The Best Thing

The Best Thing

Summary: Miguel O’Hara, star Quarter back of the Nueva York Spiders, lives lavishly with all he could want. What he didn’t want is a little girl popping up at his doorstep claiming to be his daughter. The Game Plan AU. Next>>> Football Player!Miguel x Ballet Teacher!Reader, Gabriella is Miguel’s daughter, No warnings Art: On the right: ethiobirds on tumblr! Left: rusticfurnace on twt A/N: First chapter! DC: for myself and for my fwiends on discord :3c

Star Quarterback of the Nueva York Spiders, Miguel O’Hara was proud of his ability and status. He had a loyal and passionate fanbase, women lining up for a date and money that could last lifetimes. It was hard work, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. To be in top shape, he started his mornings exactly the same. He woke up at 6:00 am, takes a shower at 6:05. Breakfast with his usual protein smoothie at 6:30 and then a quick morning workout until he headed to his next football game in the playoffs. On the field, his team destroys the other one, winning in a landslide. Miguel tries to make the final win by running across the field, passing his teammates and curving past the enemy team that has been tackled. The cold December air nips at him as he rushes across the green landscape, his chest burning since he’s pushing his body to its limits.He spots one of his friends in front of him, Peter B. Parker with his hands up, running towards the goalpost as well. Miguel ignores it, speeding up to make a touchdown all by himself and taking that win proudly. The crowd roars in cheers, fans jumping up and down and waving the red and blue Nueva York Spiders flag. Miguel smiles, eyes scanning the sea of people and he breathes in the air–all of it fueling his pride. He takes off his helmet, sweating running down the sides of his face, his hair sticking to his skin. He bathes in the adoration of thousands of people, the cheers of his name while his team walks away to the locker room and leaving Miguel be. After a few days, Miguel throws a New Year party. Models, his teammates and other friends of his attend his penthouse. Miguel meets with his new fling, a pretty black haired model. He stops her before she leaves, his hands helping her put on her fur coat. “I have to catch the last flight they have to Paris. The shoot started early and my agent isn’t one to be messed with, you know that.” She turns around to face Miguel, her hands resting on his chest. “I’ll miss you.” Miguel takes one of her hands off his chest to kiss her knuckles. “I don’t want you to miss me too much so I got a little something for you.” Dana gasps, her surprise evident. “Close your eyes.” Miguel whispers and she does as he says, smiling to herself. Meanwhile, Miguel takes a step into his walk-in closet, shelves filled to the brim with the same Chanel jewelry but different names labeled under each one. He mumbles her name to himself, searching through the alphabetical order of various different women’s names. He plucks hers off the shelf and returns back in front of Dana. “Open your eyes.” He whispers and lifts the bag up to her. Dana gasps again, grabbing it and lifting it closer to see the brand name. “Oh my God! Channel!” She squeals. Miguel’s smile tightens. “Or Chanel.” He corrects her. Dana lifts herself up to kiss him and Miguel returns it with his hand on her cheek. “I’ll see you, Mikey.” She brushes her lips over his before slipping from his arms and waving him off with her fingers. Miguel rests his hand on her lower back, teasingly running down to rest on her ass. “See you.” He says smoothly and opens the door for her, watching her leave down the hallway. The party continues without a hitch but just a bit before midnight, He sees Peter walking towards the door. “Woah, Parker. Where’re you going?” Miguel stops Peter before he exits his penthouse. Peter pauses and his shoulder sinks slightly before turning to face Miguel. “Is it past your bedtime?” Peter sighs again, knowing what other bullshit Miguel might say. “It’s New Year’s Eve. I wanna see my wife, kiss my kid.” Surprisingly, Miguel takes out his hand for a shake. “Alright. Thanks for coming. Happy New Year” Peter stares at his hand for a moment before taking it. “Happy New Year. See you at practice.” He says while the shake turns into a quick hug. Peter feels a hand shove itself into his coat pocket and Miguel takes out Peter’s wallet with a loud laugh. Peter rolls his eyes. “Mig, give it back. Seriously.”

