#pls ignore the fact that i started and finished a new fic instead of working on all the wips i've had for months fdgfdgdf

[changbunnies]

Suit Dance (18+)

♡ Pairing: CEO!Changbin x Office Siren!Reader

♡ Genre: office au, smut, porn with some plot, rich & sexy ceo trope but make him Subby™

♡ Word Count: 7.8k

♡ Summary: In which you discover that your ever strong and stoic looking boss wears dainty, pretty lingerie underneath his tailored suits.

♡ Warnings: hyunjin featured briefly as reader's office bestie, mild play fighting and 1 joke about strangling him

♡ Smut Warnings: uneven power dynamics (due to boss x employee relationship), power play, dom/sub dynamics, sub!bin, dom!reader, vaguely plus size reader, semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism, marking (with lipstick), mommy kink, nipple play, anal plug use, referenced masturbation, spit kink, praise kink, finger sucking, fingering (m rec), tiny bit of oral (m rec) and handjob, spit as lube, teensy tiny bit of edging. this is so unrealistic lmao but it's fiction so. just take it for what it is gdfsgdf

♡ Notes: back at it again with a self indulgent bin fic! written purely because i saw these pics on twitter and was immediately struck with the vision of changbin wearing it instead lmao and while i read a lot of fics involving anal play, this is my first foray into writing it myself so sorry if it isn't the best :')

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Throwing your hands up and over your head, you let out a soft noise of relief as you stretch, eager to return home and relax after a stressful week at the office.

Your manager has been on your ass the entire week about making sure your quarterly finance report is without flaw. “Mr. Seo has business ventures lined up that require an accurate reflection of the company’s spending and receiving of funds,” she repeatedly drilled into you– as if that isn’t always the case.

You don’t know what all goes into striking a deal and fostering a successful business partnership, really– you’re just paid to reflect the numbers, so that’s what you do; and you’ve never submitted a flawed report. Still, while you’re used enough to staring at numbers on a screen and inputting them into a balance sheet, scanning them extra carefully all week has really put a strain on your eyes.

You remove your glasses, toss them next to your keyboard and close your eyes as another sigh passes your lips. You slouch in your chair, rolling away from your desk ever so slightly as your legs stretch out. You can’t wait to sink into a bath once you get back to your apartment, maybe have a glass of wine to unwind while watching some trashy reality tv over dinner.

“Uh– Y/N?” a voice calls, and you shoot up in your seat, stiffening your posture– you relax when your brain finishes registering that it’s just Hyunjin. If it was your manager, Mrs. Kim, she surely would’ve ripped you a new one for slouching at work, the strict harpy that she is. 

“Hey, sorry! Were you waiting up for me?” you ask as you scoot back over to your desk and grab your glasses to put back on. Hyunjin was one of the few coworkers you got along with beyond the expected professional level, so the two of you often chatted on your way out of the building. He was also Mr. Seo’s personal receptionist, and you envied that he got to stare at such perfection all day.

Mr. Seo is hot– really hot. All professionalism and sex appeal, with his perfectly styled dark hair and expertly tailored suits hugging his thick arms. You don’t cross paths with him as often as you'd like, stuck to your cubicle as you are, but God, the glimpse you got of him this morning was divine.

Dressed in a dark blue suit you were certain was designer, a circular silver pin stuck in the left lapel– the company’s logo, which he always wore proudly. He had on two chains– one a pretty, mixed gold-silver resting on his collarbones, probably worth more than you make in an entire year. His other chain is pure silver and long, hung low on his chest, ending just above the first button of his stupidly beautiful suit. 

There’s no button-up or other such dress shirt worn underneath the suit– just purely bare, tanned skin. The small glimpses you got of his bare chest nearly made you drool– and when he rounded the corner to get to his office, and you got a glimpse of his tight slacks hugging his thick thighs and ass, Christ, you don’t know how you managed to keep yourself together.

You loved looking at Mr. Seo, but it was probably best for your sanity, and your work performance, that you didn’t have too much exposure to him. And it was most certainly a good thing that you weren’t his receptionist– you don’t think you’d get through the myriad of phone answering and appointment scheduling successfully if you had such eye candy in front of you for hours a day, 5 days a week.

“No, I’m just supposed to tell you that Mr. Seo wants to see you,” Hyunjin says, and you blink– once, twice, brain struggling to process what you’ve been told. Mr. Seo wants to see you? You think you’re going to combust on the spot from just the thought alone of having a personal meeting with him.

“D-Do you know why?” you question with an embarrassing stutter that you hope Hyunjin will ignore. “Nope, he just asked me to let you know to see him before I leave for the weekend,” he replies and you swallow, nerves suddenly threatening to eat you alive.

And it's not just because you’ll be alone with someone you’ve been thirsting after for months. The most pressing issue is that even putting your attraction to Mr. Seo aside, he is still very much your boss, even if he doesn't often personally oversee your work.

You emailed him your report just moments ago, so surely he hasn’t had the chance to look through the whole thing yet.. Fuck, what if there’s a mistake right at the start? You’d be mortified– and surely it’d be grounds enough to fire you given how vital this report is to his upcoming business plans. 

Hyunjin sees the apprehension and can’t help but giggle as he reassures you. “Relax! He seemed like he was in a good mood, I’m sure it’s nothing bad. Trust me, I’ve seen Mr. Seo angry, and he’s definitely not right now. Maybe you’re finally getting that raise you’ve been gunning for.”

You appreciate Hyunjin’s positive input, but you doubt that– if it was a raise, you’d be having a discussion about it with HR and your manager, as you have every time before; someone as high brass as Mr. Seo simply doesn’t have the time to talk to every person receiving a raise individually. A promotion..? Same situation– the decision for you to receive one is his, but you doubted he would see you personally over it.

That’s what your manager is for, after all– Mrs. Kim is essentially his mouthpiece, having discussions about these things with you and overseeing your duties herself so that Mr. Seo can put more of his focus on keeping the business going in the direction he wants. Still, Hyunjin said he doesn’t seem to be upset, so.. 

Maybe it is something good! Maybe your manager and the head of HR have been called to his office too, and you’ll all discuss an appropriate reward for all the effort you’ve been putting in. Maybe you can squeeze in a deal for more vacation time too, if you’re lucky. 

"Or maybe he found out about all your dirty fantasies about him, and now he's calling you to his office to–” Hyunjin starts, and you bolt up from your chair, swiftly shutting him up with a smack to the arm. “Oh my god, stop! Shut up!” you cry as he simply laughs, swatting away the hand you slap him with.

“Should I still wait for you?” he asks when the giggling subsides, and you quickly shake your head as you turn back to your desk to start shoveling your belongings in your bag. “Nah, I don’t wanna keep you waiting if the talk goes on long. I’ll see you on Monday! ..hopefully,” you mutter the last word as you pick up your bag, still not entirely sold that this abrupt meeting is a positive one.

Hyunjin, being a menace to your nerves, shoots you a wink and a “good luck!” after you wish him a good weekend. You think you’ll strangle him when you see him on Monday– if you’re still lucky enough to have a job here, that is. You walk out of your cubicle block, swallowing as you step past your fellow coworkers who are all similarly readying to leave, and up to Mr. Seo’s large office door.

It’s glass, and typically he’d be able to see you apprehensively standing there waiting, but the blinds are currently pulled closed. Should you knock? He’s expecting you, but all of a sudden you aren’t sure how to act– the last thing you want to do is be impolite. Still, maybe it’d be worse to keep him waiting– his time is extremely valuable, after all. So tentatively, you knock on the black frame of the door.

“Come in,” you hear him call out, and with one more breath to steel your nerves, you take the knob into your hands and open the door. And fuck, he’s alone– your manager and the head of HR are nowhere in sight. You’re going to have a solo meeting with Mr. Seo. God, please help me, you cry internally as you take a careful step inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click. 

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” you do your best to keep your voice steady as you look at him, pensively standing no more than a few inches away from the door. You’ve never been more nervous in your entire life– and when he looks up from the papers on his desk to address you, your heart nearly stops; he’s just too gorgeous.

“Don’t just stay by the door, please, come in,” he reiterates, motioning for you to come further into the room and take a seat at his desk with his hand. Again you swallow, taking small steps away from the glass door, your heels clacking on the sleek wood with each step.

His office is so luxurious– and you’re certain it’s bigger than your entire apartment. Floor to ceiling windows that take up the entire wall behind him and show the impressive expanse of the city, the sky turning a darker shade of blue as the sun disappears behind the other skyscrapers. Impressive bookshelves full top to bottom, with not just books but awards he's won throughout his life, as well as decorative art pieces.

He has well cared for plants in every corner, two sofas for additional seating, and a chandelier that rivals any you’ve ever seen in its extravagance. There’s a large rug underneath his desk and the opposite chairs, and your heels quiet as you step on it, carefully pulling one of the chairs back to sit.

It’s comfortable, the same shade of rich mahogany as his desk, and you practically sink into it. Despite that, you do your best to keep a good posture after setting your bag on the opposite chair; sitting up straight, hands folded in your lap as you cross one leg over the other.

Your skirt squeezes against your thighs in this position, but you’d rather be caught dead than have an informal posture in front of the CEO of your company. He’s looking at his papers again, and heat, as well as apprehension, spreads through your body when he looks up at you once more– but mostly, it’s heat; how and why is he so attractive? 

You’re so rarely given the opportunity to be this close to Mr. Seo– and there’s still a large desk between you that gives you a fair amount of distance, but you’re able to drink him in much more than you usually can. His eyes, that normally appear quite piercing and stern, are always much softer up close– all of his features are soft, really. 

Round cheeks, soft nose, defined chin that somehow isn’t harsh in appearance despite how sculpted he is. His lips are so pink, look so soft and plush, in the prettiest pouty shape. Cute, handsome, pretty, sexy– he’s all of it in one package. You want him bad.

Mr. Seo has expensive-looking round earrings on that you realize you failed to notice earlier, perfectly matching his necklaces. A ring too, you note as he turns back to his papers to flip a page– gem black as his hair, but with the same silver as the rest of his jewelry encircling it. He’s so stylish– it’s almost enough to make you salivate with desire.

It’s almost astonishing how you can still thirst for him while this concerned over your livelihood– but he’s so undeniably handsome and perfect that you just can’t seem to help it. If this ends up being your last day here, you don’t think it’s the money you’ll miss the most– it’ll most definitely be seeing Mr. Seo in all his impressive glory.

Finally, he holds out the tiny, stapled stack of papers in his hand to you, gesturing for you to take them to look at. “Mrs. Kim went over this with you, correct? You recognize it?” he asks, watching you carefully as you run your eyes over the top page. “This is my review from last quarter..?” you say, an air of uncertainty in your voice. Fuck. You really are getting fired. 

“Did I make a mistake since then? Do something wrong?” you question, doing your best not to fall into your anxious habit of chewing on your bottom lip. It’s also taking everything in you not to start unloading a string of apologies over the finance report you emailed him, convinced by this point that you suffered a major performance dip and sent him a report chock full of mistakes. 

Even at his angriest, Mr. Seo never grilled or chewed out his employees– but you almost think the look of sincere disappointment he’d give you before firing you would be worse than the anger. “No, don't worry! The opposite, actually,” he reassures you, so sweetly and genuinely that it sends you reeling.

The relief that should come with realizing you aren't being fired or scolded doesn't even hit you, because all your brain latches on to is how beautiful his smile is. Negative or positive, you come to the conclusion that this will be the most difficult meeting of your life– he’s just too stunning; your poor heart can’t take it.

“I realized that a mistake was made in regards to your raise– you actually should’ve been given more. It is not my intent to undercut the value of my employees, and I sincerely apologize for the error,” Mr. Seo stands to bow to you, and the axis of your world tilts further off balance. Mr. Seo, the most successful man you’ve ever known, whose net worth is easily millions upon millions of won, is bowing to you? 

“Your work is always done diligently and accurately, and it keeps my business going smoothly– and to make up for the error, I’d also like to offer you a bonus on top of immediately rectifying your salary. A sum that is equal to what you would’ve received these past few months had your raise been accurately relayed and processed sooner.” 

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. It’s true that you were upset when your raise was only a few measly cents, but you assumed that was intentional, that you just needed to work harder– and surely, the mistake isn’t Mr. Seo’s fault. If anything, it’s definitely your harpy of a manager Mrs. Kim's doing– she should be the one groveling at your feet. The fact that he’s even apologizing to you for it is insane. In what world does it make sense for him to grovel to and appease you? 

You suppose it isn’t just his business smarts that make him such a good CEO, but his ability to take responsibility like this, and his genuine care for the members of his team. But that’s not even what’s at the forefront of your mind anymore– what has really captured your focus is the glimpse of pretty, white lace you see peeking out under his suit, deliciously hugging his pecs.

Surely this isn’t real– you must’ve fallen asleep at your desk, and are having a fever dream from the stress of the week. Surely Mr. Seo isn’t actually wearing lingerie underneath his suit, right? That would be crazy– not even in your wildest fantasies would you ever be met with such a sinfully delectable sight.

He doesn’t smooth out or adjust his suit nearly enough when he rises back up, and the edges of the intricate lace continue to peek out from behind his lapels. Your eyes stay transfixed on it, the urge to drool over Mr. Seo the strongest it’s ever been as every subsequent word he says goes straight through one ear and out the other. 

You lick over your drying lips, swallow thickly, unable to focus on anything but the entrancing visage of pure white lace squeezing his muscles. Your body was already running hot just from being in his presence, but now it feels like a furnace, mind racing as you consider how much more lace there is beneath his suit. 

How much skin does it cover? How little? And maybe if you were paying more attention to literally any part of him besides the lace on his pecs, you would’ve noticed the shiver that traveled through his body after he stood back up right, or the slight flush to his cheeks. 

He thinks you did notice from the way you stare at him, but then he realizes your gaze is focused solely on one specific place– his chest. Even without glancing down at himself, he realizes what caught your attention– it causes his cheeks to flush a deeper pink, an awkward cough leaving him as he finally rights his suit, and obscures the lace beneath it.

Lace out of sight, your trance is broken, and your eyes return to Mr. Seo’s face. You’ve never, absolutely never, seen him so red and timid. “Uh, I–” he starts, but for perhaps the first time in his professional life, he is left at an utter loss for words. “J-Just– pretend you didn’t see that, please,” he quickly mumbles a moment later as he returns to sitting in his chair, hoping you once again fail to notice the way he shivers when he’s sat. 

You’re both professionals– surely you can move on from this and go on as if nothing happened without making things around the office awkward. No, you think immediately– you know you’ll never be able to scrub the delectable image of lace over his toned, honeyed skin out of your brain; it’s already rooted itself much too deeply. 

Except when you watch his eyes widen before his brows furrow, you realize you accidentally said “no” audibly. “..No?” he questions, and you already know you’ve dug yourself into a hole; but you can’t take it back now that it’s been said, so you may as well commit. “I mean– it was very pretty, Sir. You’re very pretty. I don’t think I can forget about it.” 

He blinks, blush slowly crawling its way to his ears as the information soaks in. And though it’s certainly grounds for a swift and stern dismissal in ordinary circumstances, he entertains the compliment, workplace code of conduct be damned. “You think I’m pretty?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh. Is water wet? Is the sky blue? Is grass green? Yes, he’s pretty!

“With all due respect, I thought that was obvious, Sir,” you answer, surprising even yourself with how forward a statement it is– never in a million years did you think you’d admit how attractive you think Mr. Seo is to his face. “Obvious that I’m pretty, or obvious that you think so?” he tilts his head as he asks, and smiles– one that is as shy as it is devastatingly charming. 

To see him smile at you in such a way sends a whirlwind of emotions through you, the most potent of them being desire. There’s an eager glint in his eyes, one that you’re sure you match– maybe even surpass. You’re self aware enough to realize your ogling of him when he walks in a room is noticeable– it wouldn’t surprise you if he’d been aware of it all this time.

And maybe, just maybe, he too has been waiting for an opportunity like this to present itself. Maybe he likes the way you stare at him with pure, unfiltered want. Maybe the tight blouses and skirts you wear make him crazy, always hugging your curves just right. Maybe his skin runs hot when he sees red lipstick stains lingering behind on your coffee mug, imagining that same mark covering every inch of his body.

He shouldn’t feel this way, he knows, he’s your boss for God’s sake– but he’s also only human; and he can’t keep resisting the call of you, the veritable siren in his office. How many more of those dark gazes of lust behind your thick, rectangular glasses is he supposed to be able to take? How many more times is he supposed to pretend he doesn’t notice the way you bite your lip as you look him over? 

Truthfully, it was an accident that you saw the lace decorating him beneath his suit– but he can’t find it within himself to complain about it. Unintentional though it certainly was, he finds himself eager to take this opportunity to pursue you. Reason and responsibility lost, he follows his deepest, most base desires– he wants to indulge your hunger for him, wants to let you consume him, body and soul. 

“Can’t both be true?” you ask as you toss the report he handed you aside and inch yourself closer to the desk, all sense of timidity within you evaporating now that he’s entertaining your blatant desire for him. “I think you’re well aware you’re pretty. I think you know you make everyone crazy,” you rest your elbows on the desk, leaning forward as you speak, “I think you know everyone wants you.”

You offer Mr. Seo your prettiest grin as you watch him swallow, his eyes traveling down to your blouse, where the top most buttons lie undone and offer him an enticing view of your cleavage. “A-And you– you want me?” he asks, slowly directing his gaze back up to your eyes; a question that is perhaps silly at this point, but that he wants the verbal confirmation of regardless.

“May I be forward, Sir?” you ask, gauging how deep his interest in you really runs, how honest you’re truly allowed to be about your desire. Your smile grows when he utters a rather meek yet eager “yes” in response. “I’ve always wanted you, from the very first moment I saw you,” you tell him candidly, “I want to kiss you, I want to touch you, and I want to see what other pretty things you have underneath your suit.”

“I-I see,” he says shakily, very nearly squirming in his seat from how intently you stare at him, the burning desire you have for him palpable. The tension is strong, and now it’s up to him to release it– with just a word, the dam holding you both back will break, the fervorous flood of lust all consuming; and despite how much he shouldn’t, it’s all he wants. 

“Kiss me, please,” his plea comes out in an airy lilt; conceding to his desires, he surrenders all of himself to the irresistible temptation. You rise from your chair, round the desk to approach him, and he watches in breathless anticipation. The few steps it takes to reach him feel so impossibly slow, and his heart feels like it’s thundering in his chest; he can even feel the sweat building on his brow as he waits for you to finally touch him after all this time. 

Placing your hand on the top of his chair, you push it, making him swivel to face you. His breath catches in his throat as he stares up at you, eyes swimming with need. Your fingertips just barely brush over the bit of bare chest peeking through the v-line of his lapels, but it’s enough to send goosebumps over his heated skin.

You hook your finger into his long, silver chain, tug on it just enough to urge him to lean up to meet you. He shivers as he shifts in his seat, has to suppress the whine that threatens to rise from his throat when your lips just barely touch his, a phantom of a feeling left behind. And make no mistake, you want him bad– but you don’t want to rush; you’ve wanted this for too long to do anything but relish in having him in your grasp.

When you return to him, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth instead of kissing him directly, leaving the prettiest trace of lipstick behind. And even despite the ardency he feels to have you, he makes no move to hurry you along; because when you finally kiss him, full and deep, it makes all the build up worth it– it’s true bliss, countless butterflies dancing in his stomach.

And truly, you intended to keep kissing him slowly– but now that you’ve felt his perfectly soft and full lips against your own, your restraint begins to evaporate. You wanted to take your time, to indulge in the sensation– but when you lick over his lips, and he eagerly allows you entrance into his mouth, you get the impression that he can’t hold himself back from his desires either. 

The kisses quickly grow messy, your hands urgently popping open the buttons of his suit. You’re trying to be careful to not rip the buttons off, knowing very well how expensive his clothes must be– but even if you did completely ruin it, he wouldn’t have found it within himself to care. He can buy a new suit, doesn’t give a shit about how much it’d cost– your lips and hands on him are far more important.

