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x-press-it · 2 months ago

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What Loneliness Craves

One touch might be all it takes to feel whole again 🎞️🖤🌹❤️‍🔥✅

Worshiping!Logan Howlett x shy!fem reader

Summary: After a long mission, all you want is to sleep for a week. But Logan, determined to keep tabs on you, makes you realize just how lonely you feel in his absence.

Content Warnings: Smut 18+ Explicit scene (Fingering - F receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms) - Worshiping!Logan - Pet Names (Kid, bub, sweetheart, darling, baby, goddess...) - Reader Notes: No Y/N, no physical description of the reader, no mention of powers, reader is shy and feel emotional hypersensitivity - Emotional Intensity and Mental Health: strong emotions, including moments of vulnerability and anxiety, deep feeling of loneliness and exhaustion, mutual pining, self-worth struggles, overstimulation, worship - religious imagery and reverent language - Mention of alcohol - Fluff - Angst -Trope: Coworkers to lovers I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Worshiping!Logan is leaving rent free in my head since I opened the door for him ^^" - Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post, Art by me, don't steal and don't forget to credit if you share/reblog - Click on the dividers to find the creator - Need a song to go with it? Don't worry, I got you.

Word Count: 9K (Sorry, not sorry and you're welcome 😜)

The knock at the door is soft but unmistakable. Part of you wants to ignore it, to sink deeper under the covers and hope whoever it is just takes the hint. But then you hear the voice—low and rough, that familiar rasp that somehow feels more comforting than you'd ever admit.

"Hey, kid. Just checkin’ in. You alright in there?" His words float through the door, muffled but distinct.

You blink, processing the last few hours of frustration: the long mission, the awkward trip back with Scott and Jean, the eternity of the debrief, and now Logan standing in the hallway just as you were finally, finally about to get some rest. All you manage is an exasperated sigh.

After a couple of seconds, you call out wearily, "Obviously, no. I just need some damn sleep, and everyone seems dead set on preventing it." Your tone is sharper than you intended, but exhaustion has frayed your patience to threads.

There’s a pause, then Logan’s voice comes again, softer this time, "Mind if I come in?"

With another sigh, you check yourself, making sure your t-shirt and sweatpants are at least somewhat presentable. "Yeah, sure," you reply, sounding resigned.

Logan cracks the door open and steps inside, his gaze immediately finding you sitting on the edge of the bed, a mixture of irritation and weariness etched on your face.

He studies you, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the tension that’s all but wrapped itself around your shoulders, the deep fatigue that’s visible even in your posture. His mouth shifts, a faint tug at one corner, almost a smile—maybe even a touch apologetic—before he nods.

“Right. Didn’t mean to add to the racket.” He sounds sincere, like maybe he gets it, more than most would. “But… you’re wound up tighter than I’ve seen in a while. Don’t reckon you’ll relax anytime soon unless someone helps you out with that.”

You look up at him, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his tone, not sure what he is hinting at. But before you can respond, he jerks his thumb toward the hallway. “Look, just stay put, alright? Be back in a minute. Promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Before you can answer him, he’s already turning away, leaving you with just enough curiosity—and exhaustion—to keep you on the edge of the bed, wondering just what he has planned.

True to his word, he returns just a few minutes later, carrying a worn leather pouch. There’s a small smile—almost sheepish—as he steps inside and closes the door with a quiet click, muffling the mansion’s constant hum. Crossing the room in a few easy strides, he gestures for you to lie on your stomach, his gaze softer, more intimate.

“Trust me on this,” he murmurs, as he settles on the edge of your bed. He pulls a small bottle from the pouch, uncapping it to release the soft, calming scent of soothing oil. “Didn’t figure you for the lavender type,” he says, pouring some oil into his hands and rubbing it between his palms, warming it, “but it does the trick.”

Before you know it, his strong hands slides beneath the collar of your t-shirt, finding the tight muscles of your shoulders. His fingers, precise and steady, easing the tension out of muscles that have been screaming for relief since the mission began. His thumbs knead into the knots at the base of your neck, his touch deliberate as he shifts the fabric, lifting and tugging gently so his hands can reach every bit of tension without asking you to expose yourself. He’s quiet, focused, his touch somehow both grounding and gentle, guiding you toward a feeling of calm you haven’t felt in a long time.

You exhale slowly, the last remnants of frustration beginning to melt away as his hands move with that practiced touch into the tense muscles along your neck and shoulders. Each press of his fingers feels purposeful, as if he’s intent on unraveling the weight of the week with every stroke, and the sensation of his warm hands just beneath the shirt’s collar brings a kind of quiet intimacy that stirs a few butterflies in your stomach.

“Just relax,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual, as though he’s speaking directly to whatever’s gnawing at you from the inside. “No one’s bothering you for the next while. And if they try… well, I’ll deal with ’em.”

There's a pause, and you’re almost certain you catch the slightest shift in his tone, something gentler, almost… tender.

His hands finally comes out from your shirt’s collar, leaving a cold emptiness, and a shudder shakes you at the thought of him pulling away from you. But he doesn’t. Not really. Instead he clears his throat, his fingers finding your waist, sliding just under the hem of your t-shirt, and he lets his hands drift along your back.

He never asks you to take off your shirt, never even makes a move to remove it himself. There’s something surprising in his restraint, the way he carefully works around it, as if respecting a boundary he somehow senses. Or maybe… maybe he just isn’t interested in you that way. But before you can dwell on the thought, you find yourself adjusting, lifting the hem just a little, almost without realizing it—just enough for him to reach the places that need his touch the most.

He takes it in stride, his hands gliding down your spine with more intent now, applying a gentle but firm pressure that works through the aches and pains buried there. “I read the report. You did good out there,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his hands trail along your lower back, slow and sure. “Hell of a job, bub.”

His words are simple, but somehow they reach into that part of you that’s been neglected for so long, easing a sense of loneliness you didn’t realize had settled in. Logan’s touch, his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it feels like the kind of comfort you’ve been craving, whether or not you’d admit it out loud. And maybe it’s the exhaustion or the way his words eased the ache of your heart but you feel yourself drifting slowly as the warm press of his hands continue to work over your shoulders blades and down your back, coaxing you closer to the edge of sleep. Another deep sigh escape your lips and just as you’re about to give in, you feel him pull back the hem of your t-shirt and settle beside you, still watching, as though he’s making sure you’re okay.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and close, his voice a quiet promise that you’re safe—wrapped in his presence, shielded from the world, if only for a little while.

The room is still as you blink awake, the quiet pressing in around you. The sheets beside you are cold where he once sat, his warmth replaced by the chill of an empty bed. The softness of his hands, the scent of lavender oil—fleeting, half-faded memories slip through your mind, dreamlike. If it weren't for that faint trace of him clinging to your skin, you'd almost think you’d imagined it, that it was a dream.

But it wasn’t.

The thought should bring you comfort, but instead, it cuts deeper, the hollow ache in your chest growing sharper with each breath. Your hand clutches the sheets, fingertips brushing over the fabric he’d left behind, but there’s no warmth to hold onto. The room feels heavy in his absence, the silence thick and pressing down around you.

Finally, you pull yourself up, feet meeting the cool floor as you wrap your arms around yourself, your chest tightening against the urge to cry. You don’t even know why you feel this restless ache—just that something inside you feels cracked, raw. And the only one who might know how to put it back together… isn’t here.

The room feels stifling, a heavy weight pressing down on you. You need to escape, to breathe. Unable to stay still, you slip out of your room and into the shadowed hallways of the mansion. Your bare feet tread quietly over the carpeted floors, the vast, darkened hallways swallowing each step. The silence settles in, but it doesn’t bring peace; instead, it pulls you deeper into the emptiness he left behind. Even Scott and Jean, even the tense missions and the unspoken glances, had felt less draining than this—the feeling that all the calm he’d left you with, all that gentle ease he’d brought, had somehow vanished into the air the second he left. Now, it’s just you… and this hollow, aching quiet.

In the stillness of the night, your restless feet carry you down the hall without you fully noticing where you’re going and before you realize it, you’re standing in front of his door. The sight of it jolts you out of your haze, your hand already lifted to knock before you even register the decision to come here. Your knuckles brush the wood, a hesitant noise that barely breaks the silence. The second the sound leaves your hand, a thousand doubts surge up, freezing you in place.

What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. You should leave, before you ruin everything—before you make a fool of yourself, before you shatter whatever gentle thread connected you two in the quiet of the evening. You feel your heart tighten with regret, and you take a shaky step back, cursing yourself for even letting yourself hope for something more.

Then, the door swings open.

Logan’s sharp senses had picked up your approach long before you’d even arrived, and the soft, hesitant knock felt like a whisper of your heartbeat reaching out to him.

When he heard your footsteps retreating something had stirred in him—an instinct, a need. Before he could think it through, he was already halfway across the room, hand on the doorknob.

As he pulls the door open, you freeze, just a few steps away, caught in the soft glow spilling from his room.

God, you’re breathtaking.

For a moment, neither of you moves. His clothes mirror your own, but his eyes feel sharp. Wasn’t he asleep despite the hour? His brows furrow slightly, and a glint of worry twists something deep in your chest as his gaze takes you in—the loose shirt, bare feet, the lingering haze in your eyes from interrupted sleep. You can see questions flickering in his expression, a quiet alertness that wasn’t there a moment ago. But when your gaze lifts to meet his, the sadness there hits him like a punch to the gut. It’s raw and vulnerable, tugging at something deep within him, squeezing his heart until all he wants is to close the distance, pull you in, and promise that everything will be okay.

“Everything alright, bub?” he asks instead, his voice low, but laced with genuine concern. It’s not like you to come to him, especially not like this, and the worry behind his words—the way his hand almost instinctively moves to steady you—makes your heart stutter.

The surprise in your eyes fades, replaced by something softer—something that almost makes him forget to breathe. He lets the silence stretch between you, his eyes searching yours, trying to grasp all the unspoken emotions lingering there. You open your mouth to respond, the words catching in your throat as his gaze waits, steady, braced for whatever brought you here. You shrug, uncertainty settling in as you look away.

There’s no good reason you can find to explain why you’re standing here in the middle of the night outside his door—except maybe that you need him. But you can’t say that. The words are stuck in your throat, leaving only the weight of the ache you’d been trying to stifle. The smell of lavender clings to you, a reminder of his hands easing away your exhaustion, his voice quiet, and his presence just close enough to hold you steady. Somehow, that only makes it harder.

But Logan doesn’t press. It doesn’t matter; you sought him, so there must be a reason, even if you’re the only one who can grasp it. He’s no stranger to struggling with complex emotions that simmer under the surface, knowing the words are there but unable to bring them up, caught somewhere just out of reach.

You shift awkwardly, vulnerability clawing its way up. You try again, opening your mouth once more to say something, anything, but he cuts you off gently. “It’s okay, bub. Don’t have to explain yourself.”

There’s no judgment, no questions. Just him. “Come on in,” he says as he opens the door wider—a silent invitation—and the warmth from his room spills out like an embrace. It looks like the simplest thing in the world. And maybe it is, for him. Stepping back, he gives you the space to step in if you want. In that moment, all the restless ache, all the sadness, begins to fade just a little, as if his presence alone eases the pain.

You hesitate, but in his eyes, you see nothing but quiet understanding laced with concern. He knows you’re holding back and offers a safe space without a word. Finally, your feet move on their own, and you step forward, crossing the threshold. He closes the door softly behind you. The dimly lit room feels smaller now, but not stifling like yours; it’s like stepping into a cocoon of warmth and cedar and him, wrapping around you, steadying you in a way that nothing else could, chasing away the shadows that cling to you.

You’re still a little unsure, your hand nervously playing with the hem of your t-shirt, feeling like one wrong move will shatter whatever delicate balance is holding you both together right now. He doesn’t say anything else, just gestures to the edge of his bed for you to sit, and the unspoken trust between you is almost tangible.

