telling you how precious you were to him, how he would never let any harm come to you.

He managed to temper his protective tendencies well. Although both of you knew that it wasn’t a necessity, you found a job working in a little bookshop a few days a week, something to occupy your time. He was always anxious that something from his past would come back to haunt him, to haunt you, but he did his best to keep his worries separate from your life together. On account of your age difference, he was forced to confront the fact that there were things that you would want to do that he had left in the past, many years ago. You had a tight circle of friends that you would go with for nights out - clubbing, dancing and drinking in dives that he would never go into. He would never do anything to stop you, he would want you to live a life as full as you would have without him. Still, he couldn’t help it if he had to stay up until 3:00 am to make sure that you got home safe.

You had a beautiful life together in New York, it was something that you had built together, brick by brick. Every day he found himself falling deeper in love with you. He often said that he would probably have ended up dead in an abandoned corner of some far off land if he hadn’t had you to force him out of his ways. He pushed so hard for so long yet in you, your fragility and youth, he had finally made something to make him slow down. He finally understood the meaning of the phrase - you were the love of his life

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x reader #lenny miller x reader #lenny miller #anna

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fadyelj · 26 days ago

Text

All Summers End In Beirut

That summer in Beirut was never meant to be a journey inward; it was a time to shed the tension that had been building for years, a silent rage caged behind words, waiting for release. If I hadn’t confined it to words alone, that rage might have carved valleys out of stone. Instead, Beirut had to become the channel, blurring into nights spent chain-smoking in dimly lit pubs, romances that ended at dawn, and goodbyes that lived only on social media — Adieu, my dearest Beirut, though Beirut would know better.

I didn’t come here to romanticize the city or to make sense of my past. Beirut was simply the stage for a deliberate escape, a place to lose myself, not to find myself. Depth? I didn’t want it. Self-discovery? Even less.

You go to Paris to find yourself, not Beirut.

They say romantics run from reality, but I think the opposite can be true. Sometimes, it’s the realists who are drawn to it, clinging to the poetry of a place like Beirut, knowing full well the inevitable heartbreak. Still, they chase it, how can they live knowing that the greatest art has always been born from the agony of others.

Most who know me now might think I loved Lebanon from the very start, that my attachment was unshakeable, rooted in my childhood. And yes, I loved it — loved the version my father painted in late-night stories, those poetic tales he’d spin after slipping me a few bills for my Arabic lessons. My American-born Lebanese mother would look on, quiet but approving, as if to remind me that the language, the culture, was theirs, and that I was the inheritor of this beautiful burden. I memorized Ana esme Fady, w ana mn el Lebnan before anything else, words embedded as deeply in my identity as my own name.

My childhood was grown around Lebanon , a world away, yet vivid, woven from stories passed down like folklore. For years, my father’s tales could hold a magic of their own, sketching a distant land in colors bright and cinematic . But as soon as I began to think critically, that magic wore thin. I dug deeper, searching for something beyond his poetic recollections — and, yes, I found it. I just didn’t like what I saw. The stories, once so full of promise, started to feel threadbare, unable to hold up to the truth I’d uncovered. Resentment crept in. I felt the weight of belonging to a place I’d barely touched, a version of Lebanon that felt faded, passed down like an old newspaper, each retelling dulling its colors.

My father never wanted us to inherit his hate for the ugly parts of Lebanon. But the more I learned, the more I felt its grip on me. My God, as I fell down the rabbit hole of history and politics, the anger took root. I hated it. I hated my people. How could they turn heaven into hell? What gave them the right? I was only a child, but even as an adult, I still can’t find the answers. The unfairness of it all punctured me — the idea of a “home” drilled into my mind, yet always out of reach. Baba’s explanations never quite satisfied me. How could they do what they did? This new idea of Lebanon felt like a burden I hadn’t asked for, a heritage as heavy as it was distant. My anger grew as fierce as my love once was, aimed at my parents for planting this identity inside me, one that felt both too far away to reach and yet too close to escape.

When you’re a child born to the diaspora, there’s a harsh awakening. The stories you once loved take on shadows, and you begin to see yourself as part of a fractured history. A life in the diaspora is unforgiving, forcing you to carry a culture defined by survival and loss, a homeland that calls to you just as it keeps you at arm’s length. And yet, you’re expected to honor it, to love it. But where the hell was it for me all these years?

In those years of resentment, I lost myself in what you might call the most “American” ways possible — masking everything behind a polished exterior, where emotions were kept in check, and vulnerability was a distant concept. I crafted a composed, respectful façade, presenting a calm demeanor to the world while slipping in and out of identities like costumes, each one leaving its mark until the reflection in the mirror became unrecognizable. Certain truths I’ve kept buried, tucked away, left unspoken for the sake of the moshtamaa and a culture that expects us to live in quiet service to its ideals. Those years were a season of cold, each step pulling me further from warmth, further from a true self I could barely reach. Even today, I find myself still living in service to the moshtamaa. If I weren’t, wouldn’t I be writing freely?