Buttons successfully undone, you push the suit off his shoulders, and he quickly pulls his arms out of the sleeves, freeing himself from the fabric. You pull away from the kiss, bring your hand to his face, trace your thumb over your lipstick lingering on his lips and further smear it over his skin. It’s a dark red, pretty mess, starkly contrasting the dainty elegance of white lace hugging his body below.

“You’re beautiful, Mr. Seo,” you breathe, utterly mesmerized by the sight of him. You trace your fingers over the scalloped edges of the lace on his chest, follow it down until it stops just above his stomach. It covers his arms as well, up to the edges of his deltoids. The bulk of muscle beneath looks so tantalizing– it’s positively mouth watering.

“Changbin,” he speaks up, and you look at him curiously, a slight smile playing on your lips. Of course, you know it's his name– it’d be astonishing if you didn’t know your boss’ full name; you’re just pleasantly surprised he wants to drop the formalities. “Call me Changbin, please– o-or Bin, or Binnie! I– I’d like that more.”

“Of course, Binnie,” you smile sweetly as you call his name, and though it’s such a simple indulgence, it makes his cock throb in his slacks. You can see it, hard and straining against the tight fabric– you’re positive it’s uncomfortable, thick as he seems to be. You run your fingers over his belt, tracing the buckle. He watches with labored breaths, trying not to squirm in his seat from the anticipation.

“What’s my name?” you suddenly ask him, and he says it in a question, brows slightly furrowing– do you think he doesn’t remember it? He pouts as he waits for you to speak again, and you giggle ever so slightly before you do. “Mhm, but what do you want it to be?” you ask and oh, fuck– you’re asking what title he wants to call you by, he realizes.

“A-Ahh, uhm–” Changbin hesitates, swallows the lump in his throat, face burning as you look him over expectantly. Fuck, everything about this situation is so unreal– but if he’s already come this far with you, why shouldn’t he allow himself further indulgences? Why not give in to what his deepest desires are?

“M-Mommy, you’re– you’re my mommy,” he finally forces the words out, face and ears positively on fire as he waits for your reaction. Oh, that’s what he likes? Your smile grows, and you sweetly caress his face, enjoying the feeling of heat radiating off his cheeks.

“Binnie needs his mommy to take care of him, doesn’t he?” your question makes him whine, nodding his head in a shameless, eager display. He’s so unbearably hot, his erection strains against his tight pants, his skin tingles as you trail your hand back down to his chest– he wants and wants and wants. Touch him everywhere, kiss him everywhere, talk to him sweetly as you go– he needs it.

Very little lipstick remains on your lips after all the kissing you’ve done, but the last traces of it end up on his neck, trailing downwards as you kiss and lick every inch of skin you come in contact with. You run your hands over his torso, squeezing him from the bulk of his arms to the soft edges of his waist, delighting in the soft, breathy whines and moans you pull from him. 

You return to his lips at the same time your fingers find his nipples, and he mewls into your mouth as he squirms, the sensation of your tugs and pinches through the lace almost overwhelming. No, it is overwhelming– but he likes it too much to ask you to do any different. And the more you play with his nipples, the squirmier he gets, his hands harshly gripping the armrest of his chair in an effort to ground himself. 

You fall to your knees, and he watches breathlessly as you press kisses over his pecs until you eventually reach one of his perked nipples. He keens when you take it in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it over the lace. He gasps when you suck on it, his nails trying their best to dig into the unyielding leather cushioning his armrest. 

“Does my Binnie like having his nipples played with like this?” you ask before you run your tongue over this other one. He whines, writhing in place as you resume pinching and tugging on the one that was just in your mouth, the lace now soaked with your saliva adding even more to the delicious friction. 

“L-Like it– like it so much, mama,” he finally answers in a shudder, voice squeaky and high pitched. He gasps when you graze your teeth over his nipple, head falling back and another loud moan drawing out of him when you gently bite it. He’s so sensitive, can’t stop himself from shivering and squirming under your diligent touch.

He moans again when you lean up to kiss him, your hand traveling down and down, until your hand reaches his belt again. “Will you take these off for me?” you ask, tugging ever so slightly on the buckle. You could do it yourself, of course, but you like the idea of watching him undress himself for you– and from the way he eagerly nods, you conclude that he likes the idea too. 

You smile at him before you rise back up to your feet and you take a step away from him, resting yourself comfortably against his desk while you wait for him to start. He glances at his door first– he knows it’s unlocked, but the blinds are drawn closed, at least; even if someone heard him, they hadn’t seen anything happening in the room. 

He looks at his windows next– tall and expansive, not a single curtain in sight; the view it affords him is normally well worth the lack of privacy curtains would provide, but when he considers how naked he’s about to be in front of them, it makes his heart race faster. But you’re so high up– surely, no one from the street will see anything.

And if someone from the skyscrapers sitting opposite of his building happens to see, well.. He supposes he’ll just have to hope they enjoy the show they’ll be receiving. Changbin rises from his chair, and with trembling hands he fumbles with his belt, doing his best to unbuckle it quickly. Once done, he proceeds with undoing the button of his slacks and pulling down the zipper. 

Given how tight his slacks are, they don’t fall down his legs just because the button has been undone and the zipper has been pulled down– he has to make a purposeful effort to remove them. He glances at you, notes how intently you watch him, ready and eager to see all of him– and that desire you harbor for him encourages him to go beyond the shyness that grips him. 

Pulling them down over the swell of his ass, the first sight you’re met with is more white lace, perfectly matching the top he still has on. Your heart feels like it’s positively going to burst from the view of his cock– short but impossibly thick, pressed down by dainty lace, leaking pre-cum and turning the otherwise pure white translucent.

Your breathing grows more labored just looking at it, and God, as if you weren’t already on the brink of drooling over him before– you absolutely need his cock in your mouth. But still, there’s more for you to see– so you sit patiently, swallowing as you wait for him to keep undressing himself for you. 

He has to bend over to pull his pants down his thighs, and his blush darkens when he notices you quite blatantly leaning to the side to look at his ass from his peripheral. There’s a glimpse of something shiny between his cheeks under the lace, and it makes you gasp with surprised delight. Changbin himself closes his eyes, trying not to let out a flustered whine when he realizes you’ve noticed it. 

A plug rests inside him, shiny steel with a pretty pink gem in the center in the shape of a heart. Has he had it inside all day? The thought makes you dizzy– and suddenly all the times he’d shivered after moving makes sense. “Gosh, wearing this to work– you’re so dirty Binnie,” you muse happily, and he whines, wishing for nothing more than to cover his face behind his hands. 

Though it’s obvious by this point that you like it, he’s hesitant to meet your gaze after stepping out of his slacks and standing back upright. But you can’t have that– so you grab his face, making him turn to you. “You’re so sexy, it’s unbelievable,” you tell him before you kiss him again, and he easily melts into it, nerves evaporating with your lips back on his.

Changbin can’t help being shy, but your desire for him makes it more bearable to push through– and the more you kiss him, the more floaty he feels. You reach behind, blindly and hastily shove everything off his desk before you turn him around, and guide him to sit on it. Neither of you pay any mind to the loud clatter the objects make hitting the floor, or of how mixed up any unstapled papers he had there will become– you’re much too absorbed in the feeling of one another.

You instruct him to lean back when you pull away from kissing him, and he listens in a heartbeat, tipping himself back on his desk. He props himself on his elbows, watches as you bring your hand to his cock, still contained by lace panties. He gasps when you squeeze it through the fabric, whines when you trail your fingers further down and press on the plug still nestled between his cheeks.

“What were you prepping for, hmm? Tell mommy about it,” you say, and again he squirms as he tries to speak, the blush on his face flaring. “I-I– Binnie was gonna–” he stumbles on his words, voice quivering, and he has to close his eyes to try to focus on getting what he wants to say out effectively. 

Waking up this morning feeling naughty, he knew he wanted to fuck himself– got himself ready bright and early, so that by the time he got home tonight he’d be nicely stretched and ready for his favorite dildo. He was going to suction it to the floor, ride it while he fisted his cock with one hand and tug on his nipples with the other, close his eyes and imagine it was someone else sweetly playing with him. 

The lingerie was to make him feel pretty– and looking at himself in the mirror before pulling his suit on, he really felt he was; he was giddy with the feeling of being sexy and cute simultaneously. He liked knowing it was there under his suit, liked feeling the lace against his skin, liked how much it contrasted the rest of his physique. 

He’s trying to tell you as much, knows even without seeing your face how expectantly you’re waiting to hear it– but he struggles embarrassingly, because he can feel your hand stroking his cock over his panties. All he can do with his eyes closed is focus on the sensation your hand grants him– so he opens his eyes again, forcing himself to keep eye contact with you as he speaks.

“A-Ahh– Binnie was gonna– gonna fuck himself,” he admits, trying not to whine from the way you pleasantly coo and smile at him. “Mommy can fuck you,” you tell him sweetly, and God, he feels like he could cum from the words alone. “Would you like that? Want my fingers to fill you up?” you ask, and he nods so fast it almost makes him dizzy.

“Yes! Please, please, fuck me, need it so bad, please–” he begs, and you coo at him as your fingers slip under his panties, once again finding the plug he has nestled inside. He lifts his legs, holds himself under the knees to make your task easier– and it’s effort on his muscles, but what has he spent so much time building them up for if not this? 

“You’re ready for me to take it out?” you ask, watching him carefully– he certainly seems eager enough, but you don’t want there to be any unpleasant surprises. “Ready, ‘m ready, do it please,” Changbin pleads, desperate to feel you inside– he wants it, needs it, more than he feels he can vocalize; but he’d certainly try his best if you asked him to. 

You kiss him sweetly, shove his lace panties to the side as much as you can manage too and swallow his whines as you slowly and carefully pull the plug out of his hole. You put it on his desk, but it rolls right off, hitting the floor with a dull thud– not that he cares about it right now; he’ll retrieve it later. All he can think about is how empty he feels now, but how deliciously your fingers will replace the feeling, and make him full again. 

He prepped himself well, was diligent in his use of lube– but you still want to get your fingers plenty wet and slick before you try to slide them in. He watches you bring two of your fingers to your mouth, utterly mesmerized by the way they disappear into your mouth, how shiny they are with your saliva when you pull them out. 

You spit on them too for good measure when you’re finished coating them, and he licks his lips as he stares at your fingers– again, he wants, wants, wants. You notice it, of course you do– the blatant yearning in his gaze, how he licks his parted lips once more, how he practically drools as he stares.

“Want to help me get them wet, sweet boy? Want them in your mouth?” you smile as you ask, amusedly tilting your head. “Or was it me spitting on them that you liked? Should I spit on you too?” “Both, please, want both,” he answers in a hurry, utterly shameless. “Is that so?” you ask with a grin that sends a shiver down the length of his spine.

“Open your mouth for me Binnie, show me your tongue,” you instruct, and he complies obediently, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue for you. He moans when you spit on it, and again when you press your wet fingers into his mouth. He closes his lips around them, diligently swirls his tongue around your digits before he sucks.

He gags when you press them in further, the tips of your fingers brushing against the back of his throat. His eyes water, saliva pools in his mouth and dribbles down the corners, and it’s so utterly entrancing that you just have to praise him. “So good for me, Binnie’s such a good boy,” you coo, and he keens as he quickly nods his head, as if to say ‘I am! I’m a good boy for you!’

Changbin almost wants to whine when you slip your fingers out of his mouth, but then you slide your slicked fingers over his waiting hole, and all he can do is gasp and whimper. “Mommy’s gonna fuck you now,” you tell him, voice so saccharine it makes his head spin– he still can’t believe this is really happening, but he’s so happy that it is. 

He jolts when you easily slide two of your fingers inside, his cock twitching against the lace panties still holding it down. There’s very little resistance thanks to the plug that was in prior and how slick he and your fingers are, but you still take it slow, carefully watching him for discomfort. Ultimately, you sense none– all he feels his pleasure, licking over every inch of his body.

“Look at you, you take it so well,” you praise as you watch your fingers disappear into his hole, and he whines as he watches with you. He whimpers loud and pretty when you curl your fingers into his spot, his head falling back as he bites his lip. He’s trembling all over, he’s seeing stars behind his closed eyes, he can hardly breathe when you start to thrust your fingers expertly in and out.

“Feels good, Binnie?” you ask him, and God, it’s so hard to speak like this, but he does his best for you. “F-Feels so– so good, mama, Binnie feels so good,” he cries, jolting again when you spit on his hole, adding more to the wetness so you can easily add a third finger. His breath catches in his throat when it’s fully inside, his eyes rolling back as he gasps and moans.

Your eyes travel to his cock, twitching and throbbing where it lies neglected, pre-cum still steadily leaking from the tip. You stop moving your fingers for just a moment, sink to your knees and lick at his cock over the lace still containing it. “O-Oh, mommy– oh my God–” he gasps as he lifts his head back up to look at you. 

It’s such a dirty sight, and he can hardly handle the way you stare back at him through your glasses. His back bows off the desk when you start moving your fingers again, that moan that follows obscenely pornographic. He feels so hot, body trembling, thighs twitching– he’s already so, so close. “‘m gonna cum,” he whines his warning, his hands desperately grabbing at his desk as he feels his orgasm build deep in his stomach, “Please, can I? L-Let me cum, please mama–”

He whines when you stop, his impending orgasm ebbing away as you rise back to your feet. You grab his face, make him look at you before you resume the motion of your fingers– and when you squeeze his cheeks, he knows what to do. He opens his mouth for you, sticks out his tongue, obedient and eager. 

He moans when you spit on it, swallows it like the good boy he is and opens his mouth for more after. “You’re so dirty,” you comment, letting go of his face to slip your hand into his panties, and wrap your hand around his cock. You spit in his mouth once more, now fisting his cock to the same rhythm of your fingers thrusting inside and hitting his spot. 

His eyes roll back as he swallows it all, a steady stream of whimpers leaving as his toes curl. “Mommy, I-I’m–” he trembles, release so close he isn’t sure he can hold it back; he'll try if you tell him to, but– “cum, gonna– gonna cum, please, I can’t– mama, please–”

“Let go, sweet boy, cum for me,” you urge him, and he wants to thank you– but it hits him so hard, all he can do is cry. You can continue to stroke him through it, his cum releases in thick spurts, coating your hand and soiling his panties. You don’t stop until he starts to writhe from the oversensitivity, gently releasing his cock and sliding your fingers out of him as he lies breathless against the desk. 

His eyes are closed, heart racing as he lies limp, utterly exhausted from the intensity of his orgasm. You look to the floor, find the tissue box that previously rested on his desk and grab a few to clean your hand up with, as well as gently wipe away the cum that seeps out of his panties. 

Changbin smiles at you sheepishly when you wipe the sweat from his brow, and kisses you after you help him sit back up. “Are you thirsty?” you ask him, rounding the desk to retrieve your bag from your chair. You pull out a water bottle, and he accepts it graciously, thanking you after he takes a few big sips. You both giggle when he tries to stand, but quickly realizes he’s still wobbly in the legs, so you help him get dressed too.

He can't help but give you another shy smile as you help him smooth over suit, giggling happily when you kiss him afterwards. He knows he’s still fairly debauched– after all, his face is still impossibly flushed, his skin is still running hot, and there’s lipstick marks all over him that can’t easily be wiped off with a few tissues; but he likes it. 

He just hopes that no one made the decision to pull some over time– it’d save him a lot of embarrassment leaving the building if you’re the only two left. But speaking of leaving.. “Uhm– Y/N,” he calls you timidly just as you both finish re-tidying his office, and tilt your head as you hum in question, giving him your full attention. “Will you– will you have dinner with me?” he asks, the faded blush returning when you beam a smile at him.

“For business or pleasure?” you tease him, and he huffs as you giggle. “Pleasure,” he replies meekly, hoping you’ll come home with him after; he’ll return the favor then, do everything he possibly can to make you feel as good as you made him feel. “I’d love to, Changbin,” you tell him, giving him one more kiss before you link your hand in his; and he smiles at you before you leave the building together hand in hand, with the night still young and so much more fun still to be had.

network tags: @ksmutsociety

[clarissalance]

Who has the upper hand?

Pairing: Kaeya x G/N!Reader, mention of Varka and Diluc.

Warning: Slight swearing, Kaeya is a lil shit, reader being stubborn and scheming, immense tension

Summary: You’re so terrible at swordsmanship that you can’t withstand 2 strikes from Kaeya or, are you? 

Word count: 3k5

Disclaimer: What is written in here is based on my imagination, nothing from this fic should be taken seriously. Most of the fact I put in this fic does not follow the lore of the game so it should only be taken as a grain of salt. For example: section 8 in Knight of Favonius codebook.

A/N: I struggle so much when I wrote this piece. This was suppose to be angstier but I tone down a little bit (because Kaeya was very OOC in my draft, I think he’s still a bit OOC in this fic but I tried my best ;-;, pls don’t bite me.) 

How did author write a 50k+ oneshot? I can’t write something more than 5k properly ;-; Anyhow, please enjoy this fic. I’m going to have a good rest for 2 weeks before release a comeback. Please shower Kaeya and our new MC with a lot of loves!!!! 

As a strategist of the knight of Favonius, you don't usually have enough time to finish the towers of reports, the never-ending meetings and dealing with cheap tricks Fatui diplomats. Often, you have to skip your daily sword training session, which results in a rather miserable situation. The whole practice ground is staring holes at your defeated posture. You are sitting on the hard soil ground, and the Calvary captain is towering you, his sharp blade just a few inches away from your throat. 

It is not a strange scene for any knights to lose a spar against the Calvary captain, he should be one with the best swordsmanship after Grand Master, and maybe Acting-Grand Master, too. However, as knight, they can usually withstand him at least more than 2 blows. 

Whispers and talks start to circulate around as soon as you stepped your foot in the training ground. It’s very uncommon to see people from that department wandering around this area. The strategy department is famous inside the Knight of Favonius to be the weakling-cunning-mouthy-jerks, who always find excuses after excuses to skip the monthly knight evaluation. 

So, who gives them the right to be exempt from the test? Of course, it’s from the ultimate high chief of strategy department. Rumours say before the strategy chief works for the Favonius knight, the man was once a legendary attorney. That person can flip words from black to white, turns the defendant from guilty to innocent.  With a profound convincing skillset coming from the chief, persuading the Grand Master Varka is easy as a piece of cake. The whole department of 10 people is easily off-hook for 3 years, never participate in the monthly evaluation before the man suddenly dropped the bomb 2 days ago.  

“ I’m tired from coming with excuses to cover for your lazy asses.” The man waved his hand, his eyes staring outside the window. His nails scratching the messy shaved chin.“ Varka seems to get used to navigating my thoughts-”

“Maybe time is wearing away your skill-” At the corner, someone accidentally blurted out, and the whole table gave him a sharp look. Did he have a death wish or something? If so, everyone here can happily dig him a hole, free charge for the coffin.

The chief cleared his voice again, blue eyes melancholy drifted to the table. “So, you guys have tried your best on this monthly evaluation. I hope to see you all again next month.” 

The meeting was dismissed afterwards, and everything spiralled into chaos. The whole department hasn’t touched anything aside from the parchment papers and the quills in the last 3 years. How are they going to master the swordman-ship in 2 weeks? 

But, the worst thing is,

Your well-respected, talented, and tactful chief has run away. 

The next morning, you received the news that a foxy old man is on a business trip to Fontaine with the Grand Master. The expedition is 2 weeks long.

You should have known what he meant when the deceitful man ambiguously ended his sentence like that. Nothing goes well when the chief said:  ‘Farewell, my comrades’. 

 For the last 2 days, you have been starting to familiarize yourself again with how to hold a sword and how to swing the sword. 

As you trail along with the long-forgotten memories, trying to look through the familiar feeling when swinging the sword, you hear footsteps coming in your direction. It is familiar, with the way the person is walking, the beat, the sudden burst of noise in the air, you can only conclude it’s the Calvary Captain. The practice ground seems livelier as soon as the man steps inside, people rushing to his side to give their greetings. Maybe today is one of his practice days.