And for now, just this—just him—is enough.

Logan watches as you settle yourself at the end of his bed, your fingers still fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. His gaze softens even more, that raw edge in his eyes easing into something you almost don’t recognize—like he’s trying to shield you from everything weighing on you in that moment.

He doesn’t sit, though. Instead, he steps over to the small cabinet by his bed, pulling out a bottle and pouring a measure into two glasses. With a gentle smile, he presses one into your hand before taking his place on the chair across from you, facing you. “Maybe this’ll help,” he says, his voice soft, lightly clinking his glass against yours before taking a sip.

The whiskey is warm, smooth, chasing away the lingering chill and melting some of the stiffness that’s been weighing you down. You drink in silence, your gaze on the floor, until you feel his hand come to rest over yours, warm ad reassuring, without expectation.

You try to keep your composure, but his touch—solid yet gentle—dissolves what little is left of your resolve. And before you realize it, the tears you’ve kept at bay pool in your eyes, catching you off guard. But Logan doesn’t pull away.

“You know,” he begins softly, his voice as gentle as you’ve ever heard it, “you don’t have to handle everything alone.” His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, and for a moment, his words reach the ache in your chest, like he’s giving you permission to let your guard down. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

The words burrow into the ache in your chest, breaking something open inside you, and a tear slips free. Logan doesn’t look away. Instead, he reaches out, his calloused thumb brushing it from your cheek with a gentleness that makes you feel fragile, breakable, and yet somehow, like you’re the safest you’ve ever been. His gaze is soft, unguarded, none of his usual rough exterior, and the dam you’ve been holding back finally breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Logan, still holding your hand, doesn’t look away. Instead, he smoothly sets both glasses aside on the chair he’d been sitting on, his movements unhurried, while he takes a seat next to you.

Before you know it, you’re wrapped in his arms, his solid warmth softly eroding the loneliness you hadn’t realized had settled so deep. His free hand rests at your back, drawing soothing circles as he murmurs, “You’re alright, sweetheart. I got you.”

And right now, with him holding you like this, you almost believe it.

That makes the tears come harder, raw and unbidden, and as you rest your head against his chest, Logan’s hold tightens, anchoring you in a way that makes you want to stay right here forever. Each wrenching sob feels like it shakes you both, echoing through the stillness, and in his arms, you sense the way he’s taking in every tremor as though he can shoulder it, piece by piece, with you. The emptiness you’ve been carrying slips free, finally heard and understood without the need for words.

You lean into him, letting everything go, letting yourself be vulnerable in a way you haven’t let yourself in a long time. And he doesn’t shy away—he’s solid, present, his hand still rubbing slow, steady circles at your back, each one easing the ache just a little more. The weight of his head rests against yours, and he lets out a quiet breath, one that feels almost like it’s unraveling along with you. It’s as if your pain, your loneliness, is something he’s felt in his bones too, something he understands as deeply as you do.

Your breathing finally starts to steady, the silence folding around you both, and you become aware of how close you are, how easily you fit against him. His hand is still on your back, his fingers gentle but firm, keeping you grounded, safe.

He doesn’t let go, not yet. He keeps holding you, like he knows just how fragile the moment is, how much you need this. And maybe he does, maybe that’s exactly why he’s here, still holding you as if to say that he’s not going anywhere.

When you finally pull back, his hands linger a little longer than necessary, brushing along your arms before he lets them fall away. You look up, meeting his gaze, and the softness there—the warmth that you almost never get to see—is so clear it nearly takes your breath away. There’s something in his eyes that’s raw, unguarded, as if he’s letting you see right into him, the way he’s been letting you into his heart all this time, even if neither of you realized it until now.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice hushed in the quiet, but there’s a hint of a soft smile tugging at his lips, the kind that makes you feel a little lighter.

You nod, and his smile grows just a bit, a spark of something warmer, softer, flickering between you.

“I’m sorry, I…” you start, but he cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says quietly, and his hand reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, lingering just for a second. “Sometimes it’s just… better not bein’ alone with it, y’know?”

His words settle into you, and once again, you feel the ache ease, a peace seeping into the hollow spaces.

You both sit there in the quiet of his room, comfortable in a way you never thought you could be, the space between you feeling less like a distance and more like something shared—something solid, something real.

And with Logan there, his warmth close enough to feel, you almost start to believe that maybe you don’t have to carry everything alone anymore. The thought gives you just enough strength to voice what you need, a soft whisper leaving your lips before you can second-guess it.

“Can I… spend the night here?” The words are barely more than a breath, and you almost want to take them back, worried he’ll say it’s not a good idea. What you really want to say is, With you. In your warmth, but the words catch, too vulnerable to release.

But he doesn’t hesitate or throw up any walls. Instead, he just nods, voice soft, a steady warmth in his eyes. “’Course you can.” He gestures to his desk, then adds, “I just gotta finish up something, but make yourself comfortable.”

Relief floods you, and you nod shyly, barely believing he’d let you stay. He offers you a soft smile and as you settle onto his bed, you watch him put away the glasses before returning to his desk, the quiet sounds of him flipping through papers filling the room. You take in the comforting familiarity of his place, the faint scent of cedar lingering, grounding you, and his calm presence nearby.

The warm light of his lamp casts a soft glow, creating a rim around his silhouette that makes it nearly impossible to tear your eyes away. As he grades, he asks you about the mission, his voice a low, comforting rumble that eases the tension knotted up in your chest. You tell him about the contact, the files—how it took some time to track them down, but everything went smoother than expected when you finally met them; perhaps even too smoothly. He listens with that rare focus of his, asking about Jean and Scott, prompting an involuntary frown to tug at your lips.

“Jean and Scott are fine,” you say, a hint of frustration threading through your voice. “Though Scott could probably learn not to glue himself to her side every five minutes.”

Logan lets out a quiet laugh, finishing his last mark on the page. Then, with a stretch that pulls his folded arms above his head, you catch the faint shift of muscles beneath his shirt, the strength and ease in his posture.

But he doesn’t let the silence linger long, rising from his chair and making his way to the bed. You feel every inch of space tighten as he stands beside you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes hold a softness that makes your pulse race.

“Alright, scoot over,” the words are a gentle rumble that makes you shiver.

Your heart hammers in your chest, louder than you’d like, but you shift over, trying not to look too eager, as he settles beside you. Gently, he pulls the covers over you both, his arm coming around your shoulders, drawing you closer with a tenderness you hadn’t quite expected. The warmth seeps into your skin, anchoring you, yet leaving you a little breathless all the same.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like it’s more than just a question—it’s the quiet way he’s asking if this is where you want to be, if the trust you’re giving him feels safe.

You nod, barely managing to find your voice. “Yeah… yeah, it’s perfect.” You can feel the tension melt from his shoulders, and he draws you in just a little closer, his fingers brushing gently along your arm, reassuring you, steadying you.

You let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting weight of his arm, the steady beat of his heart, and something inside you loosens. In his warmth, you finally start to feel like you can let go of the weight you've been carrying alone.

"Want to talk about what made you cry this much, sweetheart?" His voice is so gentle, it stirs a thousand butterflies in your stomach, soft wings fluttering wildly.

You hesitate, the words lodged somewhere between your mind and heart, tangled up in a mess you’re not sure you want to unpack—not when he’s holding you this close. What if he pulls back? What if saying it out loud makes him realize that the walls you’ve built around yourself are too heavy to break down? So, instead, you give a small shrug, gaze fixed anywhere but on him.

He’s not letting that slide, though. His fingers find your chin, lifting it so his eyes meet yours, and the look in them is something that cuts straight to your core. He’s searching, looking for any hint of understanding on your face, any clue to ease the worry etched into his own.

“Talk to me, darlin’.” His voice is barely above a whisper, warm and rough all at once, a touch of desperation woven into the words. “I hate seein’ you so raw. Tell me how I can help you… Tell me how to make you smile again.”

It breaks something in you. His voice, so soft, so full of a care you’re not sure you deserve, leaves your heart aching in a way you can’t put words to.

“I…” Your voice trembles, and you drop your gaze, the heat of emotion rising, cheeks flushing. But finally, you look back up, letting your eyes roam over the details of his face—the lines of his jaw, the warmth in his gaze, the way he’s watching you so intently. “I felt… empty.” The words come out, quiet, as though admitting it might make it more real.

He nods slowly, waiting, giving you the space to open up. But when you don’t say anything more, his eyes don’t waver, the silent question hanging in the air between you both.

“Is there a way… you could fill up that void?” he asks, voice low, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment.

You shrug, feeling the vulnerability creeping up, the fear that if you answer, if you tell him everything, it might somehow shatter whatever’s here between you two.

“Can I?” His words catch you off guard, a question with a weight you can feel pressing down on your heart, and your breath hitches, your pulse thrumming just a little faster. You try to look away, but his hand shifts, moving from your chin to your cheek, cradling your face in a touch that feels almost reverent.

“Would you… allow me to?” he asks, and for the first time, there’s a raw uncertainty in his voice that you’ve rarely heard.

Your eyes widen, snapping to his. Is he serious? Every inch of you feels frozen, the words lodged somewhere deep, caught in the shock of realizing what he’s asking.

“Do… do you want to?” The words are barely a whisper, breaking in the middle, your voice unable to keep up with the weight of what you’re asking.

“Of course I do.” His voice is soft, steady, like he’s been waiting for this moment, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “Been wantin’ to for a long time now.”

Your heart skips, and you finally let it slip out, the confession that’s been haunting you all this time. “Me too.”

A small smile curves his lips, warm and tender, and you feel the heat in your cheeks spreading, creeping up to the tips of your ears. You watch as he leans closer, his gaze steady, the closeness making your pulse thunder in your ears until it feels like this one moment is going to consume every heartbeat you have left.

And maybe… maybe if you did, if you spent the last of your breath in his arms, it would be the perfect way to go, the only place where you feel you truly belong.

You close your eyes just for a second, and then his lips brush yours, soft and tentative, and your breath catches, your lips parting instinctively, inviting him in. The kiss is gentle at first, careful, and it feels like both of you are slowly pouring everything unsaid, everything you’ve held back, into this single moment.

“Damn,” he whispers against your lips, voice rough, his breath mingling with yours. “How am I so lucky?”

As your eyes flutter open, you’re met with his gaze, heavy and full of wonder, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. You give him a small, shy smile, feeling a bit too seen under the weight of his gaze.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, warmth flushing your cheeks as you search for the words. “Maybe I’m your lucky charm?”

The line is cheesy, and you feel heat rushing to your face, fighting the urge to bury yourself against his chest just to hide the embarrassment. But he just chuckles, low and warm, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as his eyes roam your face like he’s drinking you in, committing each detail to memory.

“That you are, darlin’,” he murmurs, leaning in again, voice like gravel softened with something sweeter. “That you are.”

His lips find yours again, slow and unhurried, tasting, savoring, like he’s taking his time with his favorite indulgence. The heat between you flares, your body instinctively arching toward him, pressing your chest to his as if they’re two pieces meant to fit together. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt as the world narrows down to this—just the two of you, here, together.

Your legs entwine with his, pulling him closer as he keeps kissing you, each touch lingering, like he’s trying to make this last forever. There’s an intensity to it, a quiet desperation, like he wants to remember everything—the feel of you, the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body against his. And you know, somewhere deep down, he’s making a promise he can’t quite say, a vow wrapped in every gentle, fervent kiss.

His hands roam gently, as if they can’t bear to leave your skin for more than a heartbeat. Every touch, every kiss, feels like he's staking his claim, like he’s savoring the feel of you under his hands, the softness of your skin against his lips.

“I remember…” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper between kisses trailing along your neck, each one setting a spark to life. “…the first day you came here.” Another kiss, and you shiver, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin. “How the sun played in your hair…” His words feel like a prayer, spoken in a reverent hush against you.