But the moshtamaa wins, as it always does, leaving two choices: pretend and save face, or die by its sword. So, I’ve learned to play the game we all know too well, the one practiced behind closed doors. I walk the line between what’s true and what’s accepted, balancing carefully, learning to give just enough to satisfy but not enough to betray what lies beneath.

Today, though, I’m grateful to have found warmth again, in places I least expected, maybe even in Beirut itself. If this story is about anything, it’s about laying the bricks for a return that would come later — a return built on facing myself under a different sun, through eyes altered by time and distance, in a city that doesn’t promise forgiveness but offers, perhaps, the faint hope of reconciliation.

I’ve always considered myself a pessimist — or at least I was. Now, I’m less certain. Do you believe in naseeb? In the idea that everything is maktoub? Most days, I do. When the world throws me down, leaving me to stare at the pieces of something I thought I’d built, it’s almost comforting to believe this was fate, set out by some higher power. It’s a rational way to face my failures, a way to soften the edges of my shortcomings — and my friends, there have been many.

But then, there are other days, those rare days when my focus sharpens or when I’m medicated enough to believe fully in my own power. On those days, I don’t believe in naseeb. In those moments, it’s up to me to seize the world, to mold it, to make it my own. I’ve tasted the highest highs and endured the lowest lows, and somewhere between them, naseeb lingers in the background, watching, almost amused. Funny thing, this naseeb — it’s there when you’re at your worst, a crutch to lean on. But at your best, you realize it’s only ever been a story you’ve told yourself to make sense of things.

That’s why, sometimes, I hated this culture — or is it society pretending to be culture? I haven’t spent hours dissecting the difference. But I still wonder why this culture sometimes feels like a weight. Kindness can be a strength, yet sometimes it feels like a burden, a weakness we carry with pride. We’re so polite, even in revolution, so restrained, so respectful. We humanize everything. As Lebanese, we’re raised to be hospitable, welcoming, open-handed, even to those who come to tear us down.

It’s birthed into our history, in the very fabric of who we are. We’ve been the greatest lovers, poets, philosophers, building legacies out of words, hospitality, and resilience — but at what cost? We’ve shown grace to invaders, generosity to those who left scars, keeping that welcoming face, even as our eyes are gouged out . This hospitality, is it a survival instinct or our own self-inflicted wound?

We offer kindness to those who have broken us, a habit we can’t seem to shake. And that, more than anything, reminds me I’m Lebanese. Not through resilience, but in this weakness, this tendency to submit to fate and rationalize everything through comforts like naseeb. We’ll rationalize until it destroys us, convincing ourselves it’s out of our hands, that we’re powerless in the grand scheme. Maybe that’s the true Lebanese trait: cloaking our wounds in politeness, surrendering to the story we’ve been told is maktoub.

That summer in Lebanon was meant to last just two weeks — enough time to keep my mother from losing her wits and for me to avoid getting too attached. Lebanon was on the brink of a full-blown economic collapse, but somehow it was still the kind of crisis you could strangely enjoy. We Lebanese have a talent for squeezing joy out of hell itself. But the food poisoning was relentless; I swear I had more bouts of it than actual meals. Gas was scarce, leaving me stranded in the Chouf for two weeks alone. The electricity cuts, ones I’d later learn to base my schedule around, were already routine.

In 2021, Lebanon was cheap if you had U.S. dollars. “You could live like a king,” they’d say. A king, perhaps, but in a crumbling kingdom, a decomposing throne on shifting ground. That short, two-week escape stretched into five long months, a summer that took on a life of its own.

What do you do for five months in Lebanon? You put Baba’s folklore to the test. He’d told me he’d lived ahla eyam — the best days of his life — there, so I set out to see if his glory days held up, with my own modern twist, of course. The summer had to commence with the usual formalities: endless relatives streaming in daily (we were foolish to think two weeks would ever be enough), a parade of faces remarking on how much I’d grown, offering life advice I’d never follow, cursing the country I was born in, and reminding me, insistently, that I was Lebanese. Looking back, I wish I could’ve handed them that reminder with the same smug tone they’d given me. They needed to hear it, not me — after all, they weren’t the ones constantly reminded of where they came from. And it showed.

Then, finally, the real summer began: the clubbing, the drinking until I felt out of body, the strange sensuality of Beirut’s nights washing over me. Chain-smoking until my lungs felt scorched, wild kisses with strangers whose names I’d forget, tasting the city on every tongue. By dawn, I’d come home smelling like a chimney, my mother half-wrinkling her nose, half-smiling.My mother, first experienced Lebanon in the aftermath of the civil war, under Syrian occupation. Her homecoming was to a Lebanon in ruins, where she endured nasty, sexual remarks from Syrian soldiers on the streets — a Lebanon that had barely survived yet clung to the hope of reconstruction. For her, the country had weathered war, and through its scars, she could still see its beauty.