 “ Never thought I would see you here.” The young man calls out, successfully jostle you up from your thoughts. You give him a complex look and turn away, focusing on the tattered dummies. Your wrist is screaming in protest, legs wobbling. You remember those golden days when you were young when you were flexible, and your bones didn't crack as much. Oh, where the golden days have gone? 

“What do I own the honour of seeing you here, captain?” You fold your arm defensively, voice monotonously. Kaeya despites the most when you start talking in an emotionless tone. Oh, how you love riling him up in the middle of the practice ground! 

“ I come here for my weekly practice, but-” He shrugs, eyes glinting with mischief. “ look like the rumour about the abolishment of special permission for the strategy department is true.” 

So he has heard the rumours. You roll your eyes, face blanks. You know Kaeya has his own way to obtain his information, but you never thought it’d be this fast. Words don’t easily leak from the strategy department. 

“What do you need? Make it short, so I can practice for the upcoming evaluation.” Tired of his long introduction, you ask him directly. If you are going to ignore him any longer, the man will continue poking you. 

Starting an argument only wastes your time, and asserting dominance in the middle of the training ground won’t boost your ego. You’re a strategist, your weapons are detailed plans and sharp word, not sword and bow. Showing off your strength in front of those ruthless knights don't improve your relationship with them. 

“ Straight the point eh?” You give him an impatiently look, tempting to ignore him again before he flashes you a smug grin. “How bout sparing with me?”  

The whole training ground falls in silence, and you direct at the captain a confusing look. Is he serious? No one in the knight except the Grand Master can go against him, not to mention someone who hasn’t touched a sword for three years. 

“I can help you with your training, and you can help with mine” Kaeya speaks with utmost confidence that you almost nod and agree. That man is really deceitful, he knows how well your skill has gone dull, yet he still wants to practice with you? What is this man plotting?  

“ Do you realize how absurd your offer is? ” You give him a complicated gaze, voice unwavering. Everyone takes in a deep breath, tension crackling. It's not everyday scenery you often encounter. A heated argument between the mischievous cavalry captain and the tactful strategist. Nosy people gather around the pair, internally hoping for the war the breaks out. 

“ You know well that I can’t properly block your first strike.” Light-hearted, you joke, but there is no hint of amusement in your voice. Sharpe eyes glaring at the blue figure, you notice the man remains unfazed. 

" Shouldn't you choose a more competent opponent?" 

The sound whispers and talking about the reasons why Kaeya picked such an easy opponent start to circulate, and you can’t help to curl your lips up. Within a  few seconds, you have effortlessly turned the gossiping direction toward your desired path. Flashing Kaeya a victorious grin, you tap your foot impatiently, waiting for his reaction.

You should have worked at PR damage control or marketing instead! The diplomat would have been fine too! At least, you wouldn’t need to practice swordman-ship.

As you mulling on your terrible choice of career, a chill runs down your spine. Tilting up, Kaeya is beaming sweetly at you, the frost slowly creeping up and nipping your shoes. Look like you just pressed the wrong button. 

The man narrows his eyes, and you gulp nervously, avoiding his calculating gaze. Kaeya chuckles, his voice laced with worry, wavering and hurtful. 

“I just want to help you improve as fast as possible. The test is coming in two weeks isn't it?” 

The whole table has turned, and people start to say how considerate and thoughtful the cavalry captain is. The crowd starts to criticize you and tell you to be more grateful and stop suspicious of his unconditional help. Oh, you wish he wasting it on you, many knights in this training ground would love getting advice and improvements from him. 

Applause for our dear Calvary captain, smoothly seeking empathy from the crowd and turning the favour back to him. No wonder how fast he climbed up the rank. 

Bantering and arguing with a person like him is meaningless, so you accept his offer and drag your sword toward his direction. Let finish this within 2 strikes. 

Moving to the centre of the field, both of you face each other, his eyes scanning you sceptically. What is this man plotting again? Bowing, you finally give him a warning look before standing at your ready position. Kaeya holds his sword, analyzing your starting posture. 

As soon as the whistle blows, you charge at the man, opening the spar with a direct hit. Kaeya quickly raises his word up to block the first blow, the sound of steel clashing loudly. He then forcefully diverts the sword to the left, a classic way to counter the strike. 

Knowing your limited strength against him, you take a step back and swiftly angle the blade downward, aiming for a weak spot at his waist. This move would create a noticeable weakness on your right, and only the idiot doesn't use this as his advantage to disarm you. 

You’re right, he uses the loophole you planned, successfully disarm you within 2 strikes. The sword slips from your hand clanging loudly behind as your foot slips and fall on the ground. 

His sharp blade is just a few inches away from your neck. The calvary captain wears a solemn look, his cerulean eyes imbued with irritation. Seems like he figures out you purposefully planed to end the match in 2 strikes. 

Quickly raising your hand in defeat, you shoot him a taunting grin. The referee declares Kaeya is the winner, and people start to clap and cheer loudly, but overall no one is surprised. As the match end, audiences start to disperse, return back to their tasks. 

Kaeya put his sword away and offers you his hand. You stare idly at the gloved hand a moment before putting yours on. The man effortlessly pulls you up, your body flush against his. With Kaeya so close to you, your first reaction is to push the man away, but his firm grip says otherwise. He inches closer, dark blue locks brush your cheek, tall figure towering you intimidating. 

“Why end it so early?” He leans down and whispers, your body tenses up visibly. “Surely, you could handle more than 2 strikes of mine.” The young man in blue hums, his voice sultry. 

“ What are you saying? I haven’t touched the sword more than 3 years.” You remind him, hands pushing his chest away, trying to create some distance. The man doesn’t budge an inch. 

“Your strikes doesn’t say so. The first strike was not bad.” Noticing your effort to push him away, Kaeya stands straight, heels dig into the ground. His lips curl up at the helplessness flashing in your eyes. He loves seeing you struggle, seeing how anxiety and desperation rising in your sparkling orbs. “I think you could at least have a decent fight with me.”  

“ Quit spouting non-sense Kaeya, let me go. We are in public.” You let out an annoyed hiss, punching his toned chest. He still wears the uniform improperly like that, the exposed tan chest can be under many layers. Sometimes you don't even know the reason why doesn't he just button the shirt up properly. Finger grazing at the bared skin on his chest, you turn your head away, cheeks heat up. 

The man loves seeing you squirming in his trap, and you’re not going to let him see that. Anything, but satisfying his masochist hobby. 

“You don’t like skin-ship?” The man fakes a gasp, his orb sparkles with mirth. “But you were being touchy with your friend. Why can't we be a bit touchy? ”  His tone suggestively, the tall man snickers at your blushing mess. Out of everything, why would he mention that? You give him stinky eyes, brows furrow deeply.  

“I’m not touchy with you.” You deny dreadfully. Archon, how long have you wasted your time here with this slithering serpent? 

Kaeya arms wrap tightly around you, your body moulds perfectly into his embrace. You hate how perfectly you fit into his hug like this, but you can’t deny how warm he is, despite the fact he wields cryo. 

“ When will you let me go?” Your voice starts to grow weak, dragging slightly in discomfort.  Kaeya curiously looks down, noticing your pouting. Sensing his gaze, you turn your head away but his fingers have quickly grabbed your cheek, forcing you to look at his deep blue eye.  

“Give me a kiss, then I'd let you go.” His voice serious, but what he just said is not. You look at the cryo wielder horrendously, mouth gaping. His face is composed and relax, like what he just ask is like asking about the weather, asking about your health, not for a kiss. Is he being serious? What in the world did he just ask? A kiss? Excuse me, a what? 

“You...you are not being serious.” You wriggle your way out, escaping from his fingers, but his embrace tightens, caging you inside. Damn it, Kaeya. He’s messing with you. 

When you flash him a furious look, the man shrugs nonchalantly, his cerulean lock fluttering gently in the wind. Suddenly, you have an urge to wipe off that calm demeanour. He can’t be serious. Why does he have to go all the way to annoy the shit out of you? 

The smug grin hanging on his face, the mischief in his blue eyes, the arching brows, everything about him screams a flirt, yet you feel so mesmerized. Blinking a few times, you have to constantly remind yourself this man is not trustworthy. From the attitude to the way he looks at you, to the way he acts around you. Nothing from his action is truthful. Like Diluc’s warning, you can only believe half of his word and action. 

“ Of course I’m being serious.” His voice solemn, but you can see the amusement in his eyes. If he doesn’t like you, why would he spend so much effort bothering you this much? What reaction is he expecting from you?  

“ I really like you, Y/N” Kaeya confesses cheerfully, and you can faintly hear a few gasps around. Not this again...

Archon, you’re going to die early at this rate. You just want to practice for the upcoming evaluation, not becoming a hot topic for all Mondstadt citizen to gossip about. 

And this man too, how can he easily slip out those words when you just heard him flirting with another woman the other day?  You already told him numerous times that you’re not interested in dating him, or anyone right now! 

Hung your head down in exhaustion, you tap his shoulder, mumbling quietly. “ Fine, fine.” You finally open your mouth, too exhausted and bothered by his stubbornness. He only wants a kiss, and you won’t hurt giving him one. Just a kiss then you can get back to your practice.  

“Just don’t confess your love to me in a crowd like this again.” Before closing the deal, you weakly add a bargain, nudging him.  

The calvary captain looks surprised, his eye widens little, not expecting you to agree. Normally, it takes another argument or two before you comply with his request. Kaeya timidly raises his gloved hand to your face, gently caresses your cheek. This time, you lean into his touch, nuzzling your face into his palm, eyes glimmering softly. Despite a cryo wielder, his hand is surprisingly warm. 

The man in blue curiously peeks at you, he feels like a feather tickling the itchy spot. Are you plotting an escape route? Since when did you become so obedient? He has never seen the soft fur under the spiky façade you set up to face with the world, but strangely, he likes this version of you more. 

Noticing his relaxed stance, you carefully gently wrap your fingers around his wrist while keeping eye contact with him. Kaeya eye widens, startles at your sudden touching. Trying your best to not break the unspoken connection, you bring his hand away from your cheek. In those cerulean eyes, you see a hint of disappointment, but it quickly dissolves. Slowly, you draw closer toward the hand hanging in the air, lips fluttering on the smooth skin on his wrist. 

The calvary captain instinctively moves back, trying to escape from your sudden contact. Ironic, he is the one who innates the hug and demands a kiss from you. Tightening your grip, you press your wet lips on the exposed part of his wrist dedicatedly while maintaining eye contact with him, eyes drown with submission.

Kaeya stares at you in awe, maybe not expecting the passionate look in your eyes. His azure eye fills with mischief, now replaces with confusion and hesitation. You notice how his ears have dusted with pink despite the winds blowing in the practice ground. The man avoids your eyes, flustering. 

Whispers and gasps start to remind you of the crushing reality, so you let his hand down while grinning cheekily at the cryo wielder. Poking and breaking Kaeya meticulously façade is always something you want to try. The man is a living devil, so it’s extremely unusual to see him losing his composure. 

Sneakily, you untangle his other arm wrapping around your waist, plotting an escape route. 

However, Barbatos doesn’t let you slip away that easily. Quickly regaining his composure, Kaeya snakes his hand around your hip again, tightening his hold. Unlike the first time, the sneaky bastard lifts you up and has the audacity to throw your body on his shoulder, carry you like a sack. 

“ Yah! What are you doing?” You exclaim, fluster at his sudden antic. Kicking and punching on his shoulder, you try as many as you can, but somehow, Kaeya manages to dodge all of them.   

“ You said you will let me go when I give you a kiss!” The crowd uproars, stares and gossips poke pointedly at your back. You don’t want to hear those comments from those knights again. They're not going to let this live down, aren't they? Bury your face in the Kaeya's furry collar, you let out a frustrating sigh, punching his shoulder as hard as you can. 

“ You give me a kiss on my wrist. That doesn’t count.” Kaeya nonchalantly strides away from the practice ground, unfazed by your attempt to escape. This man is a beast, how can he not budge an inch with all of your kickings on his shoulder? 

“ You didn’t specify the place. A kiss is a kiss!” You emphasize, and you can feel his shoulder shaking. Is he laughing? “You didn’t keep your promise.” Fuels by the rising anger, you kick your leg aggressively, struggling to free yourself from the iron-clad grip. This time, his strong arm wraps around your calves like a chain.  

As soon as you raise your head up, the familiar pathway hits your memories. Shit, he is heading toward the headquarter, likely to his office. You can’t let anyone in there see you in this state. Punching his back profusely, you shot back. 

“Not fulfilling the contract is breaking the Knight of Favonius's code of cond-.” Before you can finish your sentence, the man smacks your calves loudly, successfully shutting your mouth. Speechless by his sudden punishment, you let out a disbelief breath.    

“ There are no such a section states about fulfilling contract inside the code of conduct, so stop making the rule up.” Kaeya smugly grins, and you can already picture his blue eyes glinting with mischief, the signature shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

" There is, it's in section eight-" Before you can finish your sentence, Kaeya cuts in, waving his hand dismissively. 

" Section eight is about interaction with your co-worker, there is none about keeping contracts." The calvary captain humming, trying to recalling the content of the book. Speechless by the detailed memories of his, you can only close your mouth, quietly waiting for him to drop you down. If you stay still on his shoulder, will he let you go? 

" You know, not everyone reads and memories the knight of Favonius handbook, you are just unlucky that I know the book by heart." Seeing you deflate weakly on his shoulder, Kaeya lets out a chuckle, patting your head comforting.       

Before heading inside the HQ, the man doesn't drop your down but leans in closely, his whisper tickling your ear. “But at least I had fun seeing you squirming in my grasp.” 

And then it hits you, the bastard purposely falls for of your antic. 

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

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It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[mxchellesworld]

Get with me

spencer reid x reader

synopsis; in which you get two sets of news and a happy ending 

warnings; mentions of cheating, pregnancy scares, smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink (im sorry lmao), praise

pt 2 of ysbuwybf

a/n; patting myself on the back for not bailing on fic requests lmaoo anyways yall were so outa pocket with ideas, all i wanna say is that i am respecting our sweet prince anderson and letting him down gently (i’m writing this before the fic so i could completely switch it up) see end notes for final thoughts :)

hope you enjoy!

*also pls don’t cheat its so icky and a horrible thing to do

***

If your suspicions were correct you were fucked. Part of you would be ecstatic no doubt about it. But if things were true then you were utterly surly fucked. 

Your period was late. 

Which meant either one; your birth control was acting up or two; you were pregnant. 

However being pregnant wasn’t a bad thing, far from it. The bad thing was that there were two candidates in the running to be the father. Your boyfriend, Agent Anderson who was nothing but a sweetheart even though he was about as exciting as a wet paper bag. 

Or Dr.Spencer Reid. Your best friend who you had also been sleeping with outside of your relationship. The best man you’d ever known who was also aching to become a father some day. 

For a week you had been avoiding both of them in the office. Unfortunately for you there were no cases. While yes a lack of serial killing was always a plus it also meant you were stuck in the same building as them for give or take eight hours a day. 

For days on end you stuck in your earbuds and kept your head down while doing paperwork trying to ignore both sets of eyes which would look over to you every once in a while. 

Were you even pregnant, was the biggest question. So you had decided that it was time to get your shit together. At lunch on Monday you had made a quick doctors appointment and went on your way. The little old nurse had told you she would call you in a few days with results. 

In that time you had gone over every possible scenario or possibility. Who would you tell first? How would you even bring it up? Would Anderson hate you for cheating? Would Spencer be upset that the baby isn’t his? It would be like another JJ situation for him. 

The thoughts plagued your mind throughout the week and the more you thought about it the more you thought about who you would have preferred to be the father of your child. Which then led to the guilt of picking and the realization that you in fact would have to break up with Anderson. 

If the child did end up being his you would have to make it work, however you knew it was time to come clean and apologize for going behind his back. He deserved to know the truth. 

Deep in your thoughts you barley heard your phone ringing. It was now Friday and you weren’t expecting any other calls besides the one from your doctor. You looked around and made sure no one was paying attention before you clicked the green button. 

“Hello?” 

You heard the voice of the nurse on the line, she sounded almost sad, “Hello am I speaking with Y/n Y/l/n?”

“Yeah this is her,” you said dryly. Your nerves were eating at you. 

“Oh sweetie I’m calling with the results of your test. It turns out that you are not pregnant at this time honey.” 

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you held in. It felt as is a weight was lifted off your shoulders. 

“Oh, um thank you for informing me,” you said looking down at your nails. 

“Of course. If you have anymore questions you can call back at this number or come in and set up another appointment. Have a good rest of your day.” 

With that the line cut off and you fell back into your chair. Your hand subtly moved onto your stomach. Huh. You didn’t think that would be as hard to hear. 

“Y/n?” a voice called from behind you. 

“Oh hey Andy. Whats up?” you said putting a smile on your face. 

He combed a hand through his hair before he sat at the corner of your desk, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you and I think it’s best if I say it clearly and honestly.” 

Your brows furrowed. Oh shit did he already know? You had to stay calm. 

“Yeah go ahead.”

“I think we should break up. It’s not you, I think we’re just missing a spark. At first it was fun but I don’t think this is gonna work anymore.”

Pot meet kettle, you thought. 

“Plus I think Charlotte from Cyber Crimes is into me so yeah,” he trailed off. 

You bit your lip to try and hide the laugh you wanted to let out. This was an unseen turn of events. “Yeah I get it. But hey no hard feelings. Go for it with Lotte, she’s a total sweetheart.”

“Thanks Y/n/n,” he said leaning down to give you half hug then gingerly turned and walked away. 

Behind you Spencer couldn’t help but listen to the whole interaction. Once he saw Anderson reach the elevator he got up and made his way over to your desk. 

You looked up and saw the small smile on his face, “Is it party at Y/n’s desk today?” you asked causing him to giggle. 

“I think the news I just heard calls for celebration in the best way we know don’t you think,” he said looking around the bullpen nodding his head towards the hallway which was home to the spacious supply closet. 

You looked around and made sure no one was looking. Emily and JJ were gone in Garcia’s lair. Derek was gone visiting his mom and the dads of the BAU were in a meeting. 

“Lead the way doctor,” you said standing getting up form your chair. 

Once in the closet Spencer wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours. He sighed at the taste of your cherry chapstick. You put your hands on his face pulling him down but while you were savoring the taste of his lips your mind couldn’t help but go back. 

You could have been a mom. Spencer felt your lips slow down instead of returning the passion and stepped away. 

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” you said looking up at him.

He tried to hide the look of worry on his features but you could see right through him as he nodded for you to continue. 

“Well earlier this week I uh was supposed to start my period but I didn’t,”

“Y/n-” he tried to cut you off but you put your hand up for him to let you finish. 

“I went to the doctors and got a test done. Before Anderson came over I got the call and I’m not. Which is good right? It saved everyone a world of hurt and drama. I don’t know I just thought you should know.” 

“Did you wanna be?”

“What?”

“Pregnant,” he said gripping your hips and pulling you closer. 

You felt your cheeks get hot at what he was insinuating, “Well- I- yeah. I mean yeah, yes.”

With that he brought his lips back down to yours. This time you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. One of his hands slid to the back of your skirt and pulled down the zipper. You let it slide down your legs and stepped out of it. 

You sat on the table in the room, pushing off the bottles of cleaner. Spencer stepped into the space between your legs, his fingers reaching for your panties and tugging them down your legs. 

“I can’t believe I get this tight little pussy all to myself now,” he said biting marks onto your neck. You mewled tilting your head to the side and pulling on his tie. 

“Spencer please. I need you so bad,” you whined out. 

He stepped away and hastily started on undoing his pants, “What do you want baby? Is it for me to fuck you? Or is that not enough? Do you need me to fill you up with my cum? Want me to put a baby in you?” 

You moaned at his lewd words and quickly nodded your head. Your hand flew down to your pussy, you were practically dripping onto the table and he had barley touched you. 

“Please doctor I need you so bad.” 

Spencer quickly stepped into the space again and took both of your hands in one of his large ones, “I own this pussy. I always have, you don’t get to touch without my permission,” he gritted out. 