Your heart hammers as he continues, his lips brushing your collarbone. “How your eyes shined under it.” He breathes you in, and the tenderness in that single moment makes your heart ache. “And how your lips seemed so soft, so perfect…” His voice dips, roughened with memory and desire. “I wanted to taste them.”

A shudder runs through you, and as his arms tighten around you, it’s like every crack, every empty space inside you, is filling, piece by piece. The walls you built around yourself feel like they’re crumbling, and in their place, there’s only him—holding you close, grounding you, making you whole.

A flood of tears blurs your vision at his words, the intensity of his affection almost too much to bear. Your heart feels like it might shatter, overwhelmed by the rawness of his attention. You want to ask him to pause, to let you catch your breath, but a deeper part of you needs him to keep going, to pull you under until you can’t feel anything but him.

Your fingers slide into his hair, holding tight, and you’re both so entwined that it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins. His solid thigh presses between yours, igniting a heat that settles low in your core, and the ache becomes an insistent, undeniable need.

"I want you," you murmur, your voice trembling with the weight of it, as if just speaking those words could release the ache, the longing that’s gripped you for so long.

His lips brush along your neck, sending another shiver through you. "You already have me, darlin’," he murmurs, his words laced with a gentle finality. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A soft whimper escapes you as your hips press against him, the friction driving you deeper into the haze of want. A flush of embarrassment runs through you, but your body has a will of its own, hungry for him, desperate to drink in every bit of warmth he’s offering.

“Shhh…” he whispers, his voice a calming balm, “don’t rush this.” His lips find the line of your jaw, brushing a trail of warmth as he presses you closer. “We got all the time in the world.”

He slows you, anchoring you in this moment. His touch, his steady breaths against your skin, gently pull you back from the edge, letting the need pulse just below the surface, allowing you to feel—truly feel—what it means to have him right here, as close as two people can be.

But even as the urgency eases, a deeper ache remains, simmering low but insistent, drawing you to him.

“Please, Lo…” Your voice is raw, your eyes glazed, pleading. “I need this.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his arms tightening around your waist as he studies you, his gaze soft and unreadable. "Alright, darlin'," he finally murmurs, a spark in his eyes. "Anything for you."

His hand slips beneath the sheets, his touch warm as it traces along your waistline, sending shivers under your skin, then dips under, finding the heat between your thighs. A reverent “Damn…” escapes him as he discovers just how ready you are. One of his finger slips into you, slow and steady, as he shakes his head with a dark smile. “Look at you, darlin’… all set for me.”

Your breath hitches as your eyes meet his. The way he’s watching you, so focused, as if he’s memorizing every expression you make, every soft sound—he’s completely lost in you, his gaze heavy with both desire and adoration.

You can’t hold back; your hips move, seeking more, and he obliges, adding a second finger, building a steady rhythm that has you panting. The friction of your clit against his thigh adds to the rising pleasure, making you gasp, “Oh, god…”

“For you, it’ll just be Logan,” he teases, the corners of his mouth quirking up. You let out a soft laugh, your body shuddering with pleasure even through your chuckle.

And then it hits you—the realization slipping in alongside the mounting pleasure. You love him. This never was just a fleeting crush or harmless infatuation; it’s deeper, the kind of ache that takes root, the kind of feeling that leaves marks.

His fingers keep their pace, curling just right, and he leans close, voice a murmur against your ear. “But you… you’re a hungry little goddess, aren’t ya?” His words make you shiver, your heart pounding with a desperate, heady ache. No one’s ever spoken to you like this, made you feel this way—like you’re both worshiped and needed all at once.

Tears fill your eyes as you hold onto him, fingers tangled in his hair. He captures your mouth in a slow, tender kiss, pouring everything he feels into it, and when the tears finally slip down your cheeks, he doesn’t let go. He just holds you tighter, kissing you as if you’re the only thing he’ll ever need.

“You’re so damn gorgeous…” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. “The things I could do for you, darlin’…” His voice dips low, almost reverent, each word soaked in devotion. “Anything you ask.” It’s a promise without conditions, the kind that sends a shiver straight through you. You can feel your body teetering at the edge, aching for that final release, and he can sense it too, his fingers curled inside you, urging you on.

“Come on, goddess,” he murmurs, his tone coaxing, steady. “Take that leap. I’ve got you, darlin’.” The words settle over you like a safety net, and all you can do is hold onto him as your body finally lets go, every muscle tightening before the wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

“Logan…” His name is a whisper on your lips, barely a sound, but he hears it, feels it. Your body trembles, and he doesn’t stop, guiding you through every second of your high, his quiet voice a thread grounding you, keeping you anchored. “That’s it, darlin’. I’m right here… All yours.”

You melt against him, laughter spilling out, soft and blissful, until your breath slows and your limbs relax. And then, as the high fades, reality sharpens around you—What have you done? The thought hits hard, like a jolt, and your face heats as you come back to yourself, feeling the full weight of your own boldness. Yet there he is, watching you with that gentle smile, utterly unfazed, as if he’d been waiting for this all along.

“Is my goddess’ hunger finally satisfied?” His hand slips from you, resting on your hip as he pulls you close, like he’s sealing you to him.

The weight of his words, the way he says “goddess” with such warmth, makes you shrink a little in embarrassment. You nod, unable to do anything but smile, a whispered “thank you” escaping as he watches you with that familiar, affectionate gaze. His smile deepens, a hint of pride there, as if he’s just as grateful to be here for you, to be whatever you need.

“Do you want me to…” you fumble with your words, your hand finding his length under the sheets.

His breath catches in his throat as you touch him, and for a moment, he closes his eyes, like he’s savoring every second. When he opens them again, you can see the desire flicker in his eyes. “Only if you want to,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, lips grazing your temple in reassurance. You can tell he wants this—you can see it in his gaze, in the tension held in his body. But he’s holding back, leaving the choice entirely to you, and that makes your heart ache with the depth of his care. You offer him a soft smile, feeling your confidence build.

"Of course I do," you say, your words barely above a whisper as you grip him a little more firmly, feeling the way he pulses under your touch through the fabric of his pants. His eyes flutter shut for a handful of seconds, a deep groan slipping from his lips, and it sends a thrill through you. You want to see more of that side of him—the one that unravels under your hands.

“You deserve it,” you say tentatively, and the way his pupils dilate, the sudden, open look of vulnerability in his face—it leaves you breathless as you contemplate the power your words, your voice, holds over him. “You served me well,” you continue with a teasing smile, testing the waters, emboldened by the way he craves your touch. “You deserve a reward for your devotion.” Your words are shaky, but he doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seems to fall further under your spell, watching you with a look of pure reverence.

A blissful smile, like you’ve given him a gift he’d only dreamed of, blossoms on his lips, igniting a warmth in your chest. You lower the waistband of his pants along his hips, and he helps you, propping himself on his elbow to create space for his pants to slide down. With a shared sense of urgency, you quickly follow suit, shedding your own pants, feeling a thrill in the closeness and vulnerability.

For a moment, you pause, breath mingling in the space between you, before he reaches for the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it over your head. You follow, slipping his shirt over his shoulders until he’s bare beside you. Exposed and unguarded, your bodies mirror each other, every inch shared with nothing between you but a deep, unspoken trust.

“God, you’re stunning,” he breathes, his voice low and reverent, the admiration in his gaze making you feel cherished.

“Lie down,” you order, cheeks warm as you push against his chest with a finger, your voice still shaky yet inviting. He holds your gaze, a spark of warmth and willingness in his eyes as he murmurs, “Yes, goddess,” his tone layered with a promise that he’d do anything you ask, gladly. He sinks back into the mattress, anticipation and excitement radiating from him as he watches you push back the sheets. Your heart races as you straddle him, your core pressing against him, feeling the heat radiate from his skin.

As you settle into position, you reach for his hard length, guiding it towards you, a rush of electricity coursing through your body as you align him with your entrance. His breath hitches, and his hands instinctively settle on your hips as you lower yourself onto him, inch by inch, until you’re both tangled together, bodies fully aligned, savoring the stretch and warmth as he fills you completely. For a few seconds, you both go still, reveling in the sensation.

Logan’s hands grip your sides, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough firmness to keep you close. His chest rises and falls with a shaky breath as his eyes, pupils blown wide, never leave yours, darkened with longing and something deeper, reverent, like he’s been waiting for this, for you, longer than he can say.

“You sure know how to make a man feel lucky,” he whispers, hands trailing up and down your thighs with a gentleness that sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers press into your skin, tethering you both, as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

You can’t take it anymore and start to move, slow at first, testing the waters, rocking your hips in a rhythm that has him groaning low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. His hands travel to your waist, tightening their grip, encouraging yet still letting you take control. You set the pace, finding your rhythm, feeling every reaction, every ripple of tension in his muscles, the way his mouth parts as he lets you take him, guiding him. You revel in the exquisite blend of pleasure and fullness that makes your heart race.

The friction, the closeness—everything feels overwhelming yet so right. His eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, but he forces them open again, locking onto you like he doesn’t want to miss a single moment. With each roll of your hips, his breathing quickens, and you can feel every shudder, every quiet murmur he lets slip.

“Damn, you’re everything, darlin’,” he whispers, a mix of awe and reverence in his voice, as his gaze locks onto yours, filled with desire. His words wrap around you, the steady warmth and adoration anchoring you as you ride the waves together, each breath, each movement bringing you closer, binding you tighter, like he’s willing to worship you, soul and all.

“Logan,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, and he responds by brushing his thumb over your cheek, drawing both of you deeper into the moment as you keep moving, the intensity building stronger between you.

He groans again, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through you and encouraging you to press on. His hands travel down to your hips again, his grip tightening as he urges you to keep going. You can feel the heat building in your core, a delicious pressure that you both chase.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes, his eyes filled with admiration, and you find strength in his words. The connection between you deepens with each movement, each gasp, each whispered encouragement, making you feel as though you’re lost in a world of your own, where nothing else exists but the two of you.

“Just like that, goddess,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, and you shiver at the praise. You continue to ride him, feeling the tension in your body rise, both panting as you approach the edge together.

“Come on, let go,” he encourages, sensing how close you are, his words a plea, like a prayer, each syllable pulling you closer to that edge. Every muscle in your body tightens, as if you’re standing on the precipice of something divine. You clutch his arms tightly, anchoring yourself to him in the overwhelming storm of pleasure.

“Lo…” your voice is breathless, a whisper that speaks of need, and he responds by grounding you, coaxing you further into ecstasy. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he murmurs, his words an unbreakable promise that fills you with warmth and security.

And then, the rush of pleasure bursts through you, overwhelming your senses as you seize against him. Every gasp, every moan is a testament to the depth of what you share. “Oh fuck…” The words slip from your lips, dissolving into soft laughter as the world fades, leaving just the two of you, bodies entwined in bliss.

You feel him tensing beneath you, his breaths coming in heavy pants that send a thrill through you. “May I come, goddess?” he asks, his voice thick with need.

“Yes,” you reply, still riding the waves of your own release. “Come for me.”

He grips your hips hard, his fingers digging in, and you know it’s going to leave bruises, but you don’t care. You relish the thought of him marking your flesh, each pressure heightening the sensations coursing through your body. With a few more thrusts of your hips, he joins you in rapture, emptying himself within you, giving you everything he is without holding back. You feel the warmth spreading inside your core as you watch him come undone under your gaze, a sight so beautiful it sends another wave of pleasure crashing over you.

It’s a strange thing to tower over him like this, to have the Wolverine at your mercy, to command the beast in him with a simple word or glance. But you love it; no, it’s more than that—it empowers you in a way you’ve never experienced before. As he loses himself to you, you feel another ache building inside, an insatiable hunger that suggests you could easily go another round.

But just as you prepare to move again, he stops you, grabbing your hands and pulling you to his chest. “Shhh,” he soothes, kissing your knuckles, his voice a low rumble. “Please, let me have this for a sec.”