I am as doe-eyed as she was, hopeful for Lebanon’s rebirth. Yet, it saddens me to think of her early hopes — built on resilience but weighed down by reality. My mother loved the Lebanon I experienced that summer, perhaps even envied it. Watching me live it seemed to offer her a glimpse of the dream she’d never fully held. But her Lebanon never stood a chance, whether from the war or the expectations placed on her as a Lebanese woman raised in the diaspora.

It’s impossible to put into words how much my mother sacrificed to raise her children as Lebanese. She learned Arabic alongside us, prepared the traditional foods that connected us to our roots, and carried the weight of social expectations with grace, kindness, and love. If my father gave us Lebanon, my mother, in countless ways, taught us what it meant to be Lebanese, especially within the diaspora. For this, she’s rarely received the credit she deserves.

The summer grew lonely fast, and with time on my hands that I barely knew how to use, where better to spend it — or rather, who better to spend it on — than the faces on dating apps? I downloaded them all, swiping through profiles like browsing a gallery. I skipped anyone listing philosophy or psychology as interests — the very subjects I read into alone but had no desire to mix with summer flings. A philosopher would kill my buzz, and a psych enthusiast? Probably too eager to “read” me and fail.

I’ve never bought into zodiac signs, thinking we mold ourselves into those traits if we let them define us. As a Cancer, I’d rather avoid that “complicated” stereotype. And yet, you, my Beiruti lover, slipped through the cracks. There were plenty before you, and to be clear, I am no sex symbol — quite the opposite, really. But I have a certain charm, a mask I wear well, though, it unravels fast when the right string is pulled. I have a bad habit of being too deep for those who don’t care, and maybe too blunt for those who do.

This wasn’t supposed to be a journey of depth, I remind you, but I made an exception. After all, I was the ajnabi, the foreigner with broken Arabic, overly polite, saying please and thank you into every sentence, careful not to get too personal. The one who always leaves.

In a world where everything is instantly accessible, connections too often die before they’ve had the chance to truly live. A few minutes on an app, both revolutionary and tragic, now seem enough to define intimacy. But then again, everyone before you faded into irrelevance; after you, they simply ceased to matter.

You appeared unexpectedly in my swipes. Looking back, it almost disappoints me that it began there, as if it’s an insult to everything that came after. Whatever this was, it broke every boundary of digital connection, beyond anything an algorithm could contain. You shattered every rule, challenged each line I’d carefully drawn to keep people out. I may never write like the legends, but I would later love you with the urgency of those who inspired them.

Have I sold you the groundwork for a coming-of-age love story? God, I hope not. Those stories aren’t written for people like us, and they’re certainly not meant for places like Beirut. I won’t say if we broke that rule, but if we did, it was a story lived in the soul, never meant to be captured for the eyes- certainly not yours.

The dating app was our first encounter, our first in-person meeting the second — both unfolding in a single, impulsive night. It was the only time I allowed myself to be that spontaneous, that open. For once, I let go of who I thought I should be; I just let myself be.

I wish I could reach back, shake that past self, urge them to stay present, to see things as they truly were. Over the past two years, I’ve rewritten this story more times than I’d like to admit, asking myself: What was it about you that’s so hard to release? What keeps me searching for traces of you in others, only to come up emptier than you left me? The answer should enrage me, but instead, it humbles me. I could have cast you as the villain, and in many ways, you were. You shaped so much of who I would become: how I’d love, the person I’d grow into. And yet, here I am, sparing you, as if you were a debt I owed for sins from a forgotten life.

You were never the villain; we were just kids, and all summers start and end in Beirut.

That night replays in my mind like a vinyl on loop, the needle pressing down, cutting through the haze of a post-pandemic fog. I wasn’t nervous, and neither were you. In Beirut, no one knew me yet. Does that sound pretentious? Maybe so, but that probably means you don’t know Beirut. I didn’t — not then, not until a year after that summer. But I learned quickly: in Beirut, everyone knows everyone. It’s a city stitched together by connections, faces you know by name, names you know by rumor. That’s what makes it beautiful and, just as often, unforgiving.

Did we have dinner? I can’t remember. But I remember the abandoned home we tried to climb — somewhere in Gemmayze, or Mar Mikhael, maybe Sodeco. I was hesitant, still too green to embrace the thrill of Lebanese lawlessness. But you, with that maddening confidence, climbed as if you belonged there, as if the city, its people, and even its emptiness were yours to claim. You wore that boldness well, like armor, until, like all armor, it eventually cracked.

We ended up on a bench in Mar Mikhael, talking into the night. I let years of pent-up anger spill out, pouring words over you like gasoline, almost hoping you’d catch fire. Was I that fragile, that quick to unload it all? You, though, you kept your calm, saying so much with so few words, holding back just enough to keep yourself safe. I’d learn to play that game eventually, but never as well as you.