With his free hand he tugged on his cock before aligning it with your leaking slit. The both of you sighed as he pushed in inch by inch. Your head feel back with your mouth open in a perfect O shape. 

After a second of letting you adjust Spencer started with rough thrusts. You could feel your hair start sticking on your forehead from the heat of the room. Spencer’s lips were inches from yours, sharing the same breath. 

“Fuck I’m gonna fill you up so good. Let everyone here know you’re mine.”

All you could do was nod and moan in approval. His grip on you was deadly but it was just adding onto the immense pleasure you were feeling. The way he was repeatedly hitting your gpot had your vision blurry with stars. You could also feel him pulsing inside you knowing he was close to his peak. 

“You look so pretty like this sweetheart. So perfect around my cock.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist bringing him impossibly closer, “I want you to cum in me Spence. I need to feel it,” you mewled into his lips. 

This motivated him to start drilling into you. At this point you were panting, aching to feel the sweet release. His hand dipped down to rub on your clit, he groaned at the slippery mess where you both met. 

“Oh god Spence!” 

A high pitched moan escaped your lips as he added on the extra pleasure. Soon enough you were squeeing around him, ready to milk him for all he was worth. 

“That’s it baby. Keep doing that. I’m gonna stuff you with my cum y/n/n fuck,” he said drawing out the last syllable as he exploded inside you. 

He stayed inside as you both caught your breathes, slowly thrusting trying to fill you to the brim. 

He pulled out and looked for a roll of paper towels for you to clean up. Once that was done you helped each other tame your hair and outfits as you always did, with quiet and loving gazes. 

“Do you think that one did the job?” you said with a smirk. 

“Well statistically the pill contraceptive has a 7% failure rate so with my calculations there is a chance,” he said while smoothing down your hair. 

“Thanks genius,” you said lightly punching his arm, “Lets get out of here. Together.” 

“Together,” he said slinging an arm around your shoulders. 

a/n; so guys what do we think. im not gonna lie i kinda hate it but i think it was a good ending for everyone. kinda feel bad anderson didn’t get the whole truth but the cheating is OVER! also what did we think of what pregnancy scare?? let me know lovies!!!

[datleggy]

Totally random thought I had right as I am going to bed but ya know that show "I didn't know I was pregnant"? Buck would be on that show lol the boy is oblivious when it comes to his own body, so like I can perfectly picture him collapsing on the job one day wracked with pain, and then Hen is poking around his stomach where it hurts, her, Buck and Eddie packed into the back of the ambulance as Chim and Bobby drive to the hospital, and she gets out the stethoscope to try and listen for internal bleeding or anything but instead finds an infant heartrate and she's like "Buck, you're pregnant?" And he's like "uh, no? What the hell?" And then his water breaks and he tries to convince hen and Eddie that he had an accident bc even that would be a better alternative to suddenly figuring out he's about to have a baby???? What the fuck???? But Eddie holds his hand all the way through it and by the time they get to the hospital, Buck has a healthy newborn cradled against his chest, Eddie knelt beside him and alternating between kissing buck and the baby on the head, and observing the baby in disbelief. I can also picture Buck like, sobbing his sorry's to Eddie the entire time he's pushing, like "Eddie I swear I had no idea, if I had known, I would have told you!" And Eddie is just reassuring him the entire time like "don't worry about that now, Buck, just concentrate. No one is mad, okay? But you gotta focus on the- on the baby" and buck just sobs and nods and focuses on the delivery again. But for a good while Buck is in denial that any of this is happening and it takes a lot of convincing and encouragement from both hen and Eddie for him to start actively participating in his baby's birth. Anyways, random half asleep thought is finished sorry for the long ask hdshsjjsjdbsjsj

WELL SHIT ok so i actually love that show and i could see buck doing this lmao so i wrote a thing. also ignore all medical inaccuracies, this is my distraction from monday lmao let me have this wildly inept fic pls. 

also just in case, it’s pretty brief, i think, but TW for talk of weight and weight gain

It's nearing the end of their shift now and Buck can almost hear his feet howling at him in pain. Today hadn't even really been all that busy, he thinks, annoyed at his own body's betrayal. He's not even thirty yet, but in the last couple of months he's felt as though he's aged about ten years.

He's put on a few pounds, which isn't too uncommon, sometimes Buck goes through stretches of time where he eats more carbs than he needs and works out less than he'd like and so a little tummy fat is to be expected.

It normally doesn't bother him, except that in the last maybe three months he hasn't felt like exercising much outside of work but he's eaten nearly everything in sight every night. He's up about fifteen pounds, which he wouldn't have even noticed, seeing that he does fluctuate at times anywhere between five to eight pounds over or under what he usually weighs, if it hadn't been for Chimney teasing him about putting down his third Krispy Kreme donut of the day and picking up a barbell earlier this morning.

Chim and Buck poke fun at each other all the time--it's a staple in their friendship and brother ship, in fact--and Buck had flipped him the bird, nothing new there. What had been new was the fact that he'd excused himself to the bathroom right after that and locked himself in a stall and bawled his eyes out as quietly as humanly possible.

Buck grimaces, embarrassed still, by the outburst, even if no one had been there to witness it. He still has no idea what the hell that had been about this morning.

Eddie notices the sour mood and pulls him in close. "Hey, you ok?"

Buck nods. "Yeah, just tired. Ready to go home--shit." Buck feels a shooting pain so intense his knees buckle and Eddie has to hold him upright to keep him from hitting the floor. 

“Woah!” Eddie calls Bobby over, who’s closest, for help, “Buck? Buck, you with me? What’s wrong? What hurts?” 

Buck just shakes his head and grits his teeth, the pain so debilitating he can hardly breathe much less speak. 

The Captain is on his other side in an instant and together Eddie and Bobby help Buck towards the couch, where he collapses in a heap, throwing his head back and letting out an agonized whine. “What’s going on? Did he get hurt during one of the calls?” Bobby asks Eddie, frantic to help put a stop to this. 

Eddie’s helpless, “Bobby I don’t know, one second we were talking about going home and the next he practically fell to the floor in pain.” he turns to face his husband, “Baby, I’m here, look at me, what’s the matter? What hurts?” 

Buck’s face scrunches up and he finally exhales sharply, his grip on the couch cushions loosening, and he opens his eyes, wide like saucers, and says, “What the fuck was that?” 

At this point Hen and Chim, as well as half the crew, have gathered around and Hen is quick to put on her doctors hat and try to sus out the problem. She makes Bobby step aside and Chimney hands her a stethoscope. “Buck, is it your stomach?” she asks, noticing the stiff way he’s holding himself around his midriff. 

“I don’t--kinda? I don’t know. It was just like, this crazy wave of pain, almost like a cramp, but way worse.” he struggles to describe the feeling now that it’s more or less passed for the time being.  

Hen had seen Buck wince when he’d been in the harness on the last call of the day, but he hadn’t said anything and she hadn’t thought too much about it until now. “Did you hurt yourself in the harness earlier? Maybe pulled something when we reeled you back up?” she asks, palpitating his stomach with her fingers, watching him almost retract from her touch. 

“Maybe?” Buck shrugs uncomfortably, wincing when she hits a particularly sore spot. 

Something about this feels familiar and strangely obvious, but Hen doesn’t understand why until she puts her stethoscope up to his belly to check for lack of bowel sounds, indicating maybe some internal bleeding or sorts. 

Hen gasps out loud and sits up like she’s been smacked. 

Eddie frowns. “What? What’s wrong? Is he gonna be ok?” He almost wants to snatch the damn stethoscope out of her ears and check for himself, his eyes darting between Hen and Buck nervously. 

“Buck, you’re pregnant. And in labor, by the sounds of it.” Hen blurts out in disbelief. 

“What.” Buck blinks at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This has to be a joke. 

“I heard a heartbeat in there...” Hen informs them, still awed. “Buck, that was a contraction you just experienced.” 

Eddie gapes at Hen and then at Buck. “You’re pregnant?” 

Buck gapes right back at him. “No!” he denies, shaking his head incredulously. “That’s insane, I can’t be pregn--ah--” Buck leans forward in pain as another contraction begins. “Fuck.” 

“Jesus, yeah, no you’re definitely pregnant,” Chim announces, “Your water just broke all over my favorite couch, bud. I’m getting the ambulance ready asap.” he says, before running to do just that, head reeling. He thinks about Maddie and when she gave birth to their daughter and how scared out of his mind he’d been and he sympathizes for Buck and Eddie, who up until now apparently hadn’t even realizes they were expecting... 

Back at the lounge Buck continues to deny any of this is even happening. He whines into Eddie’s chest, “That’s pee, it has to be, because I’m not pregnant. There’s no way.” he lets out a pitiful whimper as another contraction begins and buries his face against his husband to hide the tears springing up in his eyes. 

“Buck, son, we gotta get you to a hospital right now.” Bobby tries, running a soothing hand over the top of his head. 

But Buck shakes his head no, shuddering out a sob. “M’not going.” 

Eddie, overwhelmed, looks to Hen and Bobby for help. 

“Buck, ambulance is ready to go, we need to move unless you wanna have this kid at the firehouse.” Hen grimaces. “I know you’re in pain and I know you’re confused and hurting, but we need to get you into that ambulance and now.” 

Buck cries out when another contraction hits him and Hen gulps. “Your contractions are getting way too close together, we need to move.” she nods at her Captain and Eddie to help get Buck up and together the three of them manage to get Buck onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance.

Bobby rides up front with Chimney, leaving Hen and Eddie to work in the back with Buck. 

“Buck, you need to start getting ready to push, this baby’s coming.” Hen warns him, but Buck refuses. 

“I can’t.” he sobs. “I didn’t--” he throws his head back, the pain lighting his nerves on fire. “I swear Eddie, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me.”

Eddie takes Bucks hand into his and brings it up to his lips. “I know baby, I know, you don’t have to worry about that. I promise. Nobody is mad at you, ok? I’m not. But right now you need to focus on pushing, you need to listen to Hen, ok? We’re ok, and you’re gonna be ok, but I need you to push, baby. I love you so much, you know that, right?” 

Buck lets Eddie wipe away his tears, leans into the comforting touch, and nods shakily, exhaling. “O-ok, I’m--I’m ready.” 

.

.

.

**************

.

.

.

The baby is so very tiny in Eddie’s arms. 

Olive Buckley-Diaz is born weighing exactly six pounds and two ounces. 

Christopher, who’s curled up against Bucks side on the hospital bed after a very exhausting day, looks up at his Buck, his little brow still knitted in confusion. “So she was a surprise baby? And that’s how come you guys didn’t tell me about her?” 

Buck tries not to laugh. “Yeah bud, it was a huge surprise to us, too.” 

Eddie nods along, smiling fondly down at the bundle he’s holding. Her blotchy red face is slack in sleep and there’s already tufts of brown hair sticking up funnily on her head under her hat. “I still can’t believe you only gained like fifteen pounds during the whole pregnancy.” Eddie chuckles, “Or that you worked through the nine months, God Buck, when I think of the stunts you pulled during calls in the last few months alone I’m--” he shudders. “Actually I’d rather not think about it.” he sighs, “I’m just happy you’re both healthy at the end of the day.” 

Really, it’s a miracle. The doctor had said as much after the delivery. 

“To be fair I never got any of the other symptoms,” Buck shrugs. “I wasn’t nauseous, my feet never swelled, I don’t remember any weird cravings? And you said it yourself, I didn’t really gain all that much weight.” 

Eddie leans down to kiss Buck’s forehead. “You should be on that show.” he grins. 

Buck tilts his head. 

“You know the one, the one Hen made us watch when work was slow that one time. ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant’.” he teases. 

Buck groans. “I regret all the jokes I made at the time. I totally get those people now. Pregnancy is weird.” 

Christopher rests his head more comfortably against Bucks chest and smiles softly. “Yeah, but now our family’s even bigger.” 

.

[shorkbrian]

ASKS

Hello again, asks are compiled under the cut. Please block the tag #shorkbrian answers a lot of asks# If you’d prefer not to see these types of posts from me. If I haven’t answered your ask, it’s because I’m saving it for a thirst, drabble, or fic.

I don’t ignore asks, but sometimes getting around to them overwhelms me lol. pls accept my apologies lol k here we go

I am very glad, I legit was so scared that it was too long and that it’d be disappointing bc the smut wasn’t super IN YOUR FACE yknow? But man am I glad to hear that.

I’m looking directly @ you

Someone noticed omg!!!  A lot of times I just put whatever song I played on repeat while writing that fit, but I have a *yandere* playlist that I listen to and it gets me going. Ty for noticing!!!

I’ve considered opening them permanently but I just... idek. I’d have to start deleting or ignoring the requests I don’t vibe with and Idk how to handle that lol. But thanks for the well wishes, hope your next few months treat you well friend!

Watermelon sugar why

Srsly you’re sweet but just wait until I start to really get going with all my nasty kinks okay, then you’ll be rethinking this strategy hunty lol!

I literally stalk @.vermiliren and @.kazooli and @.seita lol. Maybe when I get my blog more cleaned up, I’ll create a list of creators that I enjoy, along with fic recs. For now, here’s a link to my AO3 bookmarks which I read one like almost every single night bc I’m a horny gremlin.

I am the shark king. Sharks are my thing bro u don’t even know. I love them so much, they're dumb and big and beautiful and yeah I wish I was a mermaid who got to swim with them. Also I changed it bc I’m trying to make my blog more *professional* and all that so I can start being taken seriously askjakjdf

Compliments suck, if I'm being down and out honest. This does not bother me at all, I’m just unsure how to respond. I think I would prefer no comments, but I’m trying really really hard to just say “thank you!” and move on before I get uncomfortable. Having to fight with someone about how I perceive my self worth is exhausting, and especially so for the poor person that was just trying to say something nice and be nice to me. 

They do make me quite uncomfortable my dear lad/lassie/lasso. Say what you wish in the tags tho ! I don’t really reply to those, so there’s no pressure on me to have to say something back. I do however, see all the tags ppl use and some of them make me laugh so hard cause they’re so spot on, and it makes my day. like “Mark me down as scared AND horny” and “Bakugou better be able to bench 165 cause imma throw my fatass in his mf lap” and it kills me.

I SCEREAMED AKDHGSYDGASJSD this is the only format I'll be taking asks in now, no compliments just a yes/no answer to if my works help u cum god bless

you used the /gen!!!!! IDK what these are called but the /S and /gen and /J save my life!!!!

Frick you’ve figured me out, I do try to put like a nail-in-the-coffin sentence at the end. A lot of times it never works right, but I cannot for the life of my figure out how to end a single post ever. If anyone knows hmu pls ty

(Also ps I checked out ur blog cause yans are my jam and it is very much Not garbage!!)

That’s very kind of you, but pls don’t stay up past midnight it’s bad for ur Brian you’ll make bad decisions bro trust me all of my stuff is written after midnight

You will lafff..... but I will tell anyways..... I was prescribed a “life coach” after I got out of the hospital, which was really just a poorly disguised softcore “make sure u don’t yeet urself” type of thing. He had me write down things I liked about myself, and when I returned the sheet of paper still blank, he wrote stuff down for me. Like five sentences of “My hair and skin are unique and special” ���I like animals and enjoy being kind to them” “I am worthy of respect” etc etc. and I had to look in a mirror twice a day and say those sentences to help “boost my self worth”. It sucked so bad dude, and I like got upset about it every time it came up, until finally my therapist was like “... this aint doin this sad bitch no good” and my parents got designated for yeet watch instead.

I know, logically, that (the majority of) people are not purposefully taking time out of their day to make me feel bad. They're trying to be encouraging and loving, and I appreciate it so much. But like... what do I say? If I say thanks, it’s almost like acknowledging what they're saying as true, and I can’t live with myself thinking I’m more than I am. I’m sorry you’ve had experiences that make compliments difficult for you also, I understand bro and I hope that your future holds healing and peace for you. 

Hopefully I won’t vent as much anymore lol, I’ll try to do that on my sideblog where I reblog really trigger-y memes akjdafhkjf. But thank you for your kind words bro, they’re appreciated and put in a nice lil jar.

Ah dw! This doesn’t sound like a jab. I think all of us r so sad n depressed and feel unworthy of love, so the fantasy of a Yan coming and forcing it on us and not leaving even when we lash out is just..... so attractive my heads gonna explode

me, thinking about kiri at any given moment like:

I have the next Hybrid! Kiri fic like lined up, but I’m so demotivated be I was SO CLOSE to finishing, and then wiped my computer like an IDITO

Waso, I’m taking horseback riding lessons bc my mom went:

and my grandpa told me that one of his horses was named Awaso and I immediately thot of u fun fact. But you’re so very kind, and I enjoy seeing you in my inbox. I’m never tired of u homie. You are loved and important, and it’s not an illusion. Even random strangers on the internet can feel soft towards you bro, and dats me, I’m the random stranger that likes u.

So I took Russian for a year, my dear friend, because I wanted to see if the language myth of “Russian is the hardest, Korean is the easiest” was true. I would say yes. So instead of like translating this and typing out a coherent response, I’ve resorted to google translate I’m so sorry but Виктор мог плюнуть мне в глаз, и я бы поблагодарил его. Also, the way Vitya is written in cryllic makes my heart swell it looks so cozy idek what I mean by that but it does? I treasure you man, hope to see you around in the new year and maybe??? we be good friends

Can any year be good when Kirishima Eijirou doesn’t exist?

cryface;;sad.jpg

I just imagine anyone who comes across my stuff, sitting at their computer shocked and slightly horrified, maybe turned on like

Daddy Aizawa makes me

Wait!! I have something to aid your troubles!!

ur welcome now u can be horny whenever you’d like 

pls every time we talk about Kirishima I have to act surprised like 

LISTEN BBYGORL I have had therapist Suga in the works since *checks notes* November. I am excited for it yeahhhhhh but sadly, I don’t think I will be continuing piano teacher Suga. The story is petered out in my mind, idk where it would go. Therapist sugarbird tho? We have some thots about this. Coming soon to theaters near you

[liquorisce]

decisions, decisions pt 2

Fandom : Bleach 

Pairings : Ichihime (ft. some ichi x ishi bickering which we love around here)

Rating : T

Part 1

A/N: A few months ago I wrote a post-tybw-karakura-gang-finishes-high-school kinda thing called ‘decisions, decisions’  ft career choice discussions and orihime thinking of leaving town for uni. I wanted to write some more of that stuff and more ichihime pining obvs, so here it is. also i hate myself for not being able to participate in ichihimeweek2020, i suck, but anyway, ‘nuff with the nonsense, here’s the fic: 

(ps: pls be nice to me and like/reblog/comment or whatevs and tell me what u think, ily thx)

...

It’s five minutes to two, and Ichigo fought to stifle a yawn. The menacing five hundred pages of English grammar exercises in front of him wasn’t helping. 

“... Unbelievable,” he curses, slamming the book shut, much to the annoyance of his bespectacled classmate sitting across him. “Why the hell can’t they just teach us proper English in school?! I’m absolutely fucking positive that Honda-sensei didn’t mention more than three tenses in her class. And what kind of English lesson takes place in Japanese anyway?!” 

“... Quit your whining, Kurosaki. Some of us are trying to study here.” 

Ichigo fumed. By ‘some of us,’ Ishida was pointedly referring to just himself and the long-haired beauty sitting right opposite him, who, judging by her giggling at his outburst, welcomed his distraction. The same giggling that was contributing to the problem, contributing to Ichigo’s immense distraction since after dinner. 

“You’re not even human, Ishida,” he says dismissively. “Keigo’s literally made his bed on my dad’s couch, you can hear his goddamn snores, and Mizuiro left to ‘watch the stars’ with some new girl thirty minutes ago.” 

“You’re the one who invited us over to your place for an all-nighter group study session and you’re calling it quits before the sun is up? As expected, you’re weak.” 

He was right, this had been Ichigo’s idea, Yuzu had offered to make them dinner and his dad had plans tonight, so they were guaranteed some peace and quiet. Despite the noise and the chaos of their group, he missed hanging out with his friends. Ever since the school had given them voluntary study holidays for the upcoming University Entrance Exams, he didn’t get to see much of everyone, as they were either studying or training for competitions. Even today, Tatsuki and Chad left after dinner because they had to get up early for practice and they had decided they wouldn’t be giving the exams anyway. 