You smile, leaning in to kiss his chest before settling there, your fingers playing with the soft hair beneath your fingertips. It feels warm and comforting, a safe haven that makes your heart race with a mix of excitement and tenderness. “Okay,” you whisper back. “You can. You earned it.”

A deep sigh escapes him, one filled with a sense of relief and belonging. “I dreamt of this so much,” he confesses, his hands brushing through your hair, tender and reverent.

In that moment, as you nestle against him, you can feel the weight of his words, the vulnerability wrapped in his admission. It feels monumental, the connection deepening with every heartbeat, every shared breath.

You still feel him rock hard inside you, promises of more pleasure lingering between you, but you don’t move. You’re just content to be here, to enjoy this shared moment.

“I imagined it so often too,” you say, comforted by his words. “But I thought… I thought you didn’t…” Your voice breaks under the emotions and tears well up in your eyes again, a mix of relief and vulnerability spilling over.

He senses the hint of despair in your voice, and he sits up, pulling you closer with a gentle hand on your back. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he soothes you softly, his voice wrapped in warmth. “It’s over now. I’m here.”

It feels as if all the pain and fear were just a distant nightmare, and you’ve finally woken up in his arms. You kiss him, desperately, as though it’s your last day on earth, and he leans in, his hands wrapping around your waist, anchoring you in the warmth of this reality.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs as you part slightly, your foreheads pressed together, his breath mingling with yours. “I’ll always be here to care for you, my goddess.”

His words resonate deeply within you, filling you with an overwhelming sense of joy. You can feel the reverence in his tone, the way he honors you, making you feel like the center of his universe.

With trembling hands, you hug him back tightly, tears sliding down your cheeks once more, a testament to the joy he brings you in this instant. He holds you firmly, and in that embrace, everything feels right—safe and cherished, as if you’ve finally found your home in each other.

You stay in that tender embrace for a few moments until he pulls away, his thumbs gently drying your cheeks. “You good?” he asks, worry flickering in his eyes. You nod, feeling the warmth of his concern wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

Shifting your knees, you wrap your legs around him, your ankles crossing at his back. “Still hungry?” he teases, a playful smile spreading across his face. You respond with a low laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at his question.

“Just a little peckish,” you admit, shyly biting your lip while your gaze drift away. But he chuckles, his arms around your waist pulling you closer. “Then I should feed you properly,” he replies, a hint of humor dancing in his words.

Your breath catches in your throat as you feel him moving inside you, the new angle bringing a fresh wave of sensation through your body. The shift sparks a thrill that sends a shiver down your spine, and you chuckle softly, matching his own low laugh. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply, and something primal flares within you, urging you to start grinding against him once more.

“Yes, darlin’” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “Use me to satisfy yourself.”

In the crook of your neck, you can feel how much Logan is lost in you—in your warmth, the love he feels for you, and the pleasure that pulses between you, a beautiful cycle of give and take. You feel overstimulated, but stopping now feels impossible, as everything—the heat of him inside you, his skin against yours, his hair tangled in your fingers, his breath hot on your neck—drives you crazy.

With each thrust, you get closer, faster, to the edge once more. His movements quickens, each thrust more desperate, more consuming, stoking the fire between you to a near fever pitch. It’s as if he’s lost control, chasing something unspoken, a force that drives you both to the breaking point. Every motion sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites in sharp, dizzying bursts, each one building, spiraling higher, until it feels like you might shatter and fuse together in the same breath. The intensity crashes over you, drowning everything but him, the world narrowing to just his heat, his touch, his name on your lips.

“You close?” you whimper, voice breathless, and he nods in the crook of your neck, breath hitching. “Me too, baby,” you reply, heart racing. “Let’s come together.”

“As you wish, goddess,” he breathes, his panting matching the tightening tension between you. Pressing your ankles in his back, you lock your arms behind his neck as he draws you closer, his embrace grounding you both.

It doesn’t take long—just a few more deliberate, powerful thrusts, each one pushing you both closer, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave poised to crash. You can feel him trembling against you, the last of his restraints slipping, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Yes…” you cry out, your head tilting back as laughter bubbles up, spilling into a gasp. “Yes, baby. I… I’m—”

Coherent thoughts slip away as a low grunt escapes his lips, the two of you riding the wave of pleasure together. The intensity, raw and pure, consumes you, and tears prick at your eyes, spilling down your cheeks in the blissful haze.

“Oh, Lo… I love you so much,” you blurt out, unable to contain the overwhelming emotion filling your chest.

“I love you too, darlin’,” he replies through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse as you both come down from the height of sensation, holding each other close.

Finally, the world blurs and fades around you, leaving only warmth, your breaths mingling, and the erratic rhythm of your hearts beating as one as you rest against him. Logan cradles you, his arms enveloping you as if you were always meant to be right here, with him. The thumping of his heartbeat slowing beneath you becomes a cocoon of safety and love, a silent promise that feels like forever.

“I didn’t know you were that hungry,” he finally says softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as his breathing steadies. You bury your face in his chest, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. He chuckles, the sound like a warm embrace, wrapping around you.

“Don’t be sorry, love.” He cups your cheek, turning your face toward him, his eyes a tender blend of love and understanding. “I’m here now, and I’ll always take care of you.”

Taking a deep breath, you try to gather your thoughts. “It’s just… it’s been a while since I felt anything close to satisfying that… hunger I had for you,” you admit, voice tinged with embarrassment as the words slip out. “Nothing and no one ever came close.”

His lips curve into a small smile, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I get it. But you don’t have to hold back anymore. I’m yours—fully, completely.” His thumb brushes the lingering tears from your cheek, and the sincerity in his gaze makes your heart swell.

“Just tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it,” he adds, his voice low and steady, a solemn promise between you. You nod, feeling a deep sense of relief, knowing you’re safe, cherished, and free to explore every corner of this love together, without fear.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

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jagibee · 2 years ago

Text

Call Me Luna

(Stray Kids x Reader)

Chapter 2

2,355 Words

A/N: Y’all have no idea how hard I fought for my life against Tumblr to post this. Hope you guys enjoy, lmk what you think!💞

…

Honestly, you had never intended to sign on for a job with a big company, especially one that was just starting out with an omegan caretaker program. It was just easier to settle down with a nice rich pack where your clients already had cooks and cleaners and you mostly just had to listen to the members complain about each other and settle minor disputes. That was how the last pack you worked for operated.

But, you applied anyway. You were a fan of several of the bands and it was no big deal if they rejected you, which was pretty likely. If they only had one caretaker per band and a couple hundred truly qualified candidates, the odds weren’t 100% in your favor, especially because you didn’t grow up in Korea. Still, it would be an interesting story to tell people.

Even if there was a 99.99% chance they were rejecting you, it still took you some time to muster up the courage to open the email from JYPE.

When you finally managed to do so, you were sitting in your bed with your laptop in front of you. Just in case you took the news worse than you thought, you opened up a tab for how to start a new life.

Nothing bad was going to happen, you reminded yourself, the email either says yes or no, they aren’t going to come beat you up if they reject you.

Sucking in a deep breath and closing your eyes, you clicked on the email. Giving yourself a few seconds to enjoy this moment before your heart broke just a little, you finally opened your eyes.

“Dear Ms. L/N Y/N, we were quite impressed with your blah blah blah yada yada yada…” Glossing over all the formalities, your eyes skipped to the important part.

“After careful consideration, we’ve decided to accept you as an omegan caretaker for one of our bands.”

Wait.

Shit.

What?

They wanted you as the omegan caretaker of one of their bands? Choosing not to trust your eyes, you read over that sentence five more times before collapsing backwards onto your bed, exhaling harshly.

You sat back up to read the rest of the email and see if they specified which band. Maybe it was a completely made up band just for a prank or something.

“Unfortunately we are not at liberty to tell you which band you will be working with just yet, for safety and privacy reasons. You will be told your assignment once you meet with us in person.”

Shit, you thought, I guess I’ve got to pack.

…

You weren’t sure whether it was better or worse they didn’t tell you which band you were assigned to.

For the entire duration of the flight, you were wondering which group it would be and what you knew about each one. You couldn’t think of anything else and you couldn’t go to sleep or anything, no matter what you tried. However, if you had known who it was, your mind would have done the same, only it would have been freaking out about certain members and what each person was like and what they needed from you.

Secondary gender dynamics were a bit of a controversial subject in the kpop industry. Some companies made their fans aware of their idols’ classification, even some talking about it freely in interviews.

However, JYPE kept most of that information private. Of course, there were guesses made by the fans, and sometimes stalkers who tried their best to uncover their bias’ secondary gender.

You didn’t want to make assumptions, but you did know that most groups had alphas as their leaders, a bit of an out-dated custom but as long as the group dynamic worked and everyone got along with each other, it was above your pay grade.

Also, something you would have to adapt to would be if you were assigned to a boy group or a girl group. The difference didn’t matter much to you personally, but in the industry, there were certain things you had to consider.

After a while of all this swirling around in your mind, even some of it getting jotted down in your Notes app, you were startled from your thoughts by the pilot’s voice, telling you that you would be landing soon.

Honestly, after that, you kind of forgot the rest, it all happened so fast.

You arrived at night and found a person with a sign reading your name. You walked up and introduced yourself. They had a car and you got in.

At some point, you had tried to get out information regarding the group you had been assigned to, but apparently “once you meet with us in person” did not extend to your driver.

You were taken to a nice hotel that had been paid for by the company and told to rest. There would be a meeting at the company in the morning.

Just like on the plane, you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep, so you took your time getting ready.

There was a huge shower and a nice tub, so you decided, ‘screw it, I’m doing both’.

You washed yourself with soap that highlighted your natural omega scent and when you dried off, you lotioned everywhere.

After taking a tentative sniff of the hotel body wash, you were glad you brought your own. Evidently, all the money that the hotel got from its rich guests didn’t go into shower products.

You washed your face until you had practically rubbed a layer of skin off and then spent far too long picking an outfit.

Despite the limited space in your suitcases, you finally managed to find one you deemed adequate.

Checking yourself over in the mirror, you couldn’t help a little shiver of excitement.

Holy shit they want me. Me! MEEEEEEE!!!

Unfortunately, the excitement quickly turned into anxiety.

Fuck, what if they don’t? What if they look at me and say “oh shit she was actually supposed to go into the ‘never ever ever pile’”? Or worse. They know it’s you and they’re expecting you to be amazing and then you’re going to somehow set the building on fire.

You flopped backwards onto the way-too-big-for-any-one-person bed and just decided to space out to some music.

While you weren’t actually in the music business, it was cool that your new job had led you somewhere more . . . music-adjacent.

After listening to one or two songs and washing away your thoughts, your alarm went off, telling you it was time to go down to the lobby where another car would be waiting for you.

It was a short drive to the company and for the most part, you had managed to keep your sanity in check. However, once you saw the signs outside the building, your heartbeat skyrocketed.

Is this meeting with the managers or just the band? Maybe it will just be with managers or a special team for organizing the caretakers. Would you get to meet the other caretakers? That could be fun, getting to share tips and exchanging stories about awful clients.

That thought calmed you partially, but most of your brain was consumed with just one concern: god, I hope the band likes me.

You were ushered through the door and a pretty beta who introduced herself as Jisu took you to an elevator and up to the conference room where your meeting would take place.

They had given you a pastel yellow lanyard that said ‘CARETAKER’ and when you looked around the room, you could see that most of the people in the room had one as well.

After telling you to sit anywhere, Jisu left the room, presumably to greet and guide someone else.

You smiled at the people in the room, there were three other caretakers sitting at a table and two people who stood up looking down at clipboards. All of the caretakers were omegas, along with one of the clipboard people, but the other was a beta. One of the caretakers, a dark-skinned woman who looked to be just a couple years older than you, smiled back kindly and you elected to sit next to her. Her scent was like sweet wild berries.