That night, we seemed to live a hundred lives in a few hours, time expanding until it felt like it might never end. But, of course, it did. Something shifted in me as it drew to a close, like a new wire connecting deep in my mind, a change I’ve carried ever since. It ended with a kiss, messy and unapologetic, pressed against the walls of Mar Mikhael under a blue streetlight, your confidence outbidding mine, as if we were two revolutionaries daring the world. A soldier watched us, but we didn’t care.

Beirut was a different time then. The soldier couldn’t even feed his kids, let alone care if two strangers kissed in the street. Beirut today, the soldier beats you just so he can feed his kids — and somehow, you understand.

I’ve written about this too many times, penned it as if it were my will and the country its witness.

I‘ve only given you the beginning, and though the story doesn’t end here, for you, it must. Perhaps I haven’t left you fulfilled; Beirut has that way about it — a love in extremes, a city defined by the unfinished, and inhabited by those merely passing through. That summer felt endless, with stories I’ll never put to paper. I’ve come up with countless reasons why all summers must end in Beirut, but in the end, they’re only theories. You’ve seen my contradictions laid bare. Whitman was allowed his contradictions, so why not me? Am I Whitman? No, not in this life, and not in the next. But I’ll contradict, freely.

In the end, there will always be three sides to this story — yours, mine, and the truth.

What I know to be true is this: you shook me in ways I never expected, and here I am, writing about a time that perhaps should have been left unwritten, simply lived. Maybe it was my American politeness, or my Lebanese hospitality, that softened each retelling, but no matter who you are now, you will always be my Beirut.

The summer of 2021 has never returned, yet it left me with more than I bargained for — lessons about life, about myself, about the person I longed to be and what I must never become.

You offered me revolution but gave me meghli ice cream, and I forgive you.

A year later, I moved to Lebanon, learning to love Beirut as you once taught me to , holding it like a secret, forgiving its sins, and embracing it as if I were your sacrifice to the city. If that’s what I was, then I’ll honor it. Beirut always knows better.

I promised myself not to search for you when I returned, not to wish for you in the eyes of strangers. But when I broke that promise, every face fell short — not because of them, but because of us…

My dear, this city without you is like nurturing a lone flower in one hand while severing its roots with the other.

#arab #lebanon #beirut #coming of age

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spider-man-199999 · 2 years ago

Text

Paris to Tokyo

pairing: college!Peter Parker x Reader: 18+; academic rivals to lovers

word count: 5K

warnings: smut; slight angst; unpotected sex

summary: You start your new life at college, expecting it to be the most exciting time of your life, only to be met with Peter Parker, who decided to dedicate his free time to making your life a living hell

a/n: I've been dying to write an enemies to lovers type of fic, it's also my first time writing anything with suggestive content in it, so bear with me please. The heading is the most random thing I could come up with I'm sorry

College was the place you were looking forward to the most since you graduated high school. It was supposed to be a place where you met people with similar interest, went out with them to have fun and engage in intellectual converstaions. And it was exactly like that, for the most part. Growing up as a natuarally intelligent kid had you been putting little to no effort in school and always got you good grades. This quickly escalated into you trying a bit harder with each test and striving for more academic validation. At some point you even managed to become the best student in your class. But sitting hours on end on a desk and studying was still something very foreign to you. Sure, you would revise from time to time on topics that were harder to remember or things you couldn't recall from class, but it never went further than that. And maybe a degree in Biophysic was not the wisest idea given that backgroung. So, when college came around and you started the new classes on topics your common knowledge could barely help you keep up with, things went downhill very fast. For the first time you were faced with faliure, hard work and putting hours on end to study. It felt like everyone around you was more knowledgeable, more prepared, more educated on literally any topic that was discussed in and outside of class. Being at the bottom of the academic foodchain was mildy infuriating, to say the least.

And after the first few months of sleepless nights, filling up all of the holes so you could catch up to speed, you finally did it, and it felt more rewarding than anything else. This assisted you into making casual conversations with so many people from your different classes, one of them even inviting you to a study group that had been going on for months. You happily agreed to that idea, thinking it would be the best way to keep up with everyone in the class, not only academically but socically as well.

The day of the study group finally arrived on what seemed like the most normal, yet the most exciting Tuesday. They added you to a groupchat, everyone texting back and forth until all of you had agreed to go grab a coffee before heading to the library. You had tried your best to look presentable for this study date, putting on some white wide-leg dress pants and a neat navy blue t-shit that hugged your body very well. You hair was in a sleek bun, having a white buttonup because the weather was slightly chilly. Almost everyone had arrived there on time, which took you by surprise since you were used to being the only one being on time. After the cheerful greeting and formally learning everyone's names, you went inside and grabbed a coffee, returning to them promptly. You stood by the door, since the group had formed a circle around the entrance of the small shop.