Miguel opens the wallet, peeking through the credit cards and dollar bills. “I’m trying to find Peter’s man card but it looks like MJ already took it from him.” He laughs and slaps the leather wallet back in Peter’s hand. “Lighten up, Parker. Live a little.” Peter shoves it back in his coat pocket. “This isn’t living, Mig.” He frowns and leaves the penthouse, the air between the two friends being a little tense. His other teammates beside him laugh, muttering how it was funny and to not think about it, patting him on the back. Miguel turns to the celebration. “Who’s ready to party?!” Miguel shouts, the attendees cheering and clinking their champagne glasses, welcoming him back to the crowd. Far into the end of the night, Miguel shoves the rest of his friends out his door after the party had ended. Their protests fall on deaf ears as it finally turns quiet once the door shuts. He sighs and looks down at his bulldog Santos barking. He breaks into a smile. “Santos, I haven't seen you all night, papa.” Miguel rests on one knee to pet the sides of Santos’ head. “You want a treat?” He hums, grinning as the dog pants and barks once more. Miguel jumps towards the kitchen and grabs a football shaped cookie and pretends to duck and swerve around Santos like he would on the field. “Come on, Santos! Defenders are coming around!” Santos runs to the other side of the living room, barking as Miguel shouts out. “He throws!” The cookie is thrown and Santos jumps up, devouring it in three bites. “And touchdown! They’re going crazy!” He mimics the cheers of the crowd with a laugh but it slowly dies down as he realizes there’s no sound. No cheers and no one else in the room. Just him. He sits down on his couch with an exhausted sigh.

The next morning, he decides to rest before heading into practice later in the afternoon. Santos is beside him on the couch, Miguel aggressively patting his body. “Now for our favorite part of the day–the new special on Miguel O’Hara.” He smiles and scratches his legs on the coffee table in front of him, Santos grunting and resting his head on his front paws. Miguel clicks the remote control for his TV to turn on on the sports channel. It opens with high praise calling Miguel the king on the field and acknowledging his agility. Then, it moves to an interview–an exclusive–of Miguel’s passion for the game. He smiles through it all, admiring himself and the answer he gave. “Beyond that field, nothing else matters.” The host shrugs. “If nothing else matters, why does that championship ring elude O’Hara?” Taking a jab at the fact that the Nueva York Spiders somehow managed to slip up just before the championships. Miguel’s demeanor changes to annoyed, turning up the volume as the host continues to critique the man. “Some of the experts say, he’s too selfish when it comes to–” Miguel speeds up the broadcast, making the host sound high pitched and squeaky until he pauses. “Time is ticking, Mig. Ticking on your career.” Miguel shuts off the channel, throwing his remote to the other couch. “Blah, blah, blah! Whatever!” In the middle of whining to himself, he gets a call from the lobby. He rests his arm on the back of the couch. “What?” He grunts. The caller is one of the doormen, Larry. “Mr. O’Hara, I have a visitor here at the reception. A Gabriella Monroe here, sir.” Miguel racks his brain for a face to the name but he comes up short. “I don’t know any Gabriellas.” “It’s a young lady.” He says, almosting invitingly. This catches Miguel’s attention. “Is she cute?” “Oh, yeah. Very.” Miguel becomes excited, anticipating for another woman on his roster. “Well, don’t make her wait. Send her up.” Before Larry can respond, Miguel hangs up the phone. Back at the lobby, Larry chuckles to himself. After a few minutes, the doorbell rings. He hums to himself and swerves his way to the door and opens it. He brushes his hair back, his elbow leaning on the doorframe. “Hello.” He purrs. He looks left and right. No one is there. Thinking it’s some prank, he shrugs and lifts himself off the doorframe. “Goodbye.” He mutters, but as he shuts the door, a tiny and squeaky voice pitches in. “Hey!” Miguel finally looks down and he sees a little girl holding a doll and a pink tote bag–a pink suitcase behind her. She smiles up at him, her teeth a little crooked and her dark wavy hair resting a little over her shoulders–a pink headband at the top of her head.