She leaned over and whispered, “So, first time in Korea?” You couldn’t place her accent, but you wanted to hear more of it.

You turned to her and nodded. “Yes, but I’ve studied the language and culture so hopefully I’ll be able to adjust quickly.”

“Yes, but you can only learn so much without actually being here. It’s very different from my home,” she mused.

About to ask her where she was from, you were interrupted by Jisu escorting another person with a yellow badge into the room. Immediately after, a beta man in a suit came in with a bunch of files and sat down in the front of the room with his hands folded in front of him.

“Greetings, I am Park Kwang-sun and I will be overseeing all of the omegan caretaker operations. Today, we will train you on what the company expects from you as well as how to deal with any problems that will arise. Mostly, we will focus on what you can do in public and on camera versus what you can do in private. We should end at around lunchtime and then, after a break, you will receive the assignments regarding which band you will be tending to.”

You could feel the air go a little sharper, with every caretaker in the room anticipating which client they will get.

Kwang-sun continued on. “After that, you will meet with one of the managers of that band to discuss specifics and then the cars will take you back.”

Okay. Okay, no actual meeting the band today. That was fine. That way you could study up on the members and decide the best way to interact with them.

You settled in for a couple hours of watching a slideshow, telling you mostly that you couldn’t curse, reveal private information, or do anything inappropriate on camera or in public. It was a bit obvious and therefore a bit boring, but seeing a serious, professional man in a suit and perfect haircut stand with a slide behind him displaying every curse word you could think of, in English and Korean, did bring you some amusement.

Kwang-sun explained that since they were just starting out with an omegan caretaker program, along with the rest of the kpop industry, your role could be negotiated into what you felt was best for the band. If you just wanted to take care of them in private, or if you wanted to be with them 100% of the time, you could bring that up with the band and their managers and they would figure out the best way to adapt.

When it was time for break, they brought up meals from the cafeteria that were actually pretty good and you got to know a little about the other caretakers.

The dark-skinned woman was named Saira and she was born in India but studied in Paris. There was another woman, lighter-skinned but with striking purple lipstick named Millie, who was born and studied in London. The curly-haired man sitting next to Millie introduced himself as Justin, and he was from Cairo. The man who came in after you said his name was Jae and he was from Busan but studied in New York.

The company must have been serious about finding the best people for the job since these people came from all over. You felt slightly intimidated and definitely under qualified.

You were evidently the youngest there, then Justin, Millie, Saira, and finally Jae, though you and Jae were only a couple years apart.

You learned that Millie had always wanted to be a caretaker, inspired by the one that her pack had when she was young. Jae was originally planning to become a doctor and had even completed a year of pre-med, but decided to focus more on mental health. After growing up in a pack mostly made up of omegas, Saira studied pack dynamics with a focus on alphas in order to round out what she didn’t know from her own experience. Justin had been a mechanic and had planned on going to law school before he signed up for a part-time caretaker initiation program with his friend and discovered his calling.

It was nice to learn about the other caretakers and their experiences, but your thoughts were mostly occupied with which group you would be assigned to.

After seemingly ages, Kwang-sun came back with five files under his arm. Checking the names, he handed one out to each of you.

Huh. It looked so plain for something that was going to change your life. Just a manila folder with your name in black, bolded ink. You looked around to your fellow caretakers. No one had looked inside their files yet, awaiting instructions to do so. However, Jae and Saira, as the oldest, seemed to be much more composed than Justin and Millie who each had wide eyes mirroring your own.

Back at the front of the room, Kwang-sun had grabbed a clipboard from one of the two others in the room, neither of them had said anything for the entire time so you really didn’t know what they were here for.

Kwang-sun looked up with a smile. “Now, for what I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for. Here are your assignments: Jae you will be working with TWICE.”

A silent nod was all the acknowledgement Jae gave.

“Saira, you will be working with NMIXX.”

In response, she gave a thoughtful “hmm” but nothing more.

“Millie, you will be working with Xdinary Heroes.”

Her jaw dropped slightly but she took a deep breath and nodded like Jae.

“Justin, you will be working with ITZY.”

He let out a sharp exhale that sounded a bit like a laugh.

“And Y/N, you will be working with Stray Kids.”

You felt ice and fire fighting in your veins.

What?

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stanchett · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! I saw your post asking for prompts, so here's one for you, if you'd like. ☺️

Out of all of Nevermore's traditions, Larissa disliked Staff Bonding Nights the most. She preferred to drink her wine alone in her office instead of in a loud bar, thank you very much. But thanks to the new addition to the staff, maybe this time it wouldn't be that bad of an evening...

Here you go!! Thanks for the request, I hope you enjoy!!! :)

I owe a massive thank-you to @pro-weems-places for editing this for me, it was written at 1am and required much revision.

Black and White

Warnings: NSFW, alcohol use

Word count: 3.4k+

Your laptop screen glowed a bright white in your dark bedroom, the seemingly endless stream of emails welcoming you to the Nevermore staff taking up the open tab. The most recent one caught your attention the moment you read the subject line, “Staff Bonding Night at the Weathervane”, written in bold black letters.

“That could be fun, I suppose...” you pondered to yourself while scrolling through Netflix for something to watch.

Normally, you were more of an introvert, but you were determined to come out of your shell a bit in light of your new position at the school. You turned in for the night, shutting your laptop and curling up in bed with a nature documentary, unaware of what the following evening would bring.

--------

The next morning was a bit of a drag as you roamed the hallways of the school, nearly getting lost (again) as it was only your second week. It was still early, about an hour before your class was supposed to start. Rounding a corner, you almost run head-first into Larissa Weems, the stunning principal you’d hardly stopped thinking about since meeting upon your hiring. She gasped in surprise and stepped back from you, clutching her chest while she caught her breath.

“Oh Principal Weems, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you coming-” you apologized, but a quick wave of her hand dismissed your apology.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N. Are you lost? You seem a bit turned around.” You blushed at the realization that you definitely were, and nodded in confirmation to her question.

“Walk with me darling, I’ll show you the way from here,” Larissa offered, and you gratefully accepted. Keeping in stride and making small talk was easy with her, she was so sweet and polite. You wondered if you would see her that evening at the staff gathering.

“Hey, will you be at the Weathervane tonight? How do those events usually go?”

Larissa rolled her eyes with a sigh, “Oh yes, that.. I myself am not normally in attendance, but I’ve heard they can be quite fun, according to other staff members. I much prefer my study and a glass of red personally, but to each their own.”

Your heart sank a bit at her admission, but you tried not to look too defeated. “Why don’t you give it another shot? After all, I’ll be there..” you said in a mock-suggestive tone, secretly hoping she would realize you meant it in a way that wasn’t entirely a joke.

Just as you delivered your makeshift pickup line, the two of you arrived at your classroom. You stopped at the door and leaned against it with your arms crossed, looking up at Larissa with a challenging look, “What do you think?”

She chuckled and looked away from you - was she getting flustered? Clearing her throat, she stated, “I’ll think about it. Enjoy your class this morning, Y/N.” And with that, she headed back to her office. You watched her leave for a moment and smiled to yourself, then removed the keys to your room from your pocket. If she decided to show up tonight, you would make sure she had a great time.

By 5 o-clock that evening, you found yourself rushing around to finish getting ready, hopping out of the hot shower to throw on a button-down and some slacks. Leaving a few buttons undone in hopes you would catch the principal’s attention, you put on some light makeup and headed out the door. You hoped beyond hope that Larissa had made up her mind and decided to show.

After a short drive down the winding road, you parked outside the café and noticed the inside had been completely revamped to reflect a vibe similar to a nightclub of sorts; the tables had been pushed to the edges of the space or removed altogether to make room for a makeshift dance floor, and the overhead lights dimly lit the room in a variety of colors. “Maybe this’ll be more fun than I thought...” you whispered to yourself, glancing in the mirror of your sun visor to double check your makeup before leaving your car.

--------

Swinging the front door open, you were immediately greeted by a chorus of hellos from the handful of staff members already inside enjoying themselves, the low hum of dance music hitting your eardrums.

“Y/N! I’m so happy you showed up! Welcome to our little annual bonding tradition,” Ms. Thornhill exclaimed, quickly looping her arm through yours to guide you to the counter. “Would you like a drink? There’s a full bar and a table of snacks over in the corner, too. You’re welcome to them!”

You smiled your thanks in return, and she patted your back before rejoining a group of teachers by the door. She seemed like the excitable type, which you weren’t really into, but she made you feel included nonetheless and for that you were grateful.

Peeking past the counter, you spotted Coach Vlad preparing a few drinks. He handed them out, then headed your way with a grin.

“Hey, fresh blood! I’m so glad to see you! What’ll you be having?”

You thought for a moment before deciding, “Just a Jack and coke for me, Coach. I’m glad I could make it. This place moonlights as a club for you guys, huh?” You jest, leaning on the counter, eager for something to take the edge off your remaining nerves.

“Oh yeah, the Nevermore staff really knows how to get down,” he joked, gesturing to the dead crowd before you both, all chatting away. He handed you the drink and you took a swig. Strong stuff. You wondered where Larissa could be. Would she really decline your ever-so-convincing offer?

“I guess Weems doesn’t really ‘get down’ much, does she?” You asked him. His hands were already busy with prepping another drink.

“Not these days. She hardly shows her face at these events. Not really her style, I gather.” He wandered to the other side of the counter to take some more orders. You took another sip and pulled out your phone, suddenly feeling out of place without someone to really talk to.

While you were mindlessly scrolling through your social media apps, the group of teachers suddenly went silent, quietly muttering to each other as opposed to the loud conversations they were just having. You look past them and see a flash of silver brush past one of the windows. Was that..?

The front door eased open and you swore you had never seen anyone more beautiful - in walked Larissa, adorned in a silver dress and white elbow-length gloves, her hair done up perfectly.

Your jaw dropped to the floor and you struggled to keep from staring. She caught your eyes roaming up her figure and strutted her way over to you, politely greeting everyone along the way. It was at that moment you realized the alcohol was starting to hit you, giving you more confidence than you normally possessed.

Setting your drink aside, you attempted to lean coolly on the counter behind you as she approached. “Fancy meeting you here,” you teased when she reached you, her gloved hand coming to rest on the marble surface next to you, effectively trapping you beside her.

“I suppose I could say the same..” she said, her eyes openly sweeping over you, momentarily coming to rest at your slightly revealing choice of clothing before flicking away to Vlad who was still wearing a look of surprise on his face at her appearance.

“I’ll have a red, Coach,” she said all too smoothly. Grabbing the wine bottle, he poured her drink with a nod. Her gaze turned back to you, her eyes glistening under the multicolored lights as she regarded you.

Leaning in, she said in a low voice, “You sure clean up well, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You were momentarily grateful for the low lighting, positive it hid the blush that quickly rose to your cheeks and shiver down your spine. But you feigned shock at her words, putting a hand to your chest as you retorted, “Principal Weems, are you flirting with me?”

She raised an eyebrow and elegantly turned to accept her drink, looking you dead in the eye as she took a long sip. You felt a searing heat gather in your lower abdomen. God, this woman is stunning, you thought to yourself.

“It’s possible,” was all she said.

There was a sudden clap sounding from the center of the room, an attempt from Thornhill to command everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone, partner up! Let’s get a little dancing in, shall we?” She said with a grin.

A collective groan passed through the room and she jogged over to you, a huge smile still plastered on her face. “Would you care to join me? It’s your first time here, you have to give it a shot at least!”

You would feel bad turning her down, so you jokingly rolled your eyes and agreed, Larissa watching your reaction the entire time. She tried to hide her amusement but she was looking forward to this. You swallow the rest of your drink and let Marilyn lead you out onto the dance floor.