"Was I the last one?" You asked concerned, looking around and counting the people.

"Actually, we're waiting for Peter" Someone said, everyone giggling softly and shaking their head.

"Who's Peter?" You asked, and as soon as you did, you felt something push againt your shoulder, sending you a step forward so you wouldn't come crashing down from losing your balance.

"I'M SO SORRY" you heard from behind you, turning around to see a boy with a worried expression on his face, paper cup in his hand. He was handsome, hair pushed back, warm eyes and nervous smile, leather jacked over a black t-shirt.

"That's Peter" someone stated, pulling you out of your trance. Peter chuckled, moving past you and motioning for everyone to go, since he was the one you all had been waiting for.

On the walk there you kept staring at the back of Peter's head, annoyed that he pushed you with the door, frusrated because he didn't even bother to introduce himself to you. Not that he really had to, you already knew well enough who he was. The guy who always came in rushing because he was late, somehow still managed to sit directly in front of you, blocking your view, no matter where you sat. He was the guy that would beat you to every question, the one who would always have the best grade on the tests. He leaned way too back in his seat, back pressed to your desk, pushing it, as you would try to keep up with writing everything down. And he would always ask you for a pen, every single time.

The study room was spacious and bright, it had a big round table for everyone to sit at, as well as two whiteboards and plenty or outlests for chargers and what not. It looked like the perfect place to study with a large group, excluding the fact Peter was there as well. You all took random seats around the table, Parker sitting across from you, almost as if it were on purpose. You held back an eye roll when he smiled at you cockily, making you look away and take out your laptop and notebook from your bag. The screen managed to block out most of Peter's face if you sink into your seat low enough. The conversation in the room flowed naturally, it was so interesting and engaging and you were having a blast speaking to these people. Soon enough all of you had solved the first homework questions, you quickly grabbing a pen and writing it down in your notebook. As you were in the middle of writing, an outside force closed your laptop. Your eyes looked at the laptop, seeing a pale male hand, fingers spread. You stared at it for a few seconds, noticing how pretty the hand actually was, long and straight fingers, follwed by a slim wrist and a muscular forearm. Your gaze trailed the hand up to Peter's face, looking into his eyes with annoyance already.

"Hey, do you-" before he even managed to finished his sentence, you had taken out a pen from your pencil case and placed it on your laptop, next to his hand.

"Thank you" he muttered, you not even looking back at him. This routine, as much as it was annoying, gave you some kind of comfort as well.

"How come you never have a pen with you?" You asked after a while, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Oh, well actually I do have one, it's easier to just use yours"

''Unbelieveble"

"Come on, like you would ever need a second pen for anything"

You hovered over the table and grabbed the pen from his hand in a swift motion, he looked a bit taken a back, as well as the few people following your interaction.

"Actually, I need it now" you said, putting the one you were using away and continuing your writing with the one you just got back from him.

"You're being unbelieveble now" He said slightly irritated, reaching to get his won pen from his backpack.

"The two of you, cut it out, you're acting like children!" someone shushed you, making you blush when you realised it wasn't just you and the curly-haired boy in the room.

You gulped softly, mummbling a sorry to everyone as you kept writing down.

"Us cut it out? She was the one acting like a child, making a big deal out of a pen!" Peter whined and complained, starting to write down things in his notebook after he got a few angry glares from other people.

Around the time the group got to the third and final question for the homework you were feeling confident enough to try to contribute to the assignment.

"So you're basically saying that principle of hemodialysis is the same as other methods of dialysis - it involves diffusion of solutes across a semipermeable membrane?" you asked, as you were brainstorming through the question.

"Oh come on, y/n, this is the easiest question so far!'' Peter said, leaning froward, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Ever since the pen situation, he's been worse than ever before, taking every opportunity to show of how much smarter he was, followed by a cocky smirk.

"Intermittent dialysis therapy is used in chronic uremia to re-establish body water solute concentrations that cannot be achieved by the natural organ. In this sense, the dialyzer becomes an artificial kidney and it is through the transport of substances by this device that chemical and biophysical control consistent with continued survival is achieved." He explained, solving the question for you.

"She had it figured out, you could have let her be" Someone you didn't remember the name of said to him, making Peter's head turn in that direction.

"She obviously didn't, keep in mind her highest grade is my lowest" He snapped back.

You could feel the tension in the atmosphere thicken with each second, things were about to escalate very quickly. His words stung a bit and you felt something like a ball stuck in your throat after he said them. He didn't know how much work you had put in and he was incosiderate enough to just assume the worst of you. Before things managed to get any further, or worse, out of control, you slammed your thick notebook shut.

"Since Peter was kind enough to solve the last question, I think I'm going to call it a night" you said, fighting back the tears. Your voice gave you away as it wa slightly shaky, earning a few sympatheric looks.