Miguel’s smile drops to disgust, visibly disappointed. “I don’t want any girl scout cookies, kid.” He kneels down to her level and flexes his bicep. “I gotta stay healthy and strong. Indestructible. Just try and hit me.” The little girl's smile drops as well, her bushy eyebrows furrowing into one of confusion. Still, Miguel urges her on. “C’mon! Try.” Gabriella shrugs, balling up one of her hands into a fist and punching his chest. Miguel laughs, her attempt feeling like a tickle. He imitates her punch. “That’s cute. Real cute. Bye.” He chuckles and closes the door. He tries to walk away from it but the doorbell rings again. His playful act dies out and he storms back to open the door–the little girl staring up at him through her eyelashes, a frown on her face. “Look, I don’t know what you’re selling, kid but I have a hundred right here.” He pulls out two hundred dollars from his pocket and shows it to her but she shakes her head. “I don’t want any money.” She murmurs. “I want–” Miguel stuffs the money back in his pocket, seeming like he finally knows what’s up as he cuts her off. “I know, I know what you want.” She perks up. “An autograph from Miguel O’Hara! Everyone wants them–babies, ladies. You’ll sell it but I'll give it to you for free–just for you– because that’s just how I am. Generous, aren't I?” He chuckles. “Be right back.” He enters back inside but she scurries inside with him after seeing Santos inside. The small bulldog huffs as he sits a little away from the door. She drops her stuff to the floor and kneels down to pet him all over, Santos reciprocates her energy, shaking his body happily. “You have a bulldog! Hey, there baby!” She squeals, Santos licking her chin and neck to show his appreciation. Miguel hurries up to her, shaking his hands as he awkwardly tries to stop her. “Woah, woah, easy, niña. He might attack you, he’s vicious.” He mutters with irritation. She only giggles. “Yeah, with kisses.” Miguels drops his irritation, now bothered by the fact that this child is alone. “You can’t just run into a strangers’ home, kid. There’s weirdos in this world. Didn’t your mom ever teach you that?” The little girl gets up from the ground with her head down, a little ashamed. “Yeah…” She mumbles, looking up at him guilty.

“Where is she?” Miguel asks. “On an airplane.” “An airplane? Then who are you here with?” “My father.” She crosses her hands neatly in front of her. “Then get him because he’s probably running around looking for you. She shakes her head. “He’s not looking for me.” Miguel sighs. “How do you know that?” “Because, he’s looking at me.” Miguel squints in confusion, a soft mumbled ‘wha..?’ “Hi. We’ve never met before. You were married to my mom Tempest, Tempest Monroe?” She speaks meekly, unsure–maybe even a little afraid. “My name is Gabriella. Gabriella Monroe.” Gabriella approaches with a weary smile, her head trying to look up at him. Miguel slowly connects the dots. Connecting into something that makes his heart drop when she speaks next. “I’m your daughter.”

A/N: the first three chapters will follow exactly how the movie goes and from then i'll take bits and pieces from it so it can slide into a miguel x reader :) also,,,,, no fanart of miguel as a football player, sad. taglist <3: @maiyart @aphinthestars @byjessicalotufo @mochi73 @peachey-pie @beezusvreeland @scorpihoooe @having-a-time @slut4oscarissac23 @iamperson12280

This client is rather strange. Is he a vampire or something?

megan is so real for that jjk references pleaseee the way she’s so obsessed with the show is sooo cute

Alright

*clasps hand*

I love you so very much, and I’ll be watching you from your window. (Inside joke)

How about… cowboy!Miggy spectating a gal and her pals, she’s challenged to ride one of those rodeo bulls by her friends and fell like, three seconds in. Obvi she failed, so she has to go get another round of shots for her friends. So he took the opportunity to offer some lessons with the cowboy himself😇

EL TORO 🐂

✭ 18+ Cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x fem! Reader ✭

✭ summary: losing a bet with your best friends, you buy drinks after failing to stay on a mechanical bull for eight seconds, but before you buy another round of drinks, a local cowboy helps you…

✭ content warning: sexual innuendos, Miguel is a little unhinged, dry humping, grinding, cumplay (?), cum-eating (?), semi-exhibitionism, hook-up with a stranger, and alcohol is mentioned. VIEWER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