Someone cranked the music up a little higher and you quickly found yourself swaying to the beat, the alcohol in your system doing its job. You were grateful several others ended up taking her up on the offer as well, all of you dancing together to the rhythm. You closed your eyes and lost yourself to the music for a moment, your hips working on their own to keep time with everyone else. Maybe Nevermore really did know how to get down.

You opened your eyes to see Larissa staring you down from her spot at the bar, her eyes raking over your body while you danced. Without thinking, you reached a hand out to her, wiggling your fingers in the air as a silent signal for her to join you. Tossing the remainder of her wine down her throat, she placed down the glass and stalked over to you, her eyes never leaving yours. She came to stand in front of you, and you boldly placed your hands on her hips. You looked up to catch her eye and confirm that this is alright with her, her only response a sly smirk and a glint of mischief in her eye.

She began moving her body to the beat in time with you, and you released your hold on her to raise your hands above your head, losing yourself to the music once more. She closely watched your every move, almost hypnotized, like you’d put a spell on her. You turned your back to her and threw her a glance over your shoulder. That was all the invitation she needed.

Placing her hands on your hips instead, she pulled you against her front for a moment, and you gasped at the contact and her forwardness. You deliberately moved your hips more seductively against her, your intentions becoming infinitely more clear. You knew you couldn’t keep this up in front of your co-workers, so you turned to face her once again as the song ended, tossing your head back with a throaty laugh.

You looked up to find her smiling down at you, that hint of something more never leaving her glare. You crooked a finger to beckon her down to you, and she quickly leaned down to catch your whisper. “Do you wanna get out of here?” It sounded so cliche, you knew, but in that moment your arousal was almost unbearable. Straightening up again, she nodded in agreement and even in the dim light you swore you saw her cheeks redden. You bit your lip and jerked your head in the direction of the door.

Waving your goodbyes to everyone in attendance, you passed off the excuse to Thornhill that you were too tipsy to drive in an attempt to avoid suspicion and practically darted out the door, Larissa hot on your heels. Hopping in the passenger side of the school’s van, you waited while the principal buckled up and started the engine.

“You’re quite the little tease, aren’t you,” she said, her own voice coated in arousal. Her words shoot straight to your core. It was nothing you hadn’t heard before, but it sounded so much better coming from her. Her gloved hand came to rest on your thigh during the drive back to the school, her thumb stroking the sensitive skin. You were ready to hop into her lap just as she pulled into the parking lot, and she quickly cut the engine and got out.

--------

Once inside, you let her lead the way back to her quarters, your eyes glued to her backside the entire walk there. She unlocked the door and ushered you inside, locking it behind you both before pressing you against it with her hips. You gasped and looked up at her, her pupils blown so wide you could practically see your reflection in them.

“Is this what you want?” she asked, making certain you’re on the same page before proceeding.

“God yes,” you breathed out, hands coming to rest on her lower back.

She wasted no time in leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing a deep moan that rumbled from your chest. Her thigh pried your own apart, coming to rest between them and you gasped into her mouth wantonly, your hands grasping her ass.

“I’ve wanted this from the first time I laid eyes on you,” you husked.

Her lips worked your neck, making your eyes roll back. “Then that makes two of us,” she whispered, pressing her thigh to your center.

You let out a breathy moan, your legs threatening to give out. All at once she pulled away to examine her work, her eyes burning into you and you licked your lips in anticipation.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed for me.”

You loved the idea of following her orders. You didn't hesitate, tugging at the buttons of your shirt hurriedly and dropping it to the floor, followed by your pants, leaving you in your matching set of black lace panties and bra. You climbed onto the bed and knelt at its edge, and Larissa turned her back to you, silently prompting you to unzip her dress.

You took your time in doing so, kissing down her back in the zipper’s wake. You eased the garment off her shoulders and she removed her gloves, tossing them onto a nearby chair. She turned to you to reveal her choice of lingerie; a cream-colored set that complimented her skin tone perfectly. You felt your mouth water at the sight.

Sitting up on your knees put you at her height at last, and you pulled her into another kiss, this time softer. You passed your tongue over her bottom lip and she granted you entry immediately, a small whimper escaping her throat. You allowed your fingers to tangle themselves in her perfectly pinned-up hair, her own exploring over your body. You arched into her when her fingers found your nipples through your bra, her lips quirking into a playful grin at your reaction.

“Someone’s eager..” she teased, pinching them experimentally, earning her a gasp from you.

“Lay down for me,” you whispered against her lips.

With a chuckle she obliged, lowering herself beside you. You quickly took your place between her thighs, placing open-mouthed kisses from her knee up to her inner thighs. Your fingers danced over her core through the fabric, and she shuddered at the contact, spreading her legs further for you.

“Someone’s eager,” you teased, throwing her own words back at her.

Larissa covered her face with a giggle, but it quickly turned into a gasp as you finally made contact with her center through her underwear. The heat of your mouth drove her mad with need, and she tugged the offending article off, revealing just how aroused she was for you. A low growl left your chest at the sight and you dove in without a second thought.

Flattening your tongue against her clit, you finally got a taste of her, and it was well worth the wait. Her sweetness coated your tongue as you devoured her, and you glanced up to watch her writhe beneath your touch. Her back arching as her hands grabbed for anything that would ground her, eventually landing in your hair. Her whimpers were heavenly, you could listen to them all night long. And you planned to.

Just as her breaths started to quicken, you circled two fingers over her entrance, before easing them into her. She let out a high-pitched moan, and you moaned against her in response, her sounds and the tugging of your hair spurring you on. You began pumping and curling them inside her in time with the strokes of your tongue, and you could tell she was already getting close by the way her walls were tightening around you.

“Are you gonna come for me baby?” you coaxed, your fingers brushing that sweet spot inside her that drove her wild.

“Y-yes, I’m- fuck-”

You could get used to hearing this woman curse. Especially if you were the cause. With a few more gasps and breathy moans, she reached her release, flooding your fingers and mouth with her intense taste. You helped her down from her high before removing your fingers carefully, climbing up beside her and flopping onto your back to catch your breath.

After a few minutes Larissa wordlessly straddled your waist, lowering her lips to yours to taste herself on your tongue. Whining against her, you squeezed your thighs together for some much-needed friction and she chuckled against your lips.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet,” she teased, her fingers trailing up your thigh.

With practiced skill she pulled your panties aside, quickly finding your clit and circling it with featherlight touches. You gasped and bit your lip, the coil inside you already wound tightly. She kissed up your torso, her soft lips finding your hardened nipple through your bra with ease. You leaned up on your elbows and removed it for her, the movements of those damned fingers making it a nearly impossible feat.

She caught the sensitive peak of skin in her teeth before you could lay down again, causing your head to fall back in pleasure, a desperate whimper leaving you. Her tongue circled it in the same pattern as her fingers below and you felt entranced by her touch. You cupped her cheek, encouraging her to meet your heated gaze.

“I need you,” you all but begged, your cheeks turning pink at the nature of your words.

“That’s all I needed to hear, darling.”

Her words in such a low tone nearly drove you over the edge, but as she pressed her fingers into you, it took everything in your power to keep from crying out. A pathetic whine still managed to leave your throat despite your efforts.

Her digits filled you up in the most delicious way and she knew it. She pumped them slowly, finding the same spot in you as you did in her, massaging it as you fell back onto the mattress. You knew it wouldn’t take you long to finish at this rate, but the sudden ascent toward your orgasm took you by surprise.

“Larissa.. so.. so close,” you whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to stave it off a bit longer.

Your hands gripped her shoulders, nails digging in. Your vision gained a few black spots when you opened your eyes again, only to find Larissa’s lustful stare looking back.

“It’s alright dear, I want you to come.”

Her words sounded delectable in your ear when she whispered them to you, and you couldn’t help yourself when you came undone on her fingers, a moaning mess beneath her. You moved to cover your mouth but her hand caught your wrist, pinning it above you. She wanted to hear you, so you let her.

Once your pulsing around her slowed, she pulled her fingers from you and looked deep into your eyes as she sucked them clean, groaning at your taste. A smirk played on her features, proud of her handiwork as she regarded your now disheveled demeanor.

“Perhaps I’ll make a habit of going to Staff Bonding Nights.”

You both burst out in laughter before settling into a comfortable silence, soon after falling into a deep sleep, wrapped up in each other.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie #requests #my fics

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solo-ojo-jojo · 1 year ago

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Chenford Fanfic Teaser: Sequel to That's What Partners are For

The Rookie Fanfiction | Chenford | Rated E | Intentional Seduction | Undressing

Remember when I wrote a Chenford fic inspired by this moment from Bones?

📸 @romanticallyterrible [original post here]

Well, the sequel is inspired by this moment from Psych.

📸 @onscreenkisses [original post here]

I started writing the sequel right after I finished the first installment. It's been kicking around in my drafts, and I occasionally shake off the dust and work on it. I've made quite a bit of progress this time, and wanted to share a little bit of what I've been working on.

Here are a couple of short excerpts from the first half of the story.

Title TBA (Rated E) After the bomber is caught, Lucy and Tim give into their temptations. Tim decides it's his turn to undress Lucy.

... But every signal he had been getting from Lucy, combined with a gut feeling that grew stronger by the moment, told him—screamed at him—that she wanted him, too.

Here goes nothing.

Tim leaned a hip on the bar, facing Lucy. Close, but just out of reach. While they waited for a bartender to notice them, Tim lowered his lips to Lucy’s ear so he could be heard over the music. “Do you trust me to order for you?” he asked. “I think I’ve got a good idea of what you like.”

She wouldn’t have expected for such simple words to have such an effect on her. But something about the way Tim said those words filled Lucy’s head with ideas that she had tried to abandon after she walked out of the men’s locker room yesterday afternoon, evidence bags in hand.

Tim had pulled away from her ear, but lingered nearby, not having returned to his full height. Lucy looked up at him slowly. “Yes,” she said. “I trust you.”

“Two glasses of San Matias Cristal, dressed, please,” Tim told the bartender as he handed over his credit card.

“Opening up a tab?” the bartender asked.

“No, I’ll close it out,” he told them. He didn’t plan to be at the bar for very long if things went the way he had hoped.

“Tequila?” Lucy asked him, surprised. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you drink tequila.”

The heat building inside of Lucy’s body felt like no match for the look in Tim’s eyes when he said, “I wanted to try something new tonight.”

...

“Cheers.”

Their glasses clinked together and Tim’s eyes followed Lucy’s movements as her tongue peeked out to swipe a taste of salt from the rim of her glass before she took a sip. She closed her eyes as she savored the smooth taste of the tequila Tim ordered for her before letting the icy liquor slide down her throat.

Tim took a drink from his own glass, all the while keeping his eyes on her as she lifted the lime garnish to her lips and sucked its juice.

He was overcome with his need to touch her.

His fingers reached for her face and his thumb skimmed across the tip of her nose.

Tim leaned in, his lips next to her ear. “Salt,” he explained, his voice rumbling.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly.

As his lips pulled away, Lucy could feel the warmth of Tim’s breath coasting over her cheek. But Lucy couldn’t tell if the movement bringing their faces closer together came solely from Tim, or if she herself was drifting closer. Their noses now brushing up against each other, Lucy could sense that their lips were just a hair’s breadth apart.

She looked up at him through her lashes. “What are you doing, Tim?”

“This? It’s just… very close talking.”

Lucy shifted in her seat to bring their conversation (and their lips) even… closer. “Mmm, I see,” she said, enjoying the vibration that was created between their bodies.

“And what do you feel like talking about?” she asked, briefly closing her eyes, then opening them to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.

Tim placed his fingers on top of her wrist so lightly, it felt like a whisper.

“You.”

Yes folks, Tim does indeed try something new that night. 😏

The sequel is rated E, so instead of posting a second chapter of the T-rated That's What Partners are For, it will be part of a series.

The series is tentatively titled Take It Off and can be found here on AO3 so you can subscribe for updates.