Ignoring Ishida’s pointed attempts to rile him up, he turns his attention to Orihime, who despite enjoying their banter, was more focused on the cram book in front of her.  

“Inoue, how are you still so motivated and so… awake?,” he asks, exasperated. “It’s almost 2 am! And you’ve been scribbling away furiously for the last thirty minutes. What are you even studying?”  

“Mouuu, you’re right. I’m not able to solve this proof anyway. Maybe I should call it a night?”

“Electromagnetism?” Ishida asks, skimming the title of the chapter, “Oh, I’ve done this one, I can explain this to you if you want.”  

He doesn’t know what irritates him more, Ishida’s nerdiness, or the soft look in his eyes as he unfailingly offers to help Orihime out, as he’d been doing a lot more of late, ever since they had started studying for the entrance exams together. In fact, it’d been this way this entire evening, starting from when he took a seat right next to her at the table as if he fucking belonged there, leaning over into her notebook, whenever she needed help, his arm casually brushing against her long, silken locks, her answering smile bright and incredibly close to him, and - Ichigo forces that thought to a halt because it has him gritting his teeth.  “... For God’s sake, give her a break,” - 

“... Shut up, Kurosaki, not everyone is applying to study *English* in University”- 

“And what exactly do you mean by that, asshole?” Ichigo snarls, with more venom than needed, because despite having had enough with Ishida’s condescending attitude towards his study choices, his recent behaviour had Ichigo prickling under his skin.  

“... Err, Kurosaki-kun…” Orihime starts, because she’s used to Ichigo and Ishida arguing (they’re just being affectionate, she always insists), there’s a glint in Ichigo’s eyes that’s different.

“... Exactly what I said, some of us don’t have the luxury of skipping the math and science exams,” - 

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun is right! I think my brain really can’t function anymore tonight,” Orihime declares loudly, inserting herself in between them. “Kurosaki-kun, I think I will leave now. Thank you so much for hosting us today.” She bows, her formality annoying him even more, but still throwing him off guard.

As always, Orihime’s pleasant demeanour diffused the rising tempers… somewhat. With one last glare, Ishida grudgingly agreed, “Then I guess I will take my leave as well.” 

Ichigo wants to be polite and say something like, “we should do this more often,” but he’s pissed off, and couldn’t wait to be rid of Ishida’s arrogant mug, so instead he offers, “Inoue, can I walk you home?” 

He doesn’t notice the faint red on her cheeks or the hesitation on her face, when she mumbles, “If it doesn’t inconvenience you.” And he’s torn again - tearing his eyes away from the pretty blush dusting her cheeks unable to stop himself from wondering bitterly if she’d let Ishida walk her home without much protest.

“Ishida lives in the other direction and it would be out of his way, so I don’t mind.” 

“Well then,” Ishida says, looking at her with more fondness than Ichigo would have liked, “Your eyes are all red and puffy. Sleep well. Don’t strain yourself, okay?”

“Yes sir,” she gives him the salute, “... good night!” 

“... And text me that you got home safe. This idiot can’t be trusted with anything,”- 

“... for fuck’s sake, just go home already!” 

“Kurosaki-kun,” she whispers, amused, as she watches Ishida walk away with a cheeky grin on his face, “you’ll wake the neighbours with your angry yelling.”

“Ah, you’re right,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly, as their footsteps fall into place beside each other, “I’m sorry for all the swearing, I don’t know why I let Ishida under my skin so much.”   

“Hmmm,” she says, “It’s kind of cute, your bickering. If this were a yaoi novel, I’d totally ship it!” 

“... what the hell?!” His face is red, not just because the thought of him… and Ishida… Ew. But also because this is coming from Orihime, the last person he’d ever expect to engage in fantasies of this sort.

Giggling, she quickly switches to a more somber note. “You seemed... on edge today. Did something happen between the two of you?” 

He doesn’t know how to answer that question. Truth be told, he’s barely able to understand it himself. Sure, there was the usual trading of insults that took place between the two of them, but it was different this time. His whole demeanour just pissed him off. The way he always seemed to know what Orihime was asking, the way he was always able to help her, the familiar way he spoke to her… and the revelation that they’d been studying together for weeks now! 

“I don’t know,” he sighs, because he can’t even explain what he is feeling, let alone the reason behind it, “... I guess it’s just the stress of the exam.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it,” she whines, “I’m so thankful Ishida-kun is giving the same exams as me, and we can share practice questions and tips. I really wouldn’t be able to do this alone.” 

He ignores her mention of him and the tick in his jaw in reaction. “But I don’t get it. You’re giving almost all the exams. Why?!? There’s surely no need.” 

She blushes, ashamed, “I know it sounds stupid, but I really haven’t decided what I want to study in University. I figured if I just gave all of the exams, I would have more options to choose from.” 

“... Come on,” - 

“... And I will also prefer to go wherever I get a scholarship.”  

His fist clenches, “... So you’re definitely applying outside of Karakura?” 

“Yeah, although I’m not sure if there’s any point. It’s so difficult to aim for the National Universities, I’ll never get through. But the counselor says it’s worth a shot for the scholarship.”

“... I thought your aunt was helping you with tuition?” 

“... Only till high school. And I cannot burden her anymore. I’ve received so much from her already.” 

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way her voice wavers at the end, the guilt evident in her words. And he can’t stand it. “... Cheer up,” he says softly, playfully elbowing her. “You’re one of the smartest kids in school. Rank #2 after all the shit we went through last year! If anyone can do it you can.” 

“... You think so?” she mumbles, looking up at him, her insecurities heartbreaking in the grey of her eyes.  

Everything about her is so honest, it hurts him a little bit because his first thought is to say no, to talk her out of it, because the revelation is too sudden, too jarring - he can’t bear  the thought of this town without her. But he nods, smiles encouragingly, because that’s just way too selfish.

Shaking his head out of these thoughts, he asks, “... what was the counselor’s recommendation, again? As a career path?” 

“Ah, Hirata-san said maybe I should just follow my love for baking,” she says, smiling. 

“... and? Why don’t you consider that? You wouldn’t have to give these blasted exams then.” 

He liked the idea of this, now more than before, momentarily regretting his role in convincing her to apply to university. Orihime working in the local bakery, coming around his house everyday to share the leftovers, staying back for dinner maybe… 

“... but Kurosaki-kun was the one who said I wouldn’t be very good at it!” She pouts, “You said I’d make too many things in weird flavours and nobody would want to buy them.” 

Crap. He truly felt like waltzing back in time and whacking the past version of him for saying something like that.  Because if it were anyone else shitting all over Orihime’s dream, he’d have sent the punk flying. Where were all these feelings coming from anyway?! 

“... Shit, I didn’t mean,” - 

“... it’s okay, you’re right. And besides I can work there part-time through University. I was thinking…” She took a deep breath. “Well, actually, it was Ishida-kun’s idea. Maybe I could study to become a doctor? My strength is in healing people anyway…” 

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Well of course, he'd say that. He's going to study medicine too." And of course he would try to talk Orihime into it. The bastard had taken every opportunity to slither by her side - 

She laughs, a pretty sound, interrupting the profanity in his mind. "Yeah, he did say it would be nice to have some company… but I'm not sure." Sighing, she asks, "How did you decide on English Studies?" 

It wasn't too difficult for him honestly. It helped that he was fairly certain he didn't want to study math or science going forward. "... I like stories. And I want to be able to read and share stories in a global medium, so I decided to study English." 

He looks at her only to find her looking at him in fascination, "... Truth be told, I didn't spend too much time thinking about it. The career aptitude test returned similar results as well, so I just went with it." He shrugs, "I think I'll enjoy it. Let's see." 

"Ahh, you sound so optimistic about your studies, Kurosaki-kun. I wish I could be like that." 

They've reached her apartment building now and she turns to look at him, wistfully. He wishes he could do something for her, ease her anxieties in some way. 

"What about you?" He asks. 

She looks at him, puzzled.  

"... You've told me all about what everyone wants you to do. What do you want to do? I'm sure you must have some inkling." 

“... I,” she stops, opens her mouth again to say something, but nothing comes out. “... what I want… ah, you’ll probably think it’s silly.” She smiles wistfully to herself, because this wasn’t something that she’d ever admitted out loud.

He rolls his eyes, “... Try me.” Because she was many things, and yes, definitely silly sometimes in that unique way of hers, but he would never, could never, call her dreams silly. It’s a moment of realization for him, when he gets angry with the way she dismisses her own dreams that way, and he feels overwhelmed with the desire to pick them up, and keep them safe where no one can trample them, along with that spaced-out, wistful smile of hers. 

“Well,” she gulps, nervous, “I’ve never really thought too much about going to university. Sensei says I’m wasting my potential... but honestly, I think I’ll be happy working.” 

She looks at him unsurely, waiting for a reaction, an opinion, like everyone else. Everyone who’d been urging her to continue school and pursue all kinds of studies that she could possibly do, but… “I just - I want to build a simple life with someone I love. A family, maybe, someday.” 

It comes out so fast, she wishes she could grab the words and shove them back in her mouth. She chances a glance at him, her cheeks hot and furiously embarrassed. 

His expression is unreadable as he gazes down at her. She’s beautiful in the moonlight, he thinks, and it isn’t really a revelation to him, but the melancholy of her beauty is, the loneliness that he wishes he could extinguish as easily as he does hollows. “A simple life huh…” he murmurs. And he can almost picture it, Orihime, ten years from now, a child in her arms, a little boy maybe, with her wide brown eyes and - 

“Well, looks like you have planned it out better than any of us,” he manages hoarsely, unable to look her in the eye anymore. Not with all these… feelings simmering so close to the surface. And before he can help himself, “Do you already know who this mystery man is?” 

He’s come to realize how absolutely unequipped he is to hear the answer, but her unassuming statement has already taken residence inside him somehow, a burning sensation accompanying it. 

 His question jolts her into consciousness, and she notices they’re almost at her apartment. “Ah Kurosaki-kun is very curious today,” she laughs nervously, “only one confession per day! That’s the limit!” The fake cheer in her voice grates in her own ears but she hopes desperately it will steer him away because she’s this close to telling him sometimes, and this was one of those times. Especially in these rare moments when she feels an odd mixture of weakness and greed, where she wants to latch on to him and ask him to stay by her side, hoping selfishly that his kindness will make him say yes. But Orihime was practiced at hiding those feelings away. 

 “Is that right,” he smiles teasingly, albeit weakly, “... I didn’t know you were so mysterious, Inoue. Well goodnight, then.” 

And as he watches her climb up the stairs to her floor, and then lean over the railings to wave goodbye one more time, he can’t help but think of that image of her again, happy and in love and so beautifully fulfilled. And he thinks of the shadow of the man next to her, who will protect that dream and that smile, and his stomach clenches bitterly. 

“You deserve it,” he whispers to her retreating figure, “... You deserve all of it.”

- fin - 

A/N : The ending was cheesy, I KNOW UGH

[strayneoculturekids]

Drunk - Chan x Reader

Summary: Chan had to be the sweetest, most talented, composed and mature man you’d ever met. To say you had a crush on him would be an understatement. Though, it’s not until he gets absolutely hammered at a Halloween party that you find out he feels the same way.

Halloween AU, Friends to Lovers AU

Genre: Fluff

Requests by anon: eyo! Could I please request a best friend's brother au with chan? Also, could the best friend be a girl pls? Lol thank you ♡♡♡♡♡

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and almost everyone in the fic gets drunk

A/N: Hannah and Lucas are the names of Chan’s actual siblings, so they’re the names I’m going with for this fic. If you want to, you can just mentally change it.

----

“Oi!” a familiar voice came from behind you “Y/N!”

You swiveled your head around, seeing none other than Hannah (A/N: in case you missed it up the top, Hannah is the name of Chan’s actual sister, but just mentally change it if you want) running up to you at full speed. You barely had time to open your mouth before she tackled you to the ground in a hug.

“Ah!” You screamed, back hitting the concrete “Owww” You sat up, rubbing your back to feel that some of the fabric had been scraped away- along with a bit of your skin

“Oh my God!” She jumped up, pulling you up along with her “Are you okay?! Damn, am I that heavy?!”

You laughed, waving her off with clenched teeth, trying not to show your best friend how much the scrapes actually hurt- and you were wearing a new shirt, too!

“That looked like it hurt” A deeper yet, again, still familiar voice came

You looked up, being met with Bang Chan, in other words, Hannah’s brother.

“N-no, I’m fine!” You blushed, looking over your friend’s shoulder and staring wide-eyed at the beautiful man in front of you

“Are you sure?” He asked suspiciously, taking off his jacket “Your shirt is ripped. Here, take my jacket”

Your blush only deepened as your best friend’s brother draped his jacket over you, and you refused to meet his eyes again, opting for staring at the ground instead. There was a short moment of silence before Chan pulled his sister aside and proceeded to scold her for running up to you so quickly and hurting you. You hardly paid any attention, though, as you were too focused on the pleasant warmth and smell that Chan’s jacket brought; so much so that you had forgotten about your injuries and couldn’t even feel the blood trickling from them- which happened to also be staining Chan’s jacket.

“Whatever, loser” Hannah said jokingly to her brother, pushing him away once he’d finished scolding and turning to talk to you “Wanna go to the Halloween party with me?!”

“The Halloween party?” You questioned, resisting the urge to glance at Chan

“Yeah! I got invited and we can bring a plus one!” She said excitedly “What should we go as?!”

“Woah, woah” You laughed, making hand gestures to try and calm her down “Who’s throwing the party?”

“My brother” She said sweetly

You looked to Chan

“No, idiot” She said, stepping into your line of sight and blocking out her older brother “My other brother”

“Oh” You breathed “Then how come you said you got invited? Isn’t it being held by a family member just an automatic invitation?”

“Pft- I didn’t get invited specifically, I’m just going whether my brother wants me there or not, and you’re dumb, introverted ass is coming with me!”

“Yeah, yeah, fine” You sighed, playfully scrunching your nose

“Let’s go as cats” She said, smiling

“Even as a joke, that’s not funny” you said, face-palming

“You’re right” She sighed overdramatically “Everyone would be so stunned at our combined beauty that they’d drop on the spot”

“Nevermind, I’m not coming” You shook your head

“No!! I was just joking!!” She whined, going to cling to you for the second time “Come onnnnn!”

“I’ll come, geez!” You shook her off, laughing

“Chan is going as a werewolf” She said, standing up straight “he’s lameeeee”

“Please,” He said, smirking “You know I’ll look hot as hell”

“In your dreams” Hannah rolled her eyes at her older brother “anyway, back to the issue, we need matching costumes!”

“Uhhh- I don’t know” You shrugged

“Pffft, you’re just as lame as Chan! We should go as sirens!” She put her hand in the air, seemingly coming to a conclusion

“Sirens?” You pursed your lips, frowning “That’s a bit…”

“Why not?! Scared of showing too much skin?? Come on, you’re like, the most gorgeous person ever so shut the hell up”

“I think you’d look good” Chan intervened, smiling earnestly, a hint of red displayed across his cheeks

You froze up, your own cheeks becoming red as well.

“Uh- I guess we can go like that, then”

“Great!” She said excitedly, jumping onto you again and almost knocking you over

A week passed by in a flash and far sooner than you wanted it to be, it was Halloween- in other words, the day of the party. You let Hannah match up your guys’ costumes, as promised; once you saw the final piece, you realised she really didn’t hold back on the ‘showing skin’ part, despite knowing that you would protest.

“Come on!” She whined, shoving the costume in your face

“Hannah!” You shouted “There’s nothing to put on! What is that?!”

“Relax” She laughed “I’m gonna cover us with makeup so it’ll seem like less skin is showing”

“You’re going to cover our entire bodies with makeup?” you asked dubiously

“Yep!” She yelled cheerfully, whipping out a palette of murky sea greens and blues

You sighed, looking at the costume unenthusiastically before snatching it from her and changing into it.

“Yes queen!” Hannah shouted once the costume was fully on “I can NOT BELIEVE you hide your perfect body all the time! Look at you!”

“Aish, calm down a little. I feel so exposed” You rubbed your arms, trying to pay no notice to the rather cold air around your apartment

“Now, let’s do this!” She said, getting out multiple makeup brushes, applicators, sponges, and much, much more

It must’ve been at least an hour that she worked on you- your stomach, arms, face, solar plexus, anywhere that wasn’t covered by fabric, was covered by makeup. You had to admit, it didn’t look half bad; she used fishnet stockings to make a scale-like effect on some of the parts, and it was rather effective. Afterward, she immediately got to work on herself.

“You know” She said, trying not to move her mouth too much while applying the makeup “Chan helped pick out the outfit”

“He did WHAT?!” You asked, looking down at the skimpy clothing

“I’m kidding!” She laughed “He helped pick out the makeup colours, though. He said he thought this palette would look nice on you.

“hUH” This time, you looked to the makeup covering your skin

It seemed much shorter when Hannah was doing her own makeup, but maybe that’s because your mind was elsewhere. Soon enough, she was finished and it was time to head to the party. She grabbed your arm and led you to her car despite you continuously telling her you wanted a coat to cover yourself up till you arrived at the party.

Once she had managed to shove you into the car, she began to drive back to her own house, which only took a few minutes.

You had arrived being nervous that you were overdressed, but once you actually arrived, your worries were quickly gone. Most people had pretty decent costumes, some had extravagant ones, almost making you jealous.

“Y/N, you’re here” Lucas said, walking up to you and smiling (A/N: Lucas is the name of Chan’s actual brother, in case you missed that too)

“Ew, vampire costume, both you and Chan are so lame” Hannah said, grabbing your hand and leading you away from her brother

There were a few familiar faces, and you greeted them all politely, but most of them were new. It was a while before you saw Chan, but to say you were flustered once you saw him would be a grave understatement. He was shirtless, which is all well and good, except for the fact that Chan had…a rather toned body, to say the very least. Aside from the lack of a shirt, he was wearing neon yellow contacts, fake blood, had prosthetic claw marks across his chest, wolf ears, a tail, and much more. Honestly, he almost looked like a real werewolf.

“Y/N! You’re here!” Chan ran up to you, almost repeating what his brother said before- you almost chuckled at how similar they were

“I like your costume” You smiled

“Same goes” Chan said, looking you up and down before blushing and looking away

“Okay lovebirds, I’m gonna go get some punch so why don’t you just confess already”

“Hannah!” Chan scrunched his nose at his little sister as she shrugged and walked away before looking back to you

You couldn’t help but let your eyes drop down to Chan’s abs, admiring how well they fit him.

“My eyes are up here, Y/N” Chan laughed, smirking when he caught you staring

“Wh-what?! I wasn’t- I-” You looked up to Chan’s eyes, only to immediately avert your gaze to behind him afterward, your entire face turning red

“Geez Y/N, could you get any redder right now?” Hannah said, coming into view once again, handing you a cup of obviously alcoholic punch “If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re already drunk”

“Hannah, I already told you I don’t want to get drunk tonight,” Chan said as his younger sister handed him the drink she was carrying

“Don’t be such a buzz kill! You’re just scared you’ll get too drunk and accidentally confess to Y/N”

At that, Chan’s face turned almost as red as yours, and he immediately downed almost the entire cup in a few gulps, glaring slightly at his sister. You chose to ignore your best friend’s comment, electing to instead take small sips of your drink. It would’ve been an awkward silence, but as soon as it started turning into one, childish Halloween music suddenly began blasting through the house. It earned a couple of chuckles from some of the older guests that seemed over 30, but everyone else cheered and started dancing with their friends.

“This is my kind of party” You laughed as Hannah grabbed you and pulled you into the crowd of people dancing immaturely

----

The party must have gone on for a couple hours, and by the time most people had left, it was past midnight, and everyone who had stayed to help clean up or because they lived there was either completely sober or horribly drunk. Fortunately for you, you were one of the few that didn’t drink much, unfortunately for you, however, everyone surrounding you was drunk and it was now your official duty as the sober friend to take care of them.