✭ word count: +1.8k words

✭ a/n: AUGHHHH cowboy! Miguel has me in a chokehold omfg. but here you go, pookie! thank you for your undying support and love! Your wish has been granted 💋 (if there are flaws, I apologize in advance 🩷)

MATURE CONTENT MDNI | MINORS WHO INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED

Orange opaque lights make up the dimly lit bar. Locals from around were either at a table, drinking away from those green beer bottles you grew familiar with ever since you were younger, or seeing your uncles consume those bottles at a baptism or a wedding banquet. Or you saw the occasional burnt middle-aged man sitting at the island counter, rambling to the bartender about his day, complaining about his cattle or the weather. But for you, you came to the bar unwillingly, as your best friends insisted that you liven up the environment.

But really, it was a pathetic excuse to get you out of your grandparent's bungalow home and to meet someone.

・º♢

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Xina urges, flashing her signature smug smile that always appears when she's up to something mischievous. It was always the same arrogant look she did whenever y'all were kids when she got extra chips or a cookie from her pantry closet. Hell, it was the same look your other friends gave you whenever your grandmother or grandfather offered them fresh fruits from their farm.

"No," you quickly retort, sipping your cocktail. "Please!" MJ pleads, grasping your wrists and seemingly ready to kneel. "PLEASE!" Xina soon exclaims, joining MJ to cause a scene with those around you.

"Xina, MJ…!"

"PLEASE!" They draw out the last syllable together, their voice taking on a childish tone reminiscent of when they were eight years old, fleeing from a honey bee or spider. "Okay! Okay..." You groan out, shaking your head in defeat.

"Yes!" Xina pumps her fist in victory before removing your fruity margarita from your hands and placing it on the table. "Now get on! And if you don't last eight seconds, you pay for our next round of drinks!" A low groan emerges from the back of your throat like alcohol stinging your esophagus, ready to escape. But your body, unfortunately, didn't want to do that for you so you could weasel out of the bet. You look back to see MJ at y'all's table, keeping an eye on the drinks while looking at Xina guide (dragging) you across the bar.

Your shoes squeak against the wooden floors as you get pushed to the mechanical bull area. "Just stay on there for eight seconds, and you don't have to pay for our round of shots." You and Xina passed through the semi-packed bar, occasionally brushing shoulders from a couple of guests in the bar. But one character caught your attention, nearly knocking you off your feet.

His russet brown eyes burned into your soul while his cowboy hat shielded the glisten in his eyes, giving him a dead look by any bystander who dared to make eye contact with him. His eyes match yours, lingering on your orbs. The prolonged millisecond of eye contact seized when he smirked, his eyes lingering on you and you only.

His hands, weathered and rugged, bore the marks of hard work - dry, with occasional scars and scratches, yet exuding strength. They were the hands of a hard-working man, capturing attention as much as his eyes did, capturing attention as much as his eyes did. His shirt was unbuttoned, clearly showing a bit of his chest and hair peppered. Oh, how it would feel to be held in those strong hands... Or how his hands would hold onto your hips while bouncing on his dick—

"C'mon! It's your turn to get on!" Xina urges, directing your attention away from the man and to your inevitable end of the night- falling off a mechanical bull within three seconds.

/

You sit at your table, hair somewhat touseled about while you order the next round of drinks for you and your rowdy group of friends. You looked at the half-assed served shot glass and glared at your best friends as they took their shots. With a sigh of defeat, you walk to the bar counter and take a seat on the wooden stool, covering your face and hiding away the embarrassment.

You settled onto the bar counter, absently running your finger along the smooth rim of your shot glass. A sense of intrusion picked at your gut as you felt someone trespassing on your personal space. Glancing to your left, you saw the familiar figure of the man from earlier, seated a few stools away. Your eyes dart back to the tiny glass in your hands, playing with it.

"You couldn't last eight seconds."

That sounded more evocative than it had to.

"Excuse me?"

"3.4 seconds." He adds, not acknowledging the rhetorical question you spat out. "You're those women having to give up straddling like how a car needs an oil change."

What the—

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"You lack balance, sweetheart. And movement." He lifts his shot glass, calling the bartender to refill his shot glass. "It’s straightforward."