You shoved your things in the bag as quickly as you as possible and walked out, trying to get as far away as possible. You were trying not to break down the whole walk back to your dorm, bitting your lip, brushing away some stray tears that ran down your cheeks with your sleeve. You were mentally blaming yourself for everything, for not walking fast enough, for not knowing enough, for deciding to join the study group, for even deciding on this degree to begin with. By the time you made it to your room, your phone was already blown up by text messages from Natalie, the person who originally invited you. She was a small blonde, blue-eyed beauty that was just as smart as she was pretty. You could bet on your own life that she was class president and the prom queen in high school. She was more than kind to you this whole time and her text messages suggested that she was worried about you too. With a quick click you deleted all the messages from your notification centre and threw the phone on your bed, followed by your bag. Hot tears ran down your face, breathing heavily as you were preactically sobbing at this point. You sat down on the floor, not being able to hold in the frustrstion anymore as you finally broke down, letting all of the shame, pain and anger flow out of your system through your tears.

A couple of hours had gone by, your tears were dried up on your face and neck as you lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling. Your phone kept buzzing from time to time and you finally gathered the emotional strenght to reply to the messages. Sitting on the bed, you unlocked the device and scrolled through the unred chats. The groupchat had sent the written solutions for the questions. Natalie had probably sent you 20 messages apologising and asking if you were okay. The guy who defended you had also sent you a message. His name was Brad and he looked like any normal person did. You texted him first, thanking him for standing up for you even though he did not need to do that. After him it was Natalie, who called you immediately after you hit send to reply to her first message. You picked up hesitantly, since you knew your voice was definitely going to sound like you had been crying.

"I am so sorry for everything! If I knew you and Peter were on bad terms I wouldn't have done this to you" She immediately spat out

"It's okay, I we aren't on bad terms, well... weren't"

"Have you been crying?"

"No..."

"I'm really sorry! I spoke to him after the whole thing, he's usually nothing like this! He himself couldn't explain why he acted like this"

"Nat, I really, really don't care"

"He said he wanted to make it up to you! He asked me himself for your number and your dorm room!"

"Please tell me you didn't give him any of that information"

"Well..."

"Oh my god now he knows where I live" you whined, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them.

"He wanted to apologise! He looked very sincere and worried"

"Yes, all the psychopaths do, that's why they're so hard to recognize!"

"I'm sure he wouldn't just show up at your door trying to make amends, you'll be fine, plus he's a really cool dude, give him a chance to prove he's not an asshole"

"He had his chance, it was today"

After you two said your goodbyes and hung up, you deicided it was finally time to take a relaxing shower. As you walked out, you heard a knock on your door. Still wrapped in a towel, one hand holding it in place, you opened the door to a Peter Parker, leaning on the doorframe. You blinked a few times rapidly, trying to process what you were seeing.

"Why are you here?" You asked, after carefully calculating your tone and your words

"You weren't picking up your phone" he replied, trying to step a foot inside. You blocked his action with the door.

"I didn't say you could come in"

"Can I come in then?"

"No, good night Parker" With that you tried closing the door on him but he grabbed it, not letting you close it.

"Look, I'm here to apologise for what I said earlier. You don't have to forgive me"

"And I don't, go Peter"

He looked shatter at your words looking into his brown eyes, you almost felt sympathy for him, like he really did feel sorry about what he did. Despite that, you kept your composure, looking at him with all the resentmet you had for him, a sigh leaving his lips as he let go of the door. He didn't need superpowers to know he fucked up, so he left. And you on the other hand, were more devistated than before, but your ego was bruised and your self-esteem ruined. The only person, no matter how annoying, you didn't want to think less of you, thought less of you. Yes, it was good that he wanted to apologise but this was not going to undo his words and the image he obviously had. You didn't even know if the apology really was his idea or was forced on him by the others in the group. You shook you head, dismissing the thoughts as you got ready to sleep. Sleep always helped with heavy emotions and you hoped you would feel better in the morning.

A few weeks went by and you still refused to forgive Peter for what he said. In your heart, you knew he was really sorry at this point but you enjoyed his suffering as you roasted him slowly on low heat. He tried all the cliché ways, buying flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals, buying you coffee before every study date. Your neighbours were convinced that the two of you were dating and would always ask about him when you gathered in one of the rooms to eat together or drink. You denied that but they rolled their eyes and never believed. In the mean time Brad tried to get closer to you, even inviting you on a date. You accepted hesitantly, since your heart seemed to be someplace else, liking all of the effort and attention from Parker more than it should. You told Natalie about the date, the two of you had become very close, spending a lot of time together, which often resulted in Brad and Peter tagging along. To say the boys were not getting along would be an understatement. Eyes throwing daggers at each other with every glance, snarky, rude comments were exchanged back and forth. But when you told the pretty blonde about Brad, she was more than excited about it finally happening . She would go on and on about how she knew he liked you ever since the first study session you had together and how he had a very heated fight with Peter after you left. You were grateful for him and what he did, and somehow it still felt wrong to be going out with him.