“Y/N I’m gonna throw up” Hannah slurred, staggering up to you and heavily draping herself in your arms

You sighed and dragged her to the closest bathroom, quickly tying her hair up in a ponytail and leaving her to puke her guts out (once you’d gotten her into a position that wouldn’t allow her to fall into the toilet) and take care of the others

“Y/N!” Seungmin, one of Chan’s close friends called, running up to you, looking quite composed in the minimal-effort dog costume he was wearing that consisted of headband ears, a tail attachment and normal clothing “Thank god! I’ve found another sober person”

“Seungmin! Oh my god, you’re my savior” You smiled widely in relief “Where’s everyone else?”

“Lucas is passed out, Minho is in the upstairs bathroom throwing up, Woojin is trying to get Jisung to drink a glass of water and failing miserably, Felix and Hyunjin are harassing Jeongin and Changbin is hunting me down because he wants to cuddle” Seungmin said, looking around warily at the last line

“So you, Woojin, Jeongin and I are the only sober ones here? What about Chan?”

“Oh right! That’s why I wanted to find you- Chan is in his room sobbing over the fact that you don’t like him back so I’m gonna need you to go comfort him because I need to stop Felix and Hyunjin from bringing Jeongin to tears while also running from Changbin”

“Seungminnieeee!” Changbin’s voice came- but he was speaking in the kind of high-pitched voice you use to talk to your pets

“OH SHIT- GOTTA GO” Seungmin yelled, taking off back the way he came, quickly followed by a drunk Changbin

You stood in confused silence for a short while before processing what had just happened.

“Chan- Chan’s room- where’s Chan’s room?” You asked yourself, slowly heading upstairs

You passed the bathroom first, in which you heard the horrible sounds of Minho puking, then Hannah’s room, then a room which you could only assume to be Chan’s, considering there was deep, obviously drunken, sobbing coming from inside.

“Chan…?” You slowly crept open the door

“Y/N- oh- oh my god whyyyyy-” Chan sobbed, barely getting out the words, his face was stained with tears and he looked absolutely distraught, the sight would be sad if it wasn’t so comical

“Chan why are you crying?” You asked going inside and smiling sweetly

“Don’t talk to me!” He pouted in a choked, whiny voice while crossing his arms, sounding and looking almost exactly like a little kid

“Channie, don’t be like that” You walked up to him, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous he was when drunk “Why don’t you just tell me why you were crying”

Chan hesitated for a bit, sniffling silently before breaking down and bursting into tears again.

“B-because you don’t like me!” He whined, throwing himself into your arms

Finally, you couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, clutching on tightly to the heavy boy in your arms.

“See!! You’re laughing at me now” He bawled

“I’m only laughing because you’re so cute, Channie”

“You’re just saying that” He further pouted

“No, I like you too!” You said brightly, stroking Chan’s hair

“You do?!”

“Yep! Now let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?”

Eventually, Chan’s crying began to subside, and he followed your instructions and where you led him. The first place was the bathroom, where you took off the makeup he was wearing and washed the tears and drool off his face, which proved to be more embarrassing for you then it was for him, though you were sure that wouldn’t have been the case had he been sober. After a much longer time in the bathroom then you would’ve liked, you had Chan get changed out of the uncomfortable Halloween costume and into his pajamas, a plain white tee and black sweatpants- clothing in which he looked unfairly handsome. Finally, you took him down to the kitchen, finding Woojin, Seungmin and Jeongin sitting tiredly on the couch, looking like absolute messes in their torn and broken costumes, though, not nearly as much of a mess as the six boys and one girl surrounding them, (including Lucas and Hannah, that is) all passed out on the floor.

“Y/N, we barely got out of that alive” Woojin said as soon as he saw you coming in “Jisung full out attacked me”

“I can still smell Changbin’s alcohol breath on me” Seungmin said, obviously exasperated

“I think I’ve been scarred” Jeongin chimed, though his voice was less than enthusiastic

“Chan is acting like a two-year-old” You chuckled sourly, thankful that the boy you were still holding didn’t seem to process your words

“Yeah, he gets like that” Woojin sighed “And then he spends the next week or so apologising for his behavior constantly”

“I see” You groaned as you dragged Chan to the kitchen and made him drink a glass of water

“Fuck” Chan swore once he had drunk the whole cup, clutching his head

“Come on, Chan” you slowly pulled him to the living room, finally feeling exhaustion creeping up on you “I’m not going back upstairs, sleep on the floor with the rest of the drunks. Seungmin, Woojin, Jeongin, scooch over”

The three did as told and let you half-sit half-lie on the couch with them while Chan sat down on the floor in front of you, leaning back into your legs and immediately falling asleep. It wasn’t long before sleep managed to claim you as well, and everything went dark after the long, long night.

You groaned and woke up to far-too-bright sunlight blaring through the open windows. Looking next to you, you saw Seungmin and Jeongin asleep, and looking down, everyone who passed out on the floor was still in their original place.

“You’re awake” Woojin’s voice came

You turned around, seeing the eldest boy carrying a tray of water and two full packets of Panadol.

“Last night…was tiring” You muttered, carefully lifting Chan’s head off of your lap and laying it back down on the couch

“You can say that again. I barely drunk a thing and I’ve got a headache”

You got up and took the tray from Woojin, setting it down on the coffee table. Just as you did, the ten people surrounding it began to slowly wake up one by one.

“Holy shit” Felix spoke in his deep voice, clutching his head painfully

“I have every regret” Hannah said, looking at you “Y/N! Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Fuckkkkk” Hyunjin groaned, grabbing a glass of water, two tablets and downing them as quickly as possible

Eventually, after everyone else had awoken, Chan stirred, waking up and clutching his head.

“What happened last night?” He looked at Seungmin before copying everyone else and grabbing pills and a cup of water

“I dunno” Seungmin shrugged “Ask Y/N. She’s the one who took care of you”

“Fuck” He muttered, looking to you, fear in his eyes

“Don’t worry yet Chan” You waved him off, yawning, still not awake enough to process everything “Wait until your memories come back”

“...okay…” he said unsurely, downing the pills

A couple minutes later, while everyone was lying on the couch or floor, Chan abruptly sat up, worsening his headache in the process, but he didn’t care much.

“Y/N! Fuck! Shit! Oh god oh god oh god oh god!” He looked to you, face completely red

“Did you remember what happened?” You asked

Pursing his lips, Chan grabbed your hand and led you to another room, shutting the door behind the two of you quickly.

“I-” He breathed in, cutting himself off before looking at you in the eyes “Sorry about…that”

“Chan, it’s fine, you were drunk”

“I hate getting drunk! I can’t believe I let Hannah make me drink like that- I-” He slowed down “I don’t remember everything. Did I say anything…weird?”

“You said you liked me…that’s basically it…”

“I knew this would happen!” He looked angry with himself “Y/N- I’m so sorry- I wasn’t- I didn’t-”

“I wanted to ask if you meant it” You interrupted his stuttering “Or if you were just saying it because you were drunk”

“I- if I meant it?” He blushed

“…Yeah” you refused to meet his eyes, blushing on your own as well

“I…I did mean it…”

There was a pause as you processed the information. Then, finally, you jumped on Chan, wrapping your arms around him excitedly.

“Y/N!” He groaned in pain, scrunching his eyes shit but, nonetheless, wrapping his arms around you in return “Please, I don’t need surprise movement like that”

“I’m sorry” You said bashfully, bowing slightly

“That’s okay” He said “I couldn’t be mad at you”

You were about to say something, but before you could Chan pulled you closer to him and kissed the top of your head, leaving the room before you could say anything else- or before you could see just how much he was blushing.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Ripped Jeans And Greasy Hair - Gerard Way x Reader

Summary: Hey, do you think you could write a Punk!Gerard High school au fic with tons of angst?

Warnings: bullying (I don’t know if this really is angsty, pls let me know how I can improve myself!)

Word count: 3 387

When you had been little, you always had wanted to go to school. You wanted to learn and make friends and have fun. Now that you were in High School, you still wanted to learn but you doubted that school was supposed to make you feel shitty about literally every single little thing you did. Not to mention the fact that making friends was harder than you had originally assumed. Your former best friend went to another High School so you had barely any contact anymore, and even over the two years you were already attending this school you had only managed to befriend a guy called Patrick, who went to your science class. Patrick was a sweet guy who loved to play drums. Most of your breaks were spent together with his friend Joe, a guy with blue eyes and a dark brown mop of hair. Spending breaks in groups lowered the chance of falling victim to the school bullies. All three of you had actually your fair share of experience with them. Both Patrick and Joe had ended up in dumpsters before and you had once been locked into your own locker for an hour, resulting in you asking Patrick for a week to get your things from the locker for you. Once, Joe had even been shoved head first into a toilet, which lead to the one time Patrick actually got aggressive. No matter how small he was, he seemed to have impressed the bullies at least a little since they stayed away from the three of you after that. You still felt them eyeing you every now and then and you definitely felt saver with Joe or Patrick around, but generally you could not complain. At least not about the bullies.

That was until Patrick and Joe went on a student exchange to Spain. The first days everything seemed fine but soon you noticed the glares of the bulky boys and Barbie girls who loved to bully everyone around them who was not ‘perfect’ like them. And as if that would not have been enough, you also noticed how the school’s troublemaker, a guy named Gerard, kept his eyes on you. He had longish black hair and always walked around in ripped black jeans and a leather jacket. The only thing that seemed to change about him was the black band shirts he wore to school. He was famous for getting into all kinds of trouble, be it fighting with the teachers, insulting or beating up other students or destroying the lockers of students he disliked. You knew Gerard from seeing him in most of your breaks. He always hung out in the same part of the playground as Patrick, Joe and you. Genareally he seemed like a guy who wanted to be left alone, but when someone pissed him off, he acted out. On the one hand you admired him for having the courage, on the other hand: he always overdid it. But now that you noticed his eyes following you in the corridors, you started to feel uneasy.

By Thursday you felt so sick in the morning that you considered not going to school at all, but in the end you did. You were welcomed by the dark, badly lit corridors as usual, the cold smoke of cigarettes, that had not been allowed to be smoked in here, hanging in the air. And you were almost certain that between smoke, cleansing agents and sweat the fine note of alcohol hovered as well. No one had ever said your school was not fucked up.

You walked your way down the corridor to your locker, and were welcomed with a nasty surprise. Someone had written ‘loser’ in big letters diagonally over your locker; with red spray paint. You knew it was fresh, the smell of the solvent still well detectable in the air, but the writing had already dried. You stared at it for a moment. If it had been possible, you would have started feeling even sicker than you already did, but it was not. You considered for a moment to break into tears and beat up your locker, but that would only please the people who had done that, so you held back your emotions and grabbed the things from your locker that you needed.

Apparently you seemed to be the school bullies new favorite victim since at noon the tray with your lunch was forcibly pushed out of your tight grip and spread all over your clothes and the floor around you. For the rest of the day you had to walk around the stains of the sauce on your shirt and jeans still well visible, even after washing it out several times. You told yourself to ignore the laughs and the pointed fingers and the elbows you got in your ribs, but by the time you arrived home, you smashed the front door shut, sunk to your knees and cried. With still tear wet cheeks you undressed yourself and threw the clothes in the washing machine before putting on your favorite oversized sweater and some sweats. You turned up your music so loud that it drained out the thoughts in your head while you lay on your bed, wondering if there existed a non-permanent way to die, something like temporary non-existance, a possibility to continue existing when Patrick and Joe were back from Spain. After a while you got a slight headache from the music so you turned it off. You continued laying on your bed, not thinking about anything specific until you decided it was time for your homework. You read a few chapters of the book you were currently studying in English Literature and finished some worksheets for Spanish. But when you planed on doing your math homework, you realized that your book was missing. You searched everywhere for it, you even emptied your schoolbag on the floor, but it was nowhere to be found. Just when you were about to give up and sent a string of curse words towards heaven, a ring on the door disturbed you. Wondering who would pay you a visit in the late afternoon, it had to be for you, since your mother was not home from work yet, you walked downstairs and opened up. To your big surprise it was Gerard who stood in front of your door.

“You lost your book,” he told you, extending his hand towards you, holding the math book you had been searching for just a few minutes ago.

Hesitantly you scanned his face before you quickly took the book from him. You hated admitting it, but he was very intimidating, with his black, greasy hair falling into his eyes, the leather jacket and a grim expression on his face.

“How do know where I live?” You were not sure you felt comfortable with him knowing where your home was.

He looked at you, pushing a strand of hair out of his face, revealing a cut across his eyebrow that seemed pretty fresh. His hazel eyes scanned your face as if to make sure your question had been serieous.

“Dude, I live literally across the street,” he told you, pointing towards the house opposite yours.

Oh.

Without another word he turned around and walked away from your house.

“Thanks,” you shouted after him but he did not react, even though you were sure he had heard you.

Awkwardly you closed the door. Had that really been Gerard, who had brought you your math book? You had never thought of him as especially considerate, but maybe you had to rethink.

~*~

The next morning you felt even sicker than before. You lay in bed for half an hour, wondering if there was any chance that this day could get any better than the last, but in the end, your optimism won. Your locker was already disfigured and school ended early today so there was no chance for anyone to empty your tray onto your shirt. You got out of bed, put on some comfortable, yet decent clothes and headed downstairs for a quick breakfast.

Your mother had already been waiting for you. Yesterday evening, when she had asked you how your day had been, you had lied to her, saying everything was fine, even though things were far from fine. You were just scared that she would tell you to stand up for yourself and that it was also your fault if people bullied you. Maybe she would have been right, and that scared you even more. But today she noticed something was up. Her eyes worriedly scanned the Smashing Pumpkins shirt you wore and the slightly oversized cardigan that was basically used as a ground for your many patches and buttons. You could feel her glances and you knew she was desperate to know what made you so anxious that you put on both of the pieces of clothing that made you feel save, but she did not ask, which you were thankful for. Instead she wished you a good day and handed you a Tetra Pak with apple juice, something she had not done in years. You understood it as an encouragement and smiled at her before you stepped outside the house.

Had you really thought, today could not be worse than the day before? Some really ‘funny’ people had decided to flood your locker so you had to spent first lesson explaining to several different people that you had no part in destroying your school books. You barely made it to the second lesson in time, just to stumble into a beginning test. To your surprise you managed to survive the break without any incident and even ignored the many spitballs that were launched at you over the course of your final two lessons. When the bell rang and you believed you were finally able to escape the hell that school had become, you were proven wrong.

You had just stepped outside the classroom and walked a few meters away, when a 6 foot something dick of a guy, who was so muscular that you were certain chemicals were involved somewhere along the way, poured his energy drink intentionally over your head. You gasped at the cold, bubbling liquid that ran down your face and into your clothes making everything sticky and stinking of chemicals that were added into the artificial beverage. You barely heard the malicious laughter of the other students over the ringing in your ears. You were almost thankful that your face was wet already so if a tear would escape your eyes, it would not be noticeable. You tried to fight your way through the crowd of students, focusing on the floor in front of you. You pushed past several people who probably were not involved, but jeered at you anyway. Just when you almost had reached your locker, you were forcefully punched in the side, by another bulky student. The impact made you stumble sideways and you bumped painfully into one of the lockers. A stinging pain shot through your shoulder and all air was pressed out of your lungs, resulting in a pathetic wheeze. You could hear the laughter erupting around you, while your hand quickly moved to cover the part of your shoulder that hurt the most, your head spinning from the sudden sideways motion. Before you could even properly comprehend what was happening around you, a figure had jumped in front of you, protecting you from the sight of the other students or further attacks.

“Leave them the fuck alone!”

You could not place exactly where you had heard the voice before, but you felt incredibly grateful for whoever it was that stood up to the people bullying you.

“Uh, playing savior, Way?” a snarling voice asked.

A big hand grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet, dragging you away from the crowd.

“Don’t ever touch them again,” the voice next to you answered in a dangerous growl, but continued dragging you away.

“Much in love, are we?”

You really felt the need to punch this guy in the face, but you still were dizzy and completely confused, not to mention the iron grip around your arm.

“Go fuck yourself,” the person next to you mumbled before you finally walked through a door and a breeze of fresh wind fanned over your heated skin.

You were sat down on a bench under one of the trees and had finally the chance to look at who had gotten you out of this messed up situation.

You recognized the ripped jeans, the leather jacket and the greasy hair immediately; even though Gerard was the last person you had expected to see. He knelt down in front of you, pushing hair out of his face and looked at you carefully, his eyes full of concern.

“You okay?”

His voice was soft, nothing like the dangerous, hard tone he had used towards the other students.

You nodded, even though you were not sure if you really were okay. You shoulder hurt and you felt dizzy, not to mention the cold, sticky energy drink that wetted your hair, face and clothes.

Gerard reached for his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, dipping it over your face gently to dry your skin. You let him. You had no idea why he was helping you, why he was so kind, but right now you did not care. You desperately needed someone who looked after you right now, and even though you had always considered Gerard to be trouble, right now he was comforting to be around. You tried to hold back the sobs and tears that were threatening to surface and instead concentrated on his face. His features were soft and almost fragile, with a bit of makeup he could easily pass as a beautiful girl. His eyes were of a deep hazel and focused on your face, which made you suddenly very self-conscious.

“Let’s get you home, shall we?”

Gerard looked up at you with soft eyes and you nodded. He stood up and noticed you had problems standing straight.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked, worry laced in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s just… it’s a bit much, you know?”

You smiled up at him excusing. He wrapped one of his arms around your waist and led you through the back gate of the playground to his car.

He made sure you were buckled in safely before starting the motor and driving towards your street. He stopped the car in front of your house, helping you out of the car and accompanying you to the door.

“Will you be okay?”

For a moment you hesitated. You really did not want to be alone right now, you knew, your negative thoughts would overwhelm you the second you were alone.

“Could you come inside with me?”

Shyly you looked up at him, catching the moment of surprise on his face, but he quickly regained his confidence.

“If you want to, sure,” he smiled gently.

You pushed open the door and led him inside.

“Do you want something to drink,” you offered, but he shook his head.

Together you walked upstairs, Gerard following you as if he was scared you would fall down the stairs any moment. You opened the door to your room and pointed to the bed.

“Would you mind to wait for a few minutes, I’d really like to take a shower,” you explained. The sticky and stinking liquid on your skin felt worse with every second.

“Sure, take your time, sugar,” Gerard answered, his eyes scanning your room.

You were slightly surprised by what he had called you but your mind was still trying to wrap around everything that happened in the last thirty minutes, so you just grabbed a fresh set of clothes and headed to the bathroom.

When you returned to your room only a few minutes later, still rubbing your wet hair dry with a towel, you found Gerard sitting in front of your CD collection. He had taken off his leather jacket and thrown it over the back of your chair. Without his jacket he looked weirdly naked, only wearing a shirt and jeans.

“Smashing Pumpkins, eh?” He held up one of the albums.

“Yeah,” you smiled, “Do you know them?”

“If I know them? Oh man, I love them!” Gerard exclaimed happily, putting the CD back in its place.

You sat down on your bed, suddenly feeling tired and worn out. You felt the mattress dip next to you and when you looked up, Gerard had sat down at your side. His eyes were studying your face as if he could read your thoughts that way.

“What’s your beef with these guys at school anyway,” he suddenly enquired.

You felt a suspicious burning at the back of your throat and in your eyes, but you answered anyway, unable to hide the bitterness in your voice. “If I only knew…”

“But that’s new, right? Usually they left you alone, didn’t they?”

Gerard seemed not to notice that you were close to tears.

“Usually I’m with Patrick and Joe, then they leave us alone, but they’re both on student exchange right now,” you explained.

“Patrick’s your boyfriend?”

Confused you looked up at him, a smile playing around your lips. “Ugh, no, ‘Trick’s like, my best friend.”

“What about Joe?”

“No, no. Joe’s a great guy, but no.”

“Any boyfriend at all?  Girlfriend, love interest?”

“You ask an awful lot of questions, you know that?” you giggled, looking up at Gerard, who smiled lovingly at you.