"Oh yeah, since you seem to know everything about it, give me some constructive criticism then." You reiterate, knowing that this man was going to play the smartass card with you by sharing information that is useless or already known by the public.

"You’re not engaging your core, and you don't have any balance on your hips." He sighs before mumbling about city folk and getting off his seat. "C’mere." He waved his hand over, ushering you to get close. You didn't know if it was your being an actual dumbass, but you got off your seat and made your way over.

"M’kay," He sighs before getting off his seat and touching your hips. “It's all here, sweetheart. You have to move with the bull; it's called inertia," His hand rests on your hips and squeezes that specific area. "Always move in the opposite direction of the mechanical bull."

"If the bull moves forward, you move back. And if the bull moves back…?"

"I move forward?"

He nods before patting your tummy. "And engage your core a bit. You have abs under there, sweetheart."

His words of advice continue but they muffled out while taking note of his hand resting against your soft stomach, feeling the heat of his palm.

You take note of his words and stop. "Wait, how do you know how to do this?"

"Take it or leave it." He mumbles before he takes his shot and slams the shot glass down. "Actually," He clears his throat and sighs. "Tell them you want to redeem yourself, then tell your friend, the one who dared you to ride the bull, to buy the bill, and I owe you a drink if you make it past eight seconds."

"And if you don't, you owe me a drink."

He removes his hands from your soft stomach and sits back on the stool. "It’s your decision, sweetheart."

You think momentarily, considering the options he placed on the table. The idea of not having to pay a tab and getting a free drink sounded satisfying.

"Will you show me how?"

"Sure, why not?"

/

Sitting on his lap in the darkest, dingiest parts of the bar was not in the plans, but your pigheadedness said otherwise. You straddle down on his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Keep your balance, sweetheart." His right hand pats on your hip before bucking his hips against yours, earning a low groan from him.

"Engage your core and move in the opposite direction of me." His warm breath fans your face before he bucks his hips once again to your clothed sex. A soft mewl escapes your lips, feeling his clothed bulge against your clothed entrance.

"You can do it, c’mon…”

You pathetically moved against his aching bulge, pushing your moist gusset against his denim jeans. "There we go, move your hips to gain balance, move with me."

His dick twitched underneath you, pushing up to be free from its constraints. You slowly gyrated down, bucking your hips against his movement, creating a comfortable tempo.

A choked groan verberates your chest, sending the sensation to Miguel, earning a low moan from the man. "C'mon, keep it up." He jerks his bulge upwards, finally finding its way in between your clothed folds. You wailed, feeling his length now against your clothed clit, rubbing against the sensitive bud slowly and deliciously. You could sense the arousal trickling down to your soaked gusset and gathering the slick arousal in the cloth. "You can do it."

You patted his shoulder and took in deep breaths.

"Try again." His usual staid words slowly evolved into breathy whimpers. Miguel's words of affirmation slowly died, becoming breathy moans and grunts. The typical demands slowly turned into begging as you continued to push downwards, feeding the desires you two desperately wanted.

"Muneca..." He rasps out before you see his hands scramble down to his belt.

The sound of his belt clinking was enough of an indicator, but you knew what was next. The sound, let alone left you salivating with anticipation.

"Grind on the length."

Oh... Oh.

Glancing down, your eyes widen at the sight. Sure, he was pushing seven inches but the girth... With your left hand, you move the gusset of your underwear to the side and slowly guide your aching core down to his length, slowly enveloping his length into your soaked folds.

A low groan verberates your chest cavity, soaking the length of your slick, sticky arousal. The slippery sensation of your clit gliding down Miguel’s length, creating delicious friction.

"C’mon, move your hips."

Your body went on autopilot on that demand, relying on your slick arousal to move fluidly on his length. "You're a fast learner, aren't you?" He groans out quietly, still holding onto your hips.

Soft pants and groans filled the small space and evolved into loud guttural groans from both of y'all.

"Sweetheart, slow down a bit." His breathy request fell on deaf ears before you did as he demanded. "You're humping me like I'm your pillow." He groans out before he adjusts you off his length, feeling the slick linger onto his skin.