#chenford #chenford fanfic #teaser #lucy x tim #tim x lucy #read on ao3 #the rookie #unintentional seduction #now it's intentional seduction #the rookie fanfic #inspired by bones #the goop on the girl #inspired by psych #bounty hunters #by SoloOjoJojo #fic: that's what partners are for #series: take it off

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funky--lesbian · 2 years ago

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Super Nova

Larissa Weems X OC

A.N. hello all. if this seems familiar to you it's because... I've already posted it. With that said I realized I am Horrendous at formatting and decided to repost with some alterations. a HUGE shoutout to the council for helping me get my shit together, especially @bri-sonat for helping fic my truly wretched formatting. the next few chapters will be posted soon as I write some new ones as well.

The wind howled as you looked out the window of the train. Trees passing by in flashes as you made your way through towns, each one smaller and more spread apart, until there was nothing but the forest and the rain dripping down the windows to keep your eyes fixed on.

You can feel the chill of the weather as you rest your gloved hand on the window, not quite knowing what to expect. Finally, you see lights as the train pulls up to a town. As you look away from the pouring rain, you realize that everyone else had departed the train many stops ago.

After all, who would want to travel to a town like Jericho.

Though you suppose it wasn't Jericho itself that they avoided but rather what was just beyond it, Nevermore, your destination. The school had quite a reputation amongst the residents, almost serving as a horror story, an urban myth.

You quickly made your way up from your seat and gathered your belongings, not that you had many to grab, as the stewardess waited by the door of the train. With a small nod in her direction, you square your shoulders and step out into the world once again.

You quickly feel the rain soaking through your many layers as you dart under the cover of an awning, dragging your trunk behind you as you huddle over your tote bag, attempting to protect the few notebooks you carry.

You look around as the train pulls away, desperately hoping that you will be able to spot your ride to your new home. As the lights from the train disappear into the distance, you’re left shivering on the cobbled road, lit only by a few meager street lamps. As the minutes pass and the cold sinks further into your bones, you finally decide you can't wait anymore out in this weather.

You shift your bag further up on your arm as your breath fogs up before your face. The second you step out into the storm again you regret it, but within minutes your steps have led you to the one building that seemed to still be open. As the wind blows the door shut behind you, you look around and realize you're in a small coffee shop, the Weathervane, according to the sign above the counter.

You quickly leave your trunk by an empty table before heading up to the counter where a young boy is watching with wary but amused eyes. “Hi…” You murmur, your voice horse from disuse, ”could I just get a hot chocolate with oat milk?” you ask, with a slightly clearer voice.

“Of course, what's the name?” He queries with a small smile.

“Adelaide.” You respond before turning around, the bell of the door behind you ringing, the noise drawing your attention. Standing there silhouetted by the glowing lights of the street was the most striking woman you had ever seen.

“Miss Florence, there you are my dear!” She exclaimed as she walked towards the counter. Somehow despite the stormy weather, she looked absolutely perfect, not a single hair out of place regardless of the howling wind and rain that had quickly turned your long curls into a stringy mess.

As she approached the counter, you found yourself tilting your head farther and farther back, and when she finally stopped next to you, you realized how ridiculous you must look peering up at her like a drowned rat. You quickly looked down with a blush.

“Hello Tyler, a hot chocolate please, and would you be so kind as to put Miss Florence's drink on my tab as well?” She states with a glimmering smile at the barista.

“Oh no, you really don't have to do that!” You state, looking up quickly at the woman whose name you still don't know.

“Nonsense! Consider it a welcoming gift and an apology for my tardiness. Unfortunately, our normal driver fell sick due to the weather, so I had to finish up an appointment before coming down.” She stated warmly as she handed over some cash for the drinks before heading over to the table with your trunk. “I’m Larissa Weems, Headmistress of Nevermore Academy, my dear.” She smiled at you as you glanced up at her.

In the light of the coffee shop you can't help but stare at her beauty, clear blue eyes surrounded by delicate long lashes, a bright red lip captured in a gleaming smile, she was like an angel come to life.

You let out a shiver as her eyes pierced yours. Seeing this her smile faded into a frown, creasing her forehead as she looked down at you. “My dear, you must be freezing, you're absolutely soaked!” She says as she reaches toward you.

“No!’ You shouted, quickly scooting out of the bench away from her as you trip over your trunk in panic. She lets out a gasp at your desperation as you shake on the ground, refusing to look into her eyes in shame.

“I was just going to remove your coat, dear, it’s soaked through…” She murmurs comfortingly with her hands clasped in front of her for you to see clearly. You feel your cheeks turn pink with shame as you slowly climb up from the ground, ignoring the looks from the few other patrons.

“I can't do… touch.” You state as you wring your gloved hands together, “I apologize, it would not be pleasant for either of us.” You continue, wrapping yourself further in your layers as you look down at your feet.

“That is quite alright, my dear, I apologize for disturbing you.” Her voice was gentle, a touch of worry in her tone.

“Adelaide, Headmistress, here you go.” You hear as two to-go cups are placed next to you on the table. You quickly step back from the barista, once again kicking your trunk but managing to stay upright this time as you let out a tight smile.

Clearing her throat, the headmistress quickly stands with a slightly strained smile on her face. “Let's get you to your new home!” She says with joy, grabbing her hot chocolate with one hand and your trunk in the other.

“Yes, let's…” You murmur, grabbing your own drink and following behind the statuesque woman.

#larissa weems x oc #fanfic #larissa weems #principal weems #gwendoline christie

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fearowkenya · 1 year ago

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Winds of Change

Chapter 5: Something in the Air

Shuuji knows something is amiss when he catches Syakomon let out an almost imperceptible sigh of relief. He’s lucky that the viscous surface of Syakomon’s slimy green body betrays her—the quiver of the otherwise silent exhale sends a faint, wobbly shockwave across her skin, and she jiggles ever so slightly in her shell, as though somebody’s just set down a cautious bowl of lime-flavored jello.

Supposedly, the worst is over, but Shuuji can't shake the feeling that there's something the Kemonogami aren't telling him.

ao3 link in source , extended end-of-chapter author's notes under the cut!

oh BOY the editing situation was a doozy. granted, i was also busy with work, but even then this chapter needed a TON of reworking, much much more than chapter 4 did. like i said on ao3, it got to the point where this chapter was so long that i had to split it in two.

i also mentioned that this chapter marks the beginning of the second half of this fic. chapters 1-4 make up part one, which i'd summarize as "how did we get here?", and then from 5-8, the focus will be "what happens next?". it helped a LOT to recontextualize chapters 5-7 (now 5-8) as an answer to chapters 1-4, and i think it'll make editing easier going forward; i have much more direction now and a better idea of what needs to be expanded on and what needs to be cut.

unfortunately, like i said, i had to omit a lot of saki-centric stuff. she is the scariest character for me to write, and i think i need to progress more thru my replay of truthful before i feel confident enough to write from her perspective. it works out anyway, because the part i cut had shuuji taking a very passive role and just observing interactions between saki and floramon, and it felt very drawn-out and unnecessary. this is my favorite cut segment tho

im really hoping to be able to figure out what an aoi-miu-saki dynamic looks like as i get more comfortable writing the three of them. i think it could be really fun. also i think it would be so funny if miu and saki bring out a mischievous side of aoi that would otherwise not exist. much to think about.

anyway. another challenge i had with editing this chapter was the topography of the beach area the group hangs out at before moving on to the shopping district and apartment complex. for some reason i was convinced the rocky beach area was like.. up on a cliffside? but then i looked at the map and got REAL confused. the beach is super super narrow, and that was really inconvenient when i needed shuuji to be somewhere relatively out of the way, where he could have a conversation with agumon that takuma cannot hear, while still being able to see takuma. so thats why i spent an hour and change squinting at the tiniest png of the map and reorganizing where people spend their time

if my handwriting is illegible (from left to right) (oh my god now that ive added the image to the post its a nightmare. idk why im even posting it. lord. im not sure opening it in a new tab will help) factory residential area shopping district woods near shopping district minoru up here group rests here waterway exit from shaft here instead; rest of waterway rock w/ supplies hill down from the waterway shuuji rests here pt 6 argument happens here aoi & ryo here in ch4 (this is where they were keeping watch) miyuki here

i didnt make many changes; mostly i just moved people around. the one thing that i DID change though was the placement of the waterway entrance. i have NO IDEA why the game has it in the middle of the fucking ocean. like i know theres a tunnel there, but surely the entrance to that tunnel isn't underwater right? i then poured another hour and change learning about waterways, trying to figure out where it made the most sense to put the exit before remembering that it doesn't matter because the digital world doesn't play by human world rules. oops! it was still super interesting though! please look up 'tokyo g-cans' if you ever get the chance, its fucking fascinating. if i ever go back to japan id like to go down there, maybe.

obligatory commentary about the map:

oh my god it seems too big for what we actually see but im not a cartographer so i dont know for sure

the shopping district/apartment complex is visible from the beach but i feel like it shouldn't be: on the map it looks like it's on a cliff face while from the beach it looks like it's shore level

i've been reading half the green patches as dense tree cover but now that i think about it, that might just be open grassland. oops. it's all trees now.

i wish we could go to the sandy beach areas to the north and east ends of the island!!! that could've been fun!

i really appreciate that the second island is shaped vaguely like a beluga

in other news, agumon was much easier to write than i was worried he would be, and it was nice to work out how he felt about what happened in the waterway. one thing ive noticed about agumon on a second truthful run is that he and takuma are equally awful about pushing down their own feelings for the sake of the ones of their friends. a lot of the others seem to view agumon as the guy who is always Staying Silly , no thoughts head empty. while i DO think that that's a genuine part of his personality, i think it also happens sometimes that he uses that image to downplay his concerns.

my favorite part to write this chapter was labramon's dialogue at the end. and also baby stats. baby stats was the ONE THING i REFUSED to cut. non-negotiable. it's been in my notes since the beginning and digimon survived all edits of this chapter, and i was DETERMINED to keep it.

all right im getting sleepy and i want to post this chapter and then go to bed. as usual please dont be afraid to leave a comment, i looooove finding out people's favorite parts, and im still curious about your Gamer Theories, especially now that i think what i'm foreshadowing is becoming clearer and clearer >:3c

couldn't tell you for sure when ch6 will be out. ideally it won't involve as much editing as ch5, but it's hard to say. thank you for reading, and i'll be back as soon as i can!

#digimon survive #shuuji kayama #kayama shuuji #ryo tominaga #tominaga ryo #agumon #aoi shibuya #shibuya aoi #im so sorry @ ppl who are in the aoi shibuya tag for the other aoi shibuya (the one who is not a digimon character)#labramon #miu shinonome #shinonome miu #syakomon #floramon #digimon

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mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune · 2 years ago

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YES!!! A REAL FNAF SECURITY BREACH RUIN DLC TRAILER!!!!

[Note: FNAF Spoilers, Don’t Read Until You Watched The Trailer. also Don’t Reblog Without Permission]

best day ever, I just learned today about it.

and we finally got a name for the new character as well, the new girl’s name is Cassie.

best day ever, with some not so great stuff that is going on, this is one of the best news ever.

we not only get a real trailer about the new free dlc of FNAFSB...

but we also find out the name of the new playable character. :D

I’m guessing this, but I wonder if Cassie could be Gregory’s Twin Sister.

that is of course, a FNAF Theory. but it’s okay if I’m wrong about Cassie being Gregory’s twin sister, but it could still be possible.

hopefully Cassie will get a Animatronic to help her out like Gregory had Freddy.

I mean it could be possible she might end up having a Animatronic helping her and it not just being her trying to save Gregory on her own.

and it does seem that her being blonde would end up being in Fanon...

well we can always call the blonde version of her by a different name.

I was surprised to find out that the trailer for FNAF Ruin DLC had been put up...

and by the looks of it, it was around May 19, 2023....

so it was yesterday and I’m just learning about it today on May 20, 2023.

but still, it is still the best news ever....