“Just making sure, if I got a chance,” he told you, a slight blush creeping on his cheeks.

You smiled, too exhausted to feel deeply flattered by his words as you usually would. Instead you jokingly nudged him in the shoulder. He giggled and you continued sitting on your bed in silence for a while.

“I just don’t know what I’ve done to them to treat me that way.” Your voice was wet with tears and finally they rolled down your cheeks, dropping into your lap.

Gerard wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his chest.

“Some people are just plainly assholes, who love to see other people suffer,” he mumbled, stroking you damp hair.

“But why?” By now you sobs were ripping through your body and Gerard pulled you down with him to lay on your bed.

“Because they got no heart,” he whispered. “That’s why we should pity them.”

“Easier said than done,” you sobbed.

There was silence for a while before you spoke up again.

“I just wanna run away. Like. Take the car, turn the music up real loud and drive south to Florida, or California. Somewhere where it’s warm and with the sea. Maybe I can find a place to belong there.”

“If you do, let me know, I’ll come with you,” Gerard told you quietly.

“Why would you?”

“Because you’re not the only one who feels like they don’t belong here. And you are a fucking amazing person, sugar, I think we’d be a good team.”

You curled tightly into his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt and nuzzling your nose against his neck. He smelled of shampoo and coffee. Your sobs died down and your eye lids grew heavy. Gerard had his arms wrapped around your body, holding you close to him, every other minute stroking your head or your back affectionately. You could feel yourself relaxing to the even rhythm of his breath and his heartbeat and soon you had fallen asleep.

When your mother came home a few hours later and checked in on you, she found you cuddled into the side of a young man who she recognized as one of the neighbors’ boys. He looked up at her, careful not to disturb the sleeping figure at his side.

Your mother’s eyes scanned the situation for a second and a slight smile spread over her face. She knew something had been off this morning and she was glad that you had found someone who you trusted to look after you.

“Tough day?” she asked quietly and the boy nodded, again careful not to wake you.

She smiled softly and quietly pulled the door closed.

Part Two

[sassysweetstories]

Second Chances

Request: “Im kinda crazy for chris argent of TW pls kindly do a fic about him where his highschool sweetheart is back in town n to teach in allison school. She was heartbroken by chris who choose allison mother over her before. But chris has his reason. Now that shes back, they cant deny that they still have feeling for each other. Make it angst pls. Thanks.” 

Ship: Chris Argent x Fem!Reader 

Warning: angst, swearing, fluff, minor kissing, yelling, mentions of cheating, fighting, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. 

Your P.O.V

[A few years ago..]

How could he? I thought to myself as I glare daggers at the back of my now ex-boyfriends head. So much for high school sweethearts.. He wraps his arm around Victoria, smiling as they dance across the floor, swaying to the music above us. They look like polar opposites. It was like watching the angel and the devil tango. Nobody liked it. And even though we broke up a few weeks ago, it still stings. We were the perfect couple after-all. I guess we weren’t perfect enough. Glancing back at my date, I force a smile despite the pain emulating within my heart. When he spins me around, I feel Chris’s eyes burning into the side of my face. Maybe he regrets his choice? I sure hope so.

[Now]

Glancing up at the sign, I sigh to myself. Mixed emotions plague my mind. Don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled to finally have the opportunity to teach. It had been something I’d always wanted to do, ever since I was a kid. But in all honesty, I was petrified. Sucking in a quick breath of fresh air, I head into my classroom and prepare for the day ahead. When the students start shuffling in, I start to feel more confident. That is until my gaze caught wind of a beautiful chocolate haired girl. She sat down in the middle of the classroom with a contagious smile. For some reason, she looked familiar.

Looking away, I ignore the weird feeling that begun to bubble inside my stomach. Glancing up at the list of names, I begun to call off- “Stiles Stilinski.” My eyes trailed to the hand raised. A boy who gave me a goofy grin. “Scott McCall.” The boy next to him waved his hand over to catch my attention, sporting a similar likable puppy dog smile. I can't help but return the respectable grin before continuing down the list until one name caught my eye.

Allison Argent

It can't be.. "Uh.. Allison Argent." The beautiful girl I saw earlier raised her hand and smiled. That’s why she looked familiar. She looks just like him. I stare at her for a second before asking, very much dreading the answer. “Do you happen to be related to Christopher Argent?” She nodded and smiled before saying, “Yeah, he’s my dad.” In that moment, my heart dropped and shattered into a million pieces. That bastard. She continued. “Why do you ask?” I have gotten fairly good at lying these past few years. Especially when it came to the protection of my own broken heart. 

So when I reply, my tone is calm and collective. “We went to high school together. Small world.” She nodded, genuinely intrigued by the topic. I finish calling off everyone’s names then proceed to educate the class on Hamlet, my favorite of Shakespeare’s many pieces. But I couldn’t for the life of me get the pang of pain out of my heart. Had he really moved on and stayed with Victoria and had a child? Pff, why do I even care? That was years ago. none of that should matter now. Except it does. At least in my heart it does. 

The next few weeks were not as easy as I thought they’d be. Every time I looked at the poor girl, I was reminded of the long tear filled nights I had spent crying over a boy who never really loved me. And instead of looking at her, I avoided all eye contact. It helped but I’d be lying if I said there still wasn’t this void within me. I file my work away and start to clean my classroom, which got surprisingly dirty quite quickly. Playing some soft turns from my old CD player, I almost hadn’t noticed a new body enter the room. “Hi, Allison. What can I do for you, hun?” 

She smiled at the nickname and entered. “My rides a little later and I was wondering if I could wait in here until he came? It’s pouring like crazy outside and it’s freezing in the halls.” I pull out the nearest chair and pat it, softly. “Of course, make yourself at home. I hope you don’t mind the music while I clean my room up. Ya know, you’d think I’d wrapped my head around the fact that kids are messy.” She giggles softly before staring off and out the window. I finish picking my room up and sit to grade some papers. The soft music and a small hum of rain that pattered from atop the roof was the only thing sound between us. 

I get up again to put a file away before a low, gruff voice spoke from behind. “(Y/n)?” As I turn over my shoulder to see whom the voice belonged to, my heart dropped. Standing before me was my high school sweetheart, Chris Argent. Shit, I should have guessed he would be picking her up. Idiot. He was a lot taller than I had expected him to be. Chris’s face was gruff and more bearded than ever. His body was built and toned like a god. Oh, for gods sake, I could practically see his pecks under his thin grey shirt. His brown eyes were still the same but they looked harder than ever. His hair slightly tinted with grey to mask his aging process. Probably due to stress. Chris looked good, too good. 

God, damn it! Why couldn’t he have turned out ugly?! “Chris.. Uh- long time no see.” I internally roll my eyes. What kind of response is that, you soggy poptart?! The way he’s looking at me makes me think he’s sizing me up just as I am doing right now with him. “(Y/n).. Is-Is that really you?” The way he asks the question shocks, not only me, but his daughter, too. It was the most innocently soft thing I’d ever heard. I could have sworn he was about to cry. “Yeah, it’s me. You look great, Christopher. You have a beard now. Impressive. I remember when you couldn’t even grow a mustache.” We both laugh but there’s an unspoken pain between us. When I look into his eyes, all I see is regret. Good. 

“And you. You cut your hair. You look..” He pauses for a second, trying to find the right word before saying, “..immaculate.” I can feel my cheeks flushing but above all else, it’s like someone ripped open a wound that’s just about to heal. No. I will not let him break me again. I clear my throat, beckoning towards Allison whom he hasn’t looked at since he first entered. “Uh.. Thank you. You two should get going. Don’t wanna get caught up in the storm.” Allison’s by the door, waiting and watching our interaction closely. “We should get coffee sometime. Catch up.” He says softly. And when I look up at him, I feel an immediate sense of regret. There’s so much hope in his big blue eyes. 

But I was not about to get my heart broken again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I am Allison’s teacher, after-all. That would be highly inappropriate.” The second the words leave my mouth, a bitter taste starts to form in the back of my throat, like bile. His eyes look sad and regretful. I had never seen someone go from such a high spirit to a low one so quickly. He shook his head, heart still hopeful. “It’s just coffee-” I cut him off. “Good day, Mr. Argent.” When I say his name, it’s almost like a reminder of what positions we are in. He’s married and a father. I’m Allison’s high school teacher. But that was only the beginning. 

I don’t bother to watch his tragic state as he walks out with his daughter. I cannot get involved with Christopher again. I don’t think my heart could take it a second time. Seeing him was like opening a wound that had finally been shut. He still looked like himself, just more aged like a fine wine. I clutch my chest and sit down, feeling dizzy all of a sudden. But he’s always had that effect on me. 

Third P.O.V

“Why were you acting like that, Dad?! You were looking at her in a certain way. You’ve never looked at mom like that. Dad!” Allison cried, feeling conflicted and hurt and confused. Chris was hurting inside. Seeing his beloved for the first time in a so many years. She looked as beautiful as the day they first met. Finally he caved in, tired of keeping secrets. Especially from his beloved daughter. “Okay, okay. A long time ago, your mom, Mrs. (Y/L/N) and I attended high school together. We were what you kids today call “couple goals”. We were like Romeo and Juliet, Bonnie and Clyde Ying and Yang. 

“We were a perfect pair. We had a love that kids only ever dreamed of. The kind of sappy stuff you see in movies. We were so in love and attached to the hip that people would be uncomfortable if one of us was without the other. We were absolutely inseparable. The power couple among power couples.” His voice died out, cracking towards the end. Allison’s heart ached for her father. He was the strongest man she knew. And to see him so torn up, to the point of tears, she knew he must’ve been hurting something fierce. She wanted to console but more importantly, understand what happened. 

“What happened between you two?” She took his hands to support him and only hoped he would press on. Mr. Argent cleared his throat and swallowed down the pain like a shot of whiskey. “I went to a party. (Y/n) and I had gotten into a small argument, one that I had blown up over. It was a stupid reason, too. So I told her I was going to a party. She warned me not to. To just be safe and be careful. That it was a bad idea but I didn’t listen. That’s when your mom got involved.

“We drank so much that night. The next morning I woke up in her bed. I ran to (Y/n) in hopes that she would understand that it was nothing. But she shut me out and I deserved it. I broke her heart. But then everything changed when Veronica- your mother- confessed to me that she was pregnant. Pregnant with you. I was beyond shocked but there was no doubt in my mind that I would not love you unconditionally. I would not abandon you or your mother when all I wanted was a child. I just had expected it to have happened with (Y/n). But over time, I grew to love and respect your mother. 

“But at the end of the day, you can’t forget your first love. No matter how hard you try. And god knows I loved that woman more than anything in the universe. But I broke her and I deserve to suffer, to hurt. I fucked up bad. And seeing her again made me want to fix everything with her again. I just want to mend the wounds I put there.” Allison listened intently, clenching her fists to hide her anger towards her father for being so reckless but was also feeling sad for him, too. He was her father, after-all. Her mother was long gone, but throughout their marriage, Allison could not tell how unusual it all seemed. They both loved Allison but neither really loved the other. 

And, without having too look up at him, she knew what he was thinking. Should I fight for her? Or have I done enough damage? For a split second, she thought no. Leave the poor woman alone. She’s been through enough. But then she thought of Scott. He loved and fought for her, cherished and held her close to his heart. And even when they broke up, he was still there for her. And for a second she wondered if that’s what her dad and teacher had had. “Go get her dad. Fix your mistakes.” That was all he needed to hear before he revved the engine as Allison hopped out of the car. 

Christopher hadn’t thought about what he’d say or what he’d do. All he knew was that he needed her, desperately. Pulling up to the school, he quickly got out of the car, not even bothering to throw on a jacket to mask himself from the pouring rain. He’s drenched from head to toe by the time he enters the school. Nearly slipping and falling on his ass, he runs to her room in hopes to catch her in time. Mr. Argent’s jaw drops to the floor when he sees her still standing there, looking as beautiful and radiant as ever. Before she could even speak, he waltz's up to her and places his lips atop hers. The kiss was passionate, heavy and warm. 

It was needy and desperate on both ends as she begun to kiss back, plunging helplessly into the darkness she would soon experience again. But then she registered what was happening and pushed him back. “No, no, no, no. I’m not going to do this again, Christopher. You’ve broken my heart once, I won’t let you do it again.” She’s crying now, trying to keep herself together as best she can but it seems useless. “(Y/n), let me explain-” She pushed him hard, pulling back before clutching her sides. “No! You cheated on me with Victoria! What did I do to deserve that-” Chris shook his head, practically yelling. “None of this was your fault! I got completely smashed!

“Yes, I did cheat on you. And being drunk isn’t an excuse. But it happened. A few days after it happened, Victoria told me that she was pregnant with Allison. And you know me, (Y/n). I would never leave someone like that. I wasn’t gonna let her fend for herself. I wanted a baby to call my own. I just- I wanted to have it with you.. And I can’t tell you I’m sorry enough.. God knows it won’t ever clean the wounds I put there. But I loved you so much.. I still do. I am not longer married. I’m actually widowed. Victoria- she- she died. She’s been gone for five years now.” (Y/n) can’t help but feel the need to apologize. The loss of someone is undeniably unbearable. 

“So you just- you impregnate Victoria and don’t tell me-” Chris shook his head, almost to the point of tears as he looked down at his beloved. “You wouldn’t let me. And you had every right! You hated me and I deserved it. I deserved to suffer and I still do but I will not leave here with bad blood. I love you. I always have and I always will. I’m not gonna let you go again. Not when I can actually do something about it. (Y/n), I am so sorry. For everything I did to you.” The two looked at one another, neither making a sound. That was until (Y/n) took two steps forward and smashed her lips onto his. She shouldn’t be doing this but she needed him as much as he needed her. “I love you, Chris Argent.” He grinned from ear to ear before muttering. “I love you too, (Y/n) (Y/L/N).” 

(I hope you liked it! I’m really sorry for the long wait. I’ve been very very busy!!) 

[ultraspideysense-blog]

Wish You Were Here (Tom Holland Smut)

request: i think it was kinda? someone wanted phone sex w tom so here we are i’m too lazy to find it but anon one’s for u babe <3

short summary: tom was a little shit this whole week about the fresh cut and it got u all hot and bothered when he finally posted a pic so u know seeing as u can’t see him phone sex will have to do

length: 1.6k words

warnings: smut

A/N: i’m sorry i know i said i was working on 2 angsty peter fics but i knew i needed to write this as soon as he finally stopped being a snake and showed us that dope cut bc goddamn it looks fucking NICE i’m so s o r r y 
pls forgive me

You toyed with yourself as you paced around your bedroom. Not knowing what exactly to do, you were at a loss. You didn’t want to cave, but at the same time you were beyond caring. The reward would be too great if you would just succumb to your wants.

Tom hadn’t only been messing with his fans all week, but you too. What started as a simple joke tweet had amassed into hysteria in his fandom. He’d initially planned on only waiting a day before showing the world a simple selfie of his new hair cut, but after seeing everyone freak out he decided to take it a step further and mess with everyone for a few days.

Despite the fact that he promised you a picture once it was done, he thought it would be funny to keep you in the dark as well. Every day that the two of you had skyped this week, he made sure a hoodie was placed securely on his head, not a strand of hair peeking out. Not even Harrison would help you when you sent him desperate texts for just one photo. The little assholes.

But, mere minutes ago your phone buzzed with a post notification on instagram. You’d been in the middle of doing some long overdue laundry, but you nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw it was from Tom’s account.

Unlocking your phone at lightening speed, you were nearly drooling once seeing the hair cut. It wasn’t as big of a change as your were expecting, but it still looked...insanely hot. And had his muscles been getting bigger? 


Fuck it, you finally decided, dialing your boyfriend. You sat on your bed, impatiently tapping your bare foot against the carpet as the ringing of your phone echoed in your ears. If he didn’t pick up, you were going to implode.

“Hey Y/N,” you heard seconds later. You groaned when it was Harrison picking up instead of Tom. Ignoring his bright greeting, you launched straight into your mission.

“Where’s Tom? Also I love how now you can talk to me since the hair’s out,” you half joked, half scolded. You could hear him laugh on the other end of the phone. 


“He stepped out for a minute, though I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to hear from you when he’s back,” Harrison replied. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice and wanted nothing more to smack it off his face. Those little shits.

The two of you proceeded to have useless small talk about things going on in your respective lives until you heard a muffled noise from the other end that sounded like your boyfriend.

Harrison why are you on my phone? Give it here, who is it?

“Surprise bitch,” you said monotonously into the receiver.

“Y/N, darling, is everything alright?” he asked innocently as Harrison stepped out. You didn’t believe it for a second. You weren’t even mad anymore you just had an intense longing to have him by your side to fuck you senseless. 


“I need you, Tom,” you whined. “It’s not fair for you to get to tease me all damn week and then just drop this masterpiece on instagram.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to get you all hot and bothered,” he said with sympathy. He wasn’t sorry though. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

“God, I just hate you so much sometimes for pulling shit like this. But I just want you so bad,” you muttered, throwing your head back into the pillows on your bed.

“I’m all yours for the taking,” Tom quietly said, his voice dropping a few octaves. “Can you do something for me, love?”

You nodded slowly, but realized he wasn’t next to you. “Almost anything.”

“I want you to touch yourself for me. Use those hands of yours to fuck your pretty little pussy for me,” he commanded, biting his lip slightly at the mental image he was conjuring of you in your bed. “Can you do that?”


“Okay,” you whispered as you changed to speaker phone and put your phone next to you head. Tom let out a brief tsk.

“Speak up darling, I need to hear your voice. Are you gonna be a good girl for me, Y/N?” he reprimanded lightly.

“Yes Tom, I promise,” you mewled louder, slowly dragging your shorts down your legs in anticipation.

“That’s better,” he sighed contentedly. He stuck a hand down his pants, giving his shaft a few strokes and letting out a few strangled moans that made your insides quake and left your panties more soaked than they already were.

“Put two of those fingers in your mouth, get them nice and wet,” Tom ground out, as he imagined your lips around his half hard cock.

You did as he asked, letting out a small moan as you heard him fumbling with his belt buckle on the other end of the phone, sliding down his pants and boxers in one swift motion.

"God I wish I could see you right now," Tom muttered gruffly on his end of the receiver. "About to finger fuck yourself just for me, eyes glazed over in ecstasy. Those beautiful cheeks flushed in excitement."

You whimpered as his voice echoed around your small bedroom, clinging on to his every word. You heard shuffling on his end of the phone and a belt buckle, signaling that he was likely to get off on this conversation too.

"I miss you, Tom, I want you so badly. I need you so badly," you whimpered as you pulled your fingers from your mouth. 


“I know, god, I miss those lips of yours. My hand just doesn’t compare,” he laughed softly as you smiled a bit.

Your breathing hitched as Tom let out a particularly 
guttural moan while running his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, unbeknownst to you. You closed your eyes, imagining that he was right next to you, instead of many miles away in Montreal. His voice brought you back to reality for a moment.

“Play with that sweet pussy of yours,” he commanded lightly. “Take two of those slim fingers and stroke yourself, just a little bit. Nothing too much.”

You found yourself transfixed in a small haze, doing exactly as he asked of you. Slipping a hand into your panties, you shallowly dipped a finger into your soaking pussy. Wetness flooded the cracks between your fingers, and you whined at the skin to skin contact.

“Talk to me, darling, how are you feeling?” he asked you sultrily.

“My fingers don’t compare to yours,” you pouted lightly. “But fuck, this feels good. Hearing your voice as I touch myself.”

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear,” Tom said, a smirk on his face. He took a moment to spit on his hand before placing it back on his cock, picking up the pace of his hand, his hips bucking up a little bit as he twitched.

“I wanna put them deeper, can I put them deeper?” you asked innocently. He always made you ask before letting you take yourself over completely, finger fucking yourself with all the effort you could muster.

“Go ahead, baby, play with your clit. I wanna be able to hear the sounds of your wetness being completely fucked, I want you to hear your helpless whimpers,” he said while brushing his thumb over the sensitive head of his dick again, letting out a small moan.