He takes his pointer and middle finger, gathers the slick off his length, and places said fingers at the bottom plush of your lips, lightly tapping them, almost asking for permission. "Seems like you understand what I say," He pats your rear lovingly with his free hand before you suckle on his fingers, tasting the mess you left behind. He hums while you clean the pads of his fingers clean.

"Now, ride the bull for me." He demands.

/

The walk back to the lively scenery returned you to your senses as you prepared to confront your little group of friends. The conversation jumped about like crickets hopping around a long grassy field. It felt like there was no point in being driven before you challenged them against their better judgment and bet. Xina's lips pursed straight, and she nodded to her other girlfriends. The group looked at each other momentarily and caved in, just to see themselves embarrass themselves for the second time that night.

But it wasn't going to happen again...

Straddling down on the pseudo-bull, you looked out to the semi-lively bar, seeing your friends watching from afar and your 'mentor' looking at you while taking a shot. With a raise of his brow and tipping his cowboy hat, a surge of content rested in your belly.

im a whole week late for samoan language and independence day 😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞😞

FIRST CLASS | JJK (Teaser)

summary in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite.

uni au, rich student!jk x rich student!f.reader

[fluff, angst, smut] childhood bestfriends to lovers, pining, unrequited(?) love, they're chaebols okay, tae's sister reader, mega SIMP kook because i literally can't write him any other way, jungkook is a sweet fuckboy (if that exists)

teaser word count: 1.4k (sfw, cursing)

full fic word count: 20k (nsfw)

release date: very soon !!! almost finished proofing ahhhhhh

-------

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 20 months ago, on your 19th birthday. . .

"Get fucked, Jeongguk." The words rip from your throat, venomous and sharp as they slap your best friend's face into a furrowed, exasperated expression.

You yank the jacket tighter around your shoulders as the cold night air whips at your skin, storming down the sidewalk. The urge to rip the jacket—his jacket—off your body is strong, but it's so fucking cold. You may be petty and possibly overreacting a little right now... but you're not stupid.

Jungkook's heavy footsteps trail after you, his calls of your name only pushing you to walk faster. He catches up in no time, your hurried steps no match for his long strides. He tries to gently grab your arm, but you shrug off his touch angrily, spinning around to glare at him. You're about to tell him to fuck off again when he speaks first.

"Come back inside. It's like a fucking blizzard out here; you're going to freeze to death," he says evenly, though frustration laces his words.

"Oh, please," you laugh humorlessly, shaking your head in disbelief. "As if you give a shit if I freeze."

"Don't fucking say—"

"I'm going home. You can tell everyone I'm sick and had to leave. Or don't, I don't fucking care." You turn away and start walking again, his footsteps immediately following.

"You're walking home?" You ignore his question, causing him to huff and run a hand through his hair. "Let me drive you home, please."

You ignore him again, knowing that if there's something Jungkook can't stand more than you yelling at him, it's you not speaking to him.

"Stop doing this. It's your birthday; don't let it end like this—"

"Yes, Jeongguk, it's my birthday," you seethe, whipping back around. "And you brought a random chick none of us even know to my birthday dinner. And you didn't even bother to get me a gift. On. My fucking. Birthday."

"Y/N—"

"Limited edition PlayStation, imported Swedish lacrosse stick, custom painted iPad from your favorite local fucking artist," you list the gifts you've gotten him for his birthday over the years angrily. Jungkook shakes his head, trying to step closer to you, but you hold up your hand to keep the distance.

"Do you even know how much effort I put into the things I get and do for you? And for you to sit there with that... that stupid fucking look on your—God, Jeongguk!" Your voice is on the cusp of being a whine, but you don't care. "Oh, but I'm sure you spent a decent chunk of Daddy's money on Winnie tonight, huh?" You don't care that the Daddy's money statement is also very applicable to you… you're angry.

Jungkook's jaw clenches at your words, and he steps forward, slipping his hand into the pocket of the jacket you're wearing. Before you can snap at him again, he pulls out a small velvet box and holds it out to you.

"What is that?" you demand, your voice still trembling with annoyance.