I know I might not be able to play the other future chapters of Deltarune, and might have to wait to do that, but until then I can enjoy playing the two chapters and watch walkthroughs that involve Chapters 1 to 2 as well as the future chapters.

anyway at least the FNAF Ruin DLC is free, and it will be worth the wait.

and well the new chapters for Deltarune will be worth the wait as well.

we just have to wait until July 2023, so around next month.

it is still great news to get to see the official trailer for the Ruin DLC. :)

------

Edit Of May 22, 2023:

in case there is any misunderstandings, I want to point out that

while I said we have to wait until July 2023, I meant for the FNAF Ruin DLC, and NOT the next chapters for Deltarune....though it would be interesting if they both released on the same month, but that might not be likely to happen...

so I wanted to edit this to point out, that when I was talking about the whole we have to wait until July 2023, I was talking about the release for FNAF Ruin DLC.....I thought I would edit this in, in case there is any misinterpretations.

------------

Edit of May 24, 2023:

took me I don’t know how many tries to try to get this to work so I could edit this...

but I kept running into trouble, I kept getting that error loading thing, and the tab even crashed like maybe two or three times...

and I wasn’t getting anywhere just trying to go to my Archive, to open this open and edit it, because it kept showing that error loading and wouldn’t freaking work.

so I had to try to look this post I did, and yeah it still ended up doing that error loading thing, but after trying I guess for a second time...

I was finally able to edit this, and what I wanted to edit in....

was that I had forgot about “June” and the whole FNAF Ruin DLC wont be until, two months...?

so after May, it will be June and then July, with how excited I was, I forgot about the June month coming next after May...

and yeah, it did make me both mad and annoyed that my attempts to edit this was met with that error loading popping up and even the whole tab crashing thing...

this was just suppose to be to point out I had messed up with the month, and I forgot about the June Month, and I know my being so happy about the DLC and I guess I didn’t think about the whole June coming next before July...

anyway, I hope some understand my mistake there...

as well as my not being too happy when I kept running into trouble trying to edit this so I can inform about my mistake I made when saying we had to wait until next month, but it will really be two months right now, but once it becomes June, then it will be one more month...

anyway, the DLC will be worth the wait, and I can’t wait to see Cassie in it and see if she gets her own guardian or not. :)

#fnaf security breach #fnaf ruin dlc #fnaf spoilers #best day of my life #may 2023 #do not reblog without permission #don't reblog

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daydream-cement · 2 years ago

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I have a one-shot idea for larissa (depends if the other person could be laurel or someone else) like a simple fluff fic about coffee dates at the weathervane or train rides together hehe

4 Train Rides and Coffee Dates I Said Nothing, And The 1 Time I Did

Characters: Larissa Weems x writer!reader

Synopsis: Kinda what the title says. Just fluffy. A bit of an AU, set in the past. Larissa is just beginning to work at Nevermore as a teacher.

Authors Note: Sorry anon. You asked me to post this a while ago but the ideas were still banging around my skull. Also we are pretending the train goes to Jericho cause its my world and ur livin in it.

You had been taking the train to Jericho everyday for about 6 months now. You were working on your next big novel, well what you hoped would be your next big novel. Each day you would take the train and then go sit in your favorite coffee shop for a few hours to clack away on your keyboard. The train rides were marvelous, starting near the coast and ending through the woods. That’s where you found your inspiration. Well, that, and one other thing. Her. You didn’t know her name, but she was becoming the main heroine of your plotline. Tall and beautiful. She just sat down at your table on the train and never stopped coming back.

1. The First Time

You had your computer out in front of you, but you hadn’t written anything. Words alluded you this morning, but you weren't going to force it. You leaned your head back against the seat and began enjoying the forest passing by. From all the train rides before, you knew you were pulling into the Burlington station.

Only one more stop to Jericho. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to focus on the plot line of your story, but your focus broke when someone sat down at your table sitting kitty corner from you. You couldn’t help but glance to your new tablemate.

You wondered if she might be a gorgon without the snakes. You might as well have been turned to stone because you couldn’t move once you looked at her. Could she be a Greek statue come to life? Was that a thing? Once she caught you staring, you shook yourself out of the trance, staring back down at your keyboard. Sneaking glances in which she would catch you every time, causing her to smile.

The ride to Jericho wasn’t long enough.

She wasted no time getting off the train, but you did notice her take a last glance at you when she walked from the station. You smiled to yourself, hoping you had made an impression on her as well.

At the Weathervane, the line was long once you reached the front and much to your pleasant surprise, the statuesque goddess came in. Before the barista rang you up, you leaned in close, “Hey, I want to pay for the woman who just walked in.”

The barista nodded as you pay a bit extra and tell them to keep anything leftover as a tip, “Don’t say anything though. I don’t want her knowing it was me.”

Finally you sat down, pulling out your laptop. You opened your tabs and documents, getting everything right before your name was called. You grab your coffee, sneaking a glance at the white-blonde haired woman who was already looking at you.

You began writing, ignoring when she went up to order so she wouldn’t suspect you. She stood by your table as she waited for the coffee, not speaking to you or looking at you. You were busy typing out her description, Statuesque with ruby red lips. Her eyes held an intensity and you had to find out what was the passion behind them. Her legs-

“Larissa.” The barista called and the woman near you moved to get her coffee. So that was her name? Larissa.

2. The Second Time

Just like every other day, you sat looking out the window, imagining your new main character in a scene, but quickly it faded to your own personal daydream. She towered over her love interest, her hand coming up to rest on your cheek. You turned your head, pressing your lips to her palm. She smiled fondly down at you. You saw her leaning down, her eyes glancing at your lips.

Your focus was broken when she sat across from you. A scarf wrapped around her head to protect her hair from the wind today. During the train ride, you fake many things to be able to life your head from your laptop to steal a glance. Your face turned red the couple times she caught you, but she only gave you a small smile.

Once at the Weathervane, you purchased a coffee for you and one for her. She was standing a few people back in line with someone today, another woman. The companion seemed to be pointing things out, possibly giving a tour.

Much as the routine goes, you sit, pull open everything you need on the computer, name gets called, and you sit back down to focus on your writing. How could you focus, however, when Larissa was so close by. You only saw your muse once a day, you probably shouldn’t waste it.

You take the time to look at her outfit today. You were seeing a trend, neutral colors and shades of white. It emphasized how fair her skin was. You thought it brought more intensity to her beautiful eyes and lips.

You notice Larissa glance around the shop when the barista tells her that her coffee is once again paid for. You smile to yourself, loving how she had no clue the crush you had on her.

When she and her companion were called to get their coffees, you stole a final glance. She was already looking. She flashed a smile at you. Did she know it was you buying her coffee?

3. The Third Time

Today you had headphones on. It felt like a classical music kind of morning, trying to suck some inspiration from Claude Debussy. Larissa sat down with you again when you reached Burlington, but what you didn’t know is that she tried talking to you this time.

“What are you writing?” Her voice was soft, nervous to even be speaking to you, but when she received no answer, her face was hot with embarrassment. She scolded herself internally, she should have known better than to talk with someone with headphones on.

The train ride continues. You steal the momentary glace. Typing out the ways to describe her nose, her jaw, and her hair. She saw you looking at her, so she held her gaze at you, wanting to let you know she saw you staring.

She gently shook her head at you, giving a partial smirk, almost like she was teasing you for staring.

The routine at the Weathervane came and went, only when Larissa waited for her order, she sat at your table. You thought you were having a minor panic attack. You stayed completely still not typing a word. She was looking around the room, stopping to look at you a couple times. Was she teasing you?

When her name was called, she stood up with a smile. She had to have known it was you buying her coffees.

You watched her leave the coffee shop, When she was outside, you watched her out the window. She chose to walk past the window on the other side of your booth, flashing you a smile as she walked past.

4. The Fourth Time

This train ride was fuller than usual. You heard through local gossip that it was the nearby school’s parents weekend. When Larissa’s stop came, you wanted to scream at the parents across from you to move out of the way. That that spot was her unofficial-official spot.

You didn’t hide the fact that you were looking for her at the Burlington stop. Just to catch her eye. You wanted to know if she was there and wanted her to know you were there.

You spotted her, unable to stop a smile from spreading on your face. You seemed to catch her eye too. She waved at you with a gloved hand from the other side of the train, causing your heart to flutter.

At the Weathervane, you were feeling a little cheeky. You ordered her coffee and put it at the spot across from you. When she came in, you leaned your head from the booth trying to catch her eye. She had already been searching the room for you though. You nod down to the table indicating for her to come over.

When she approached, you took the time to appreciate how truly tall she was. She looked from you to the coffee and back to you again, “For me?”

You nod with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m running late. Let’s chat tomorrow.”

You nod once again, words seemed to be caught in your throat. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Larissa only smiled down at you, seeming to enjoy how flustered you were. She gave a wink, “It’s a date then!”

You could have melted into a puddle then and there.

5. The Final Time

“What are you writing?”

Today your typing on the train had been furious. It was actually nervous typing. You knew today was the day to actually speak to her. Larissa was sitting across from you. You were so entranced in your work that you hadn’t noticed her intently watching you after she sat down.

“I-” You glance up from your work. She has her chin resting in her hand as she inquisitively looks at you, “I’m working on a novel... What brings you on the train?”

This generated a conversation that had you leave your laptop in the dust. You listened to her speak about her new job at Nevermore. She loved the kids and thought she thought she would want to take on a leadership role at the school when she had enough experience. You began sharing minor details about past books, but you chose to omit details about this book, not wanting to share the main characters similarities to Larissa.

You both walked and talked all the way to the Weathervane. Turns out, you were very compatible. You liked the same books and movies. You spoke similarly about the issues plaguing mankind. Conversation flowed so freely once she finally broke that barrier.

At the coffeeshop, the barista rang you up for two coffees as usual and Larissa smirked at you, “So it has been you buying these coffees? I had a sneaking suspicion...”

“Turns out I’m not too good at keeping my feelings a secret.” She takes the space across from you in the booth and you begin to take out your computer, setting it to the side.

“Your feelings? Does someone have a bit of a crush?” Larissa’s confidence was soaring as she took the opportunity to tease you.

The level of comfort you felt with her was spurning on your flirtation as well, “Perhaps I do...”

The sound of your names being called interrupts you. She slides from the booth, holding up a hand, “I got it.”

You turn your attention back to your laptop, pulling open your tabs, just like you do every morning. When Larissa returns, she doesn’t sit across from you, just rather she slides in next to you, “What are you working on? Be honest this time.”

Her arm moves behind you as she shifts her body to face you, wanting the full scoop on this book you had been working so diligently on whenever she was around.

“Oh, it’s nothing much.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing much.” She glanced down at the 170 page word count, then she lifted her eyes to read the words on the screen. She was skimming, but she thought she had enough information to go off of. Red lips. White-blonde hair. Pin-up girl. “Do I get royalties off this too?”

Her joke caused you to laugh, “It was hard not to- Well you are just so-”

You were fumbling. How do you tell her that she is the most beautiful woman you had ever seen? Well, turns out you didn’t have to. Your writing did the talking or you.

“She was the most beautiful being I had laid eyes on. Her beauty was ethereal?” As she read your words aloud, she almost felt embarrassed that someone felt that way about her.

“Yes.” You looked intently at her, earning yourself a smirk as she shifted her jaw back and forth, almost like she wanted to challenge you. Instead, she leaned forward to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth, leaving the most lovely of lipstick stains.

“I have work,” She stood, not ready to hear more compliments today. Turns out she didn’t believe herself to be the ethereal goddess you saw her as. She took her coffee, and kept speaking to you as she walked backwards towards the door, “I will see you tomorrow.”

#larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #wednesday netflix #fanfic #gwendoline christie

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spacequokka · 2 years ago

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Pairing: ceo!Baekhyun x Reader Genre: CEO AU Rating: G Summary: You