The night of the date had arrived and you were almost ready, putting in your earrings as you heard a knock on your door. You took a quick look in the full lenght mirror, fixing the long black dress you were wearing. It had a long slit on the left side, exposing your leg, no sleeves and a turtle neck. You had tied your hair in a ponytail, so your light make up would be more visible in the muffled evening lights of wherever he was planning to take you. You opened the door, still not wearing your chunky leather boots but just stockings.

"I thought we were going to meet in front of the library" you said as you opened the door but to your sursprise, someone else was standing there.

"You're not going on that date" Peter said firmly, almost as a command

"You're the last person that's going to tell me what to do" You snapped back at him "Why are you here Parker?"

He walked inside, closing the door behind himself. Peter seemed slightly distressed, looking you up and down with a dark expression.

"Do you really hate me that much?" he asked, leaning his back against the door, his arms behind him as he looked down at his feet. "Or do you just want to hurt me by going out with the guy I like least? Like really? All the guys are in your feet and you decide to go out with Brad, and look as gorgeous as this."

You could hear the annoyance and sadness in his voice, a bit taken a back from all of the things he just said to you. He just loved doing that, didn't he? Saying the most obnoxious things to make you feel bad about yourself.

"Wait, what?" was all you managed to say, taking a few steps back until your butt pressed agains your desk, making you stop. Books and make up palletes were scattred on it. Peter looked up at you, smiling weakly.

"I've liked you, this whole time" he confessed, staring directly into your eyes "Please, don't go on that date"

"Make me" you said faintly, surprised by how you almost whispered it. There was no way he could have heard that. But somehow he did, taking a few rapid steps towards and wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I'll make you forget everyone else but me" he whispered in your ear.

Feeling his hot breath near your face made your heart beat faster, one of your hands resting against his upper arm, looking up into his eyes. You were having a hard time processing what was actually happening, a sudden fear it was one of his games to make fun of you. You tried pushing him away after the realization, but his grip on your waist tightened.

"I'm serious, y/n" he said "I've liked you since I saw you, and I would make everyone sit away from you so I could be near, I would ask you for a pen so I could talk to you. And I tried to show off because I wanted to impress you, I wanted you to think I'm smarter so you could ask me for help in class."

For some reason you believed him, nodding lightly to let him know that. He lifted you up with one arm, sitting you on top of the desk. You were having a hard time vocalizing what you were feeling but you didn't want him to feel awkward because of your silence. Your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand falling on your exposed leg. You looked down at where his hand was, your skin burning with desire to be touched by him more. Your eyes met his again, his filled with hopefullness and lust. He got closer, titling his head to the side and he kissed you softly and sweetly. You returned the kiss, hands cupping his face and bringing him closer to you. Peter deepened the kiss, turning it in a heated make out session as one of his hands romed around your leg, going up your dress so he could touch more of you and the other one placed on the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. You spread your legs, pulling him by the belt so he could position himself between them, your hands going to his hair and playing with his messy curls as your lips and tongues danced against each other. After what seemed like a forever of heated, hungry kisses and filty touching, you broke the kiss so you could catch your breath. You panted havily, chest rising up and down rapidly. Peter pressed his forehead against yours, both of you closing your eyes to collect yourselves.

"Should I at lest text Brad and tell him I'm not going?"

"Well, there goes my hard on"

You hit his chest lightly, both of you giggling at his stupid joke. He looked around, noticing your phone that was charging on the bed, moving away from you to grab it and hand it to you. You unlocked the phone trying to find your chat with Brad while Peter found his previous position, viciously attacking your jaw and neck with kisses. You tried your best to be concentrated and write a normal message, but made a few spelling mistakes nonetheless. Peter nibbled on your neck, which earned him a slight flinch from your side.

“Peter, please, we’re not 16, no hikeys”

He ignored your words, continuing his act the way he had planned it, kissing, licking and sucking on your soft skin while you begged him to stop. His hands were all over your body once again, touching everything that was exposed to him, one hand travelling further up your leg than before, almost landing on your ass but hesitantly stopping. You noticed his uncertainly, pressing your cheek against his so you could whisper in his ear.

“Don’t stop now, Peter” you breathed in his ear, your own hands exploring his body.

He didn’t waste a second after that, grabbing your butt in his hand and pressing his lips against yours. Your hands moved under his shirt, touching his toned stomach. Your were quite shocked to what your fingertips were pressed up against, not expecting him to be as muscular as he actually was. You knew he worked out because you had seen his toned arms in a t-shirt too many times for your own good, but you were definitely not expecting that. Hands quickly slipped him out of his jacket, reaching to pull up his shirt in the heat of the moment but he stopped you, moving slightly away. Your lipstick was smudged all over his mouth and it made you giggle.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked you, his hands finding their way back to your waist. You nodded, undeniably longing for him and his touch, his presence.