"Your gift," he says softly, opening the box to reveal a white-gold Cartier diamond necklace. "I was planning to give it to you when we were in private."

You stare at the necklace, your anger momentarily overshadowed by surprise. The diamonds of the pendant sparkle under the streetlights, and you almost let out a moan. Diamonds are your weakness.

"You motherfucker," you groan under your breath, glaring at the necklace in hopes it will dissipate into thin air so you can continue being annoyed at him.

Jungkook steps closer, his voice a whisper. "Everyone was coming with their partners, Y/N. I couldn't come alone."

You sigh, knowing that. Your comment was a cheap shot, considering Jungkook doesn't hang with a girl more than once, so it would be impossible for him to bring someone you already knew. But Winnie was getting on your last nerve, and you saw an opportunity to sneak in a jab, so you took it. Not only was the girl clearing glass after glass of the expensive wine your friends had ordered as if it were water, but she was also not shy about ordering the priciest dishes on the menu. Judging by her tiny red Zara mini-dress, you highly doubt she'll be reaching for her purse at the end of the night.

Your gaze is still locked on the necklace as you take a moment to think. Jungkook hasn't moved either, continuing to hold the box open for you while he scans your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

"It's, um, engraved and shit," he mumbles, his hand not holding the box lifting to run over his jaw nervously. "And I got a chain one… for me too."

Your eyes snap to his, and he swears his heart stops beating. God, you think it's stupid. You hate it. That's okay. He'll just wait until you turn around so he can sprint to the nearest homeless guy and give him the stupid neckl—

"Like matching?" Your eyes soften, and he slowly feels the blood flooding into his heart.

"Yeah, only if you like, want to," he shrugs cutely, and you can't stop the grin from spreading across your lips.

You're close enough to slide your arms around his torso but still not near enough for Jungkook as he tugs you closer, melting into the hug. "Thank you, Gukkie. I love it," you murmur into his chest, and he feels his muscles relax at you finally using his nickname again.

You lift your head from his black fitted Givenchy dress shirt, which smells a little too good, to look up at him. "But why did you say you didn't have anything when everyone gave me their gifts?"

He looks down at the slight pout on your lips, his fingers twitching with the urge to wipe it off your mouth. Instead, he flicks the box closed with a thumb and holds it out to you. "Don't think Jaehyun would've been thrilled with me giving you this," he chuckles. "The dude hates me."

You frown up at him, about to chime in and say that isn't true, but his lips tug into a smirk as if to say he couldn't care less about what your boyfriend thought of him. And honestly, if he were Jaehyun, he'd hate him too.

Jungkook had the necklaces made a little over two months ago, and you and Jaehyun have only been official for one. So, Jungkook's intentions behind the gift weren't malicious, he swears.

If you just so happen to wear the necklace and your boyfriend notices his matching one, which then causes a rift in your relationship, resulting in the two of you breaking up… well, that would just be a nice little coincidence.

"Jae knows you and I are close," you explain with a crease in your brow that he wants to massage until it goes away. "I made it very clear to him when he wanted to get serious, and he understood."

Jungkook nods along to your words even if he doesn't fully believe them. Either Jaehyun is a really good and secure guy, or he's full of grade-A horse shit. If you were his and another dude tried to come along and buy you an eleven-thousand-dollar necklace? Fuck, he'd knock the guy out cold.

You untangle yourself from your best friend and lift the lid of the velvet box still in his grasp. You coo at the pretty diamonds before turning to face away from Jungkook. You gather your hair before swiping it over your shoulder and letting his jacket fall slightly to bare your neck. Jungkook reacts immediately, picking up the necklace before shoving the box in his pocket. His cold fingers brush against you as he carefully fastens the jewelry around your neck.

When he pulls away, you let your hair fall back into place and turn around to face him again. Your smile is soft, eyes twinkling as you look down at the necklace. "It's so pretty, Gukkie. I love it."

You're so pretty. I love you, he thinks.

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spoiled bratty girl and her simpy best friend who knows how to handle her.....GIVE it..

i'm aiming to finish the final edits within the next few days and then post. leave a comment if u wanna be tagged maybe?? <3 :*

longest shit i ever did write who is she