You obliged, finally shoving your fingers rhythmically in and out, trying to replicate some of Tom’s techniques to bring yourself to your high faster. You imagined his toned body next to yours, imagining his fingers inside of you as you would grip at one of his biceps, or his freshly trimmed hair. You whimpered into your phone instead.

“Tom,” you chanted weakly with every stroke of your fingers. You began to finally reach and brush at your g-spot, a very pointed whine coming from your throat at this newfound wave of pleasure.

“I’m right here, darling, I’m right here,” he slurred as your whine caused his dick to twitch and his hips buck up higher in his seat. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the sound of your juices against your fingers reverberated across the otherwise quiet room.

You bit at your bottom lip as you felt a small wave of excitement rushed through your body. Tom was almost as much of a mess as you were on the other end of the line. His hand was soaked with his own precum, and he was almost ready to burst.

“Are you close, honey? Are you gonna come for me soon?” he asked you, wanting to make sure that you came before him or at the same time as him. You let out a breathy moan before your mind could formulate a response to break from your lips.

“T-Tom, I don’t think I can hold on much longer,” you got out as a violent spasm shook your legs in anticipation. You were starting to see spots in your vision, your head spinning in pure ecstasy.

“Let it go for me, kitten, come all over those pretty fingers of yours. Keep those beautiful eyes open, watch yourself come undone by your own fingers,” he wheezed out, ready to reach his own high.

“I love you so much,” you all but screamed as you finally let yourself go. You tried to keep your eyes open, you really did, but it was nearly impossible with the amount of pleasure shooting through your veins.

You could hear Tom letting out a low groan that increased in volume as he released more and more. A symphony of your name and many curse words fell from his lips as he envisioned you right there next to him in Montreal.

“God, I can’t wait to have your sexy self back in my arms,” he whispered after finishing. He slowly got up to find some towels in his trailer to clean himself off with. You blushed at the thought of what he’d do to you if he actually had you at his disposal right now.

You heaved a sigh as both you  came down from your respective highs. You felt immense relief and a feeling of pure bliss. But you were still missing your boyfriend like crazy.

“I love you a lot, you know?” you said quietly after a few moments of silence. You heard Tom hum softly.

“I know baby, I know. I miss you,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”

“Good. Because I miss having one of your hands wrapped around my throat while you fuck me into oblivion with that glorious cock of yours,” you replied, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Don’t you dare start again and tease me, darling, I’ve gotta go back to set in a few minutes,” he wearily replied. You laughed a bit.

“You’re one to talk, asshole. I still can’t believe you kept me in the dark all week with your fans, that was cold,” you pouted a bit, even though he couldn’t see you.

“It was all in good fun,” he said dismissively. You scoffed.

“Whatever you say Thomas. Just know you’ve started a war that you’re going to regret getting yourself into.”


permanent tag list: @searvhing @curly-haired-crisp @werido-fangirl @dreaming-of-the-lost @nightviolet @sunshine-raee @bitsyb21 @naybeirao @thespidersman @themusicorthemisery

please give me feedback!! what did u think!! bc i’d love to know!! idk how this turned out lol but

per usual requests are always open, but i’m moving into my dorm this week so it might take a bit. love u guys :) also shoot me an ask if u wanna be on my permanent tag list!

[roman-reigns-princess]

Cat & Mouse (Roman Reigns): Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Read it on Wattpad Writing Masterlist

Summary: In a world of werewolves, and shapeshifters, WWE is a hotspot for such creatures. Lyra and her older half brother’s team are no different. Ever since she joined the company, Lyra and Roman had been undeniably attracted to each other, but nothing good ever comes easy. Will Lyra and Roman give in to each other? Or will Seth come between his sister and her happily ever after? 

Warnings (will be edited as fic goes on): 18+, will be NSFW at some point, age difference (I guess? Idk what people consider an age difference, but I won’t specify her age, all Ima say is she’s like a couple yrs younger than Seth), smut (later on in the fic), Alpha!Roman

Lyra (OFC) Face Claim: Becky G (as she is now, not in 2014)

Word Count: 1441

A/N: This fic is set in Jan 2014 around the Royal Rumble (pls ignore the fact that the gif is post shield, he’s so cute). Honestly Seth and Dean are pretty irrelevant to the story and will probs only be here for like the 1st & 2nd chap, I just needed the Shield dynamic for angst btwn Roman and Lyra lmao. This is like my first actual fic in years so pls go easy on me 😅

Tag List (if anyone wants to be added, let me know): @m-a-t-91 @mrsamberlopezgoodanoai @simulated-heat @greatbreadwizard @hoodgirl163 @sabrina-the-champ @thiickreigns @alexahood21 @ii-love-roman-reigns @queenreignsempire @flawlessglamazon @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @x-fivefoot  @finnbalorsdemonqueen @romanempirefics @rocketgirl2410 @sausagefest1996 @vebner37 @macfizzle @cute-face-chubby-waist @wwefoever70 @horcruxhunter5972

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Lyra rushed to pack up her station; RAW was done for the day and it was less than a week till the Royal Rumble, so things were getting hectic even for makeup artists such as herself.

She was traveling with her brother and his partners as usual, and they always bugged her about packing up quicker. She scrambled around, frantically searching for her brushes; every other make up bag was packed away in her roller bag, except that one.

She grumbled to herself, knowing that Seth was going to chew her out for being late again. She got down on her hands and knees to check if she’d accidentally kicked it under a table, when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her up, making her yelp in alarm.

“As much as I love seein you with your ass in the air, we really gotta go, baby girl,” Roman’s deep voice rumbled in her ear as he set her on her feet; she could feel her face turning red as she stepped away. She just knew he’d be smirking when she turned to glare up at the Alpha standing behind her in his cargo style pants and a plain black t-shirt.

“I’m almost done, I’m just looking for one more thing,” she replied, choosing to ignore his blatant flirting.

Ever since she’d joined WWE as one of their permanent makeup artists, she’d caught the attention of WWE’s infamous Thoroughbred Alpha; Roman and her would flirt at any chance they got, constantly trying to find new ways to tease each other without Seth finding out.

But to Lyra’s dismay, Roman never let it go any further than a drunken New Years kiss; she knew he found her attractive, he never failed to let her know, but she couldn’t figure out if he was holding back because she was Seth’s sister, or perhaps he didn’t want to get involved with a half-human, half-shifter like her. Part of her wondered if he’d go further if she was half-werewolf, like her brother, instead of half-human.

Either way it left her frustrated and even more determined to get him to fuck her; but that moment wasn’t the right time for it, Seth was already annoying her with his rather hypocritical lectures about how he basically expected her to be a nun, she didn’t need him to bitch her out about punctuality.

“Hey girl, you left this by my station,” said one of the other girls working makeup that night, holding out a little black bag, her eyes flitting between Lyra and Roman before settling on the shifter with an amused look.

“Oh fuck, thanks, I nearly lost my shit when I couldn’t find my brushes,” Lyra said with a nervous laugh as she took the bag from the girl who gave them a small nod and walked away while Lyra stuffed the brushes into her roller bag and zipped it up. “Alrighty, I’m all done.”

“Okay we gotta hurry, think you can keep up? Or do I gotta carry you?” He said, grabbing the handle of her bag in one hand and her forearm with his other, dragging them both after him.

“Shut the fuck up, Reigns,” she huffed, barely managing to snatch her purse off the table as she struggled to keep up with his long strides, making him laugh in return.

She was thankful that the exit was fairly close as her short legs were starting to burn by the time they made it there; Seth had already pulled the car up with Dean riding shotgun. Her brother honked loudly at them, resulting in both Lyra and Roman flipping him off.

“Go ahead and get in, I’ll put your bag in the trunk with the rest of the shit,” said Roman, giving her ass a light smack, she shot him a dirty look but his back was turned to her. She got into the car behind Seth, and Roman joined soon after.

“Took you guys long enough,” Seth grumbled as he sped out of the arena parking lot, heading for the highway that would take them to their next destination.

“Hey don’t look at me, not my fault the little princess here couldn’t keep track of her shit,” Roman said with a shrug.

“Don’t throw me under the bus like that, asshole,” she hissed, punching his arm, which had absolutely no effect on him, but certainly made her regret that decision as her knuckles met hard muscle.

“I’m not gonna take the fall for you when you’re bein’ an irresponsible child,” he retorted, she rolled her eyes, scoffing as she pulled out her phone rather than reply. “Yo, Dean, move your seat up, man, I’m dyin’ back here.”

“You ain’t the only one with long legs, dude,” replied Dean.

“Fine, fine,” Roman muttered; Lyra was busy texting Naomi, whom she’d grown close with over the past few months, so she paid no attention to them until she suddenly found herself being crushed by the large Samoan as he took it upon himself to stretch out across the back seat.

“What the-damnit, Roman, get off me, you’re too big,” she squeaked, trying to push him off.

“Bet that’s not the first time he’s heard that,” Dean snorted, earning a fist bump from Roman, and cackle from Seth.

“Well, if you sit on my lap it’ll work out better for the both of us,” Roman suggested, shifting off of her temporarily. Lyra’s eyes snapped to her brother, or rather the back of his seat, wondering if he’d have a problem with it, but he didn’t seem to care as he hummed along to some 80s song playing on the radio.

“Okay, fine,” was her only reply; she was not going to say no to an opportunity to be pressed up against Roman, even if she was a little annoyed at him.

A year ago she would’ve refused the offer because shifters weren’t pack creatures, but after being around the Shield, and other werewolves in the company, she began to adapt to their pack mentality and the lack of personal boundaries with close friends.

Biting her lip, she moved to sit sideways on Roman’s lap, expecting him to leave her be, but to her surprise he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him so that her back was flush against his warm chest while he moved to stretch across the back seat. She couldn’t help but feel tiny as her smaller frame lay on top of his much larger one.

She was a little surprised at how relaxed she felt in his arms, but that feeling was soon replaced by tension when she felt his lips pressed up against her right ear.

“You see, babe, I’m great at making big things fit, I’ve had lots of practice,” Roman said soft enough so that only Lyra heard it. She felt the blood rush to her face, and she elbowed him in response, not trusting herself to say something, but she knew just how to get back at him.

“Anyone want a lollipop?” She asked as she opened up her purse; she smirked inwardly as she felt Roman shift beneath her.

“What’re you, a five year old?” Dean quipped, making her kick the back of his seat. “Hey, watch it, don’t think I won’t kick your ass just cause you’re Seth’s baby sis.”

“Calm down, the both of you,” Seth said, sounding more than a little exasperated. “And I’ll take grape.”

“You always finish my grape pops,” she grumbled as she handed one to him and picked out a cherry flavoured one for herself. “You’re buying me my next bag of candy.”

“Whatever, kiddo,” he replied; she contemplated hitting his seat too, but settled on unwrapping her lollipop instead.

“Roman,” she said, looking up to find his eyes transfixed on the candy in her hand as she gave it a slow lick. “D'you want one too?”

“I, uhm, what, oh,” Roman cleared his throat, his arms tightened around her as she swirled her tongue around the lollipop; he forced himself to meet her eyes as she blinked up at him innocently. “I’m all good, babe, you just keep licking and sucking like a good girl.”

“Mmmhmm,” was her only response as she sucked on it, hollowing her cheeks out. She couldn’t help but feel smug when he finally averted his eyes, mumbling under his breath about how this was going to be a long journey.

She wriggled around in his arms until she found a position she liked, not that any position that involved her on top of Roman could ever be uncomfortable, but she wanted to tell Naomi about this, and she certainly couldn’t have Roman looking at her phone. While it may be a long journey for Roman, it was going to be a fun ride for her.

[renaleis]

[Without You, I’m Just a Sad Song]

AU: Barista!Jimin (sort of)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader (i tried my best to be gender neutral so everyone could enjoy)

Genre: Fluff; so fluff it’s like marshmallow fluff 

Length: 1.8k

Song: Sad Song - We The Kings ; pls listen to this song while reading!

So basically I did a fic exchange with the wonderful @jeonwrites and she requested a barista!jimin fluff and this was the best I could come up with but I love her to pieces and it was so much fun to do this fic exchange with her! Do check out her blog and her work! <3

p.s. feedback is always appreciated since it helps me improve! anyways hope yall enjoy some cute jimin :’)

  - Five years ago -

  With you, I'm alive, Like all the missing pieces of my heart, they finally collide.   So stop time right here in the moonlight, Cause I don't ever wanna close my eyes.

  The day you stumbled across the quaint little bookstore a few blocks down the road from your school was undoubtedly the best day of your life. It was filled with books both old and new, from literary classics to modern novels, and the tea or coffee, depending on when you visited, served by the owner made it a charming and lovely place; a hidden gem in every sense of the word. You quickly became a regular here, coming every day after class to work on your assignments and to try out the newest pastries baked by the owner Park Jimin himself.

  Jimin was a man of few words, but his actions said everything he didn’t need to. You’d learned that he has a passion for the culinary arts, particularly baking and brewing drinks, and had decided to turn a portion of the bookstore into a small cafe. Every time you came in there would be a plate ready for you, a freshly baked pastry with a cup of tea or coffee to go along with your reading for the day. On occasion there would be a book tucked underneath the plate, something he thought you would enjoy.

  He never said much, but he always paid attention to the little things. If you sniffled he’d bring you a few tissues, if you were shivering he’d take his scarf and wrap it around you; once when it was raining you’d forgotten your umbrella, and you’d walked into the store drenched in water. What did Jimin do? The boy ran to his apartment above the store and brought you a change of clothes along with a blanket to keep you warm.

  The bookstore itself was a hidden gem no doubt, but it took you two months of visiting to finally understand that the greatest treasure hidden in the store wasn’t the countless number of stories in books, nor was it in the countless frappuccinos, macchiatos, or teas, but the quiet boy behind the counter who took care of you like a lover.

  And maybe, that’s all Jimin really wanted.

  To call you his.

~~~

  - Four years and seven months ago -

  You’re the perfect melody,

The only harmony I wanna hear.

  It was quite cliche really, how easily Jimin had become smitten with you. Although admittedly, it was quite difficult to ignore a beautiful individual that came in every day with an aura like yours. Something about you drew him in like a moth to a flame. Most people would say that it was only puppy love, but Jimin knew that he had long since passed that phase, that the feelings he harbored in his heart were genuine and true. Of course, he was never able to express these feelings to you; he could never. It was as if his life had become a romance trope, one where he was too afraid to confess to you because of course the worst thing that comes to his mind is: what if the feelings weren’t mutual?

  Jimin shook his head, clearing these thoughts as he brought you today’s special: a chocolate filled croissant with a cafe latte. A pleasant warmth filled his chest as you smiled up at him, accepting the treats with a thank you.

  “I hope you enjoy these today [Y/N].” He said, bowing slightly.

  “Why don’t you join me today? The shop isn’t crowded right now and you could use a break Jimin.” You asked, feeling nervous at the prospect of being the one to invite him for coffee. Ironic really.

  “Sure.” Jimin smiled, excusing himself and returning a moment later with his own coffee.

  “So,” You began, taking a sip of your latte. “You seem to know all the things I like, but I hardly know anything about you.”

  “Well for starters, this here bookshop is my home.” Jimin held the cup between his hands, hoping that his nervousness wasn’t too obvious. His eyes darted back and forth before settling on the coffee in his cup. Jimin was not in any way prepared for this, and he suddenly became self conscious of his appearance. Did his clothes look okay? What about his hair?

  “Do you have any hobbies?” You continued, taking a bite of the croissant, and successfully breaking Jimin from his thoughts.

  “Pretty much everything I do here. Baking, reading, et cetera.” Jimin replied.

  “Is this like a full time job or part time? Do you go to the university nearby?”

  “Yeah I’m a freshman, but I take online classes so this is kind of like a full time job. I love it here though, since I get to meet all of the amazing and beautiful people that come into my shop.” Jimin felt himself relaxing in his seat as his eyes finally met yours. A smile made it’s way onto his face as he continued. “People like you [y/n].”

~~~

  - Three years and eleven months ago -

  You're my favourite part of me,

With you standing next to me, I've got nothing to fear

  It wasn’t long after that first conversation that you and Jimin had developed deeper feelings for one another, with simple fifteen minute chats that turned into talks that lasted hours. Some days you would end up sleeping at Jimin’s little half bookstore-half cafe because you both knew you’d just come back in the morning anyways.

  You wondered if this friendship between you two would ever grow into something more. You knew you had already fallen in love with him, and you were at least ninety-eight percent positive that Jimin felt as strongly for you. Of course, it had only been a matter of days after these thoughts made their way into your mind when Jimin had finally asked you on a date.

  That day was one that you would never forget. You had both been so nervous, stumbling over each other’s words until it finally reached a point where the two of you couldn’t control your laughter. Jimin wanted to take you on a nice dinner date followed by a movie (the traditional and classy way to woo a person he claims) but by the time you had finished dessert and managed to stop laughing both you and Jimin realized that, honestly speaking, these kinds of dates were too boring.

  Instead, the two of you ended up going to a night market a couple blocks away from the bookstore. The whole night was spent eating various street foods (the restaurant hadn’t been exactly filling), watching several performers and even dancing along to their music, and buying little fun and whimsical knickknacks together (Jimin still had no idea where to put the little marble cat statues the two of you bought).

  By the end of the night you two were exhausted, and you decided to head back to the bookstore, where Jimin made two caffe mochas. Ever since Jimin had found out that mochas were among your favorite coffee drinks, he’d wanted to make the perfect cup of caffe mocha for your first date.

  As the two of you quietly sipped your drinks, Jimin intertwined his fingers with yours, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. Setting his cup down, Jimin felt his nervousness from the beginning of the date returning again as he contemplated his next move. Taking a deep breath he decided this was going to be his only chance and no way in hell was he going to mess it up.

  “Hey [y/n]?”

  “Yeah?” You turned towards him, cheeks burning as you realized how close he actually was. Without hesitating any longer than he wanted to, Jimin leaned forward, lips trembling as he kissed you. You were both shaking but it was okay, because first kisses weren’t meant to be perfect, only memorable, and neither of you would ever forget this moment. Jimin finally pulled away, smiling as he rested his forehead against yours.

  “Do you think it’s too soon to say I love you?” He asked.

  “Depends, do you think it’s too soon to say I love you too?”

~~~

  - Present day -

  Without you, I feel broke,

Like I'm half of a whole

  Without you, I've got no hand to hold,

Without you, I feel torn…

  “...Like a sail in a storm, without you, I'm just a sad song.” You smiled as you finished reading out loud the lyrics in the small book Jimin had given you today along with your coffee; a caffe mocha. You had gone through almost all the books in the store already, so Jimin had opted to give you books he made himself, compiled of various poems, song lyrics, and other things that reminded him of you. It was something he had started doing at the beginning of your relationship, along with the traditional caffe mocha drink reminiscent of your first date, and had continued doing for the four years the two of you had been dating.

  “What did you think of that song?” Jimin asked, eyes sparkling as he kissed your cheek.

  “I love it. In fact, I vaguely remember that song playing once or twice in the store before am I right?” You smiled, shifting in your seat, which in this case was Jimin’s lap, so that you were facing him.

  “Good because I was thinking of singing it with the other guys. Taehyung, Hoseok, and Seokjin are all for it, and Yoongi and Jungkook have no choice but to agree.” Jimin sighed in content as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, pulling you closer.

  “Oh? How did you get those two to agree to such a lovey dovey song?” You asked, fingers absentmindedly running through his hair.

  “Well because they’ll be singing it on our wedding day.” Jimin said.

  You choked, staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re thinking about when we get married already?”

  “Yeah, and I’m hoping for sooner rather than later.”

  “Jimin what-”

  “[Y/N] you only have a little bit of mocha left, why don’t you finish it first?”

  Rather confused, you did as he asked and brought the small cup to your lips, finishing the remaining bit of coffee. A small glimmer of black at the bottom of the cup caught your eye and as you brought the cup closer you realized that words had been inked into the bottom of the porcelain cup. You gasped as you read the words, nearly dropping said cup if it hadn’t been for Jimin holding your hands steady with one hand, while the other held out a small object that shined like a thousand stars.

  Will you marry me?