“Good, because if we keep this up any longer, I probably won’t be able to hold back” Peter muttered, removing his shirt and tossing it on the floor before he pulled you in again, kissing you.

You took that as a signal that you had to get undressed as well, reaching for the hem of your dress pulling it up. He grabbed your hands when he noticed the act, stopping you from doing what you had planned so he could do it himself. Suddenly you felt the cold air from the room against your skin, along with Peter's warm hands, making you shiver. You undid his belt, helping him pull his pants down, breaking your kiss in the process. You laughed soflty at how he was jumping on one leg while he was trying to kick his pants off, shaking your head.

"What?" He asked

"Nothing, nothing, I'm really missing a date right now for you jumping on one leg to get out of your pants" you bursted out laughing, him joining you shortly after.

"No, it's going to get so much better, trust me" He stated, grabbing you and lifting you up, throwing you on the bed. You squeaked softly from his actions, not expecting it. Soon enough he had your hands pinned down with his, hovering over you. A soft gulp at the sight from you made him chuckle, kissing on your neck once again. He had already left a mark there, starting to suck on a second spot next it.

"Peter really! It's going to be so hard to cover them up" you whined, secretly enjoying his lips and teeth on your skin like this.

He looked at your face, smiling viciously at you.

"I just want people to know you had a good time"

"Yeah, with Brad? I was suppsed to be on a date with him" you teased him, chuckling softly. His expression changed suddenly, he seemed almost angry. His hands let go of your wrists, travelling down your skin as he reached the hem of your panties. His fingers played with the hem of them before slipping in under the thin fabric, the middle finger going between your folds. He could feel how wet you actually were, making him smirk with that cocky smile he had, looking into your eyes. You were holding back a small moan from his touch, looking at his pretty face.

"Can Brad make you this wet baby?" He asked.

You shook your head no, keeping eye contact with him. His middle finger started moving up and down tesing your clit before entering you slowly. This time you couldn't hold back and you moaned, closing your eyes. His smile remained present as he insedted a second finger inside of you, starting to move his hand teasingly slow. Your body squirming underneath him, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, rocking his hips against your leg while he fingered you. You could feel his erection through his boxers, making you even more needy than you already were.

"Parker" you moaned out softly, remembering your hands were actually free and you could move them, immediately attaching to his shoulders, which was the closest body part besides his head. He looked up at you after you called out for him, grabbing your face with his hand and kissing you.

"Peter" you moaned again against his lips, feeling his skin shiver from that. I never considered what effect you actually had on him. "Please, I want to feel you."

After you begged him, he wasted no time pulling your panties down, unressing himself as well. His arms spread your legs forcefully, positioning himself between them. You didn't really manage to follow everything he was doing because you were too eager yourself, pushing up against him in hopes to speed up the process. He pinned you down by the waist, shaking his head in disapproval at your actions. Peter didn't like it when you disobeyed him, even though it was the only thing you were good at doing. He lined himself up to you, teasing you lightly with his tip as a warning before he inserter himself inside, both of you moaning from the act. You felt something like actual electricity when he did that, making you breath heavy from the ecstacy. His hips moved rythmically, along with yours. He was still holding you by the waist, standing on his knees while he fucked into you. You moved your leg up on his shoulder, making him smile and kiss it, one of his hands running up and down it while both of you looked into echother's eyes. You enjoyed the view, so much, his naked toned body, his messy hair, that gorgeous face, your leg on his shoulder while he moved. It was hypnotysing, breathtaking, made your legs shake alone. He could feel you tighthen up around him, making him laugh softly.

"So soon?" he asked, noticing how you started squrming more than in the beginning, legs shaking from time to time, moans becoming more freaquent

"Peter, I'm really close" you managed to say, hands gripping on the sheets around you. His grip on your waist taightened as he went faster and deeper, making you whines more prominent than before. You walls started clenching around him, feeling yourself already starting to cum on him. He placed a hand on your lower stomach, applying slight pressure on it which really sent you over the edge, whole body shaking, heavy breathing and moaning uncontrolablly. He had to hold you down while you came, leaning forward and pecking your lips after you calmed down.

"I need a moment too" he whispered against your lips "Can you handle it for me?"

You nodded, letting him continue rocking his hips into you. You were covered in sweat and so was he, bodies pressed against eachother as he moaned softly in your ear, your legs wrapped around his waist to stop the shaking from the overstimulation.

"Peter" you mumbled against his ear ''I think you're really hot... like, way hotter than I expected''

"Fuck" he replied, pulling out of you and stroking his lenght a few times before he came on your stomach, both of you panting. He lay down next to you for a second, kissing your forehead and hugging you.

"You did so well" he praised you, starting to leave small butterfly kisses all over your face. You laughed softly, cuddling into him.

"We should go take a shower"

"Are you suggesting a second round in your shower?"

"No! Well... maybe, okay, yes"

He laughed at your reply, shaking his head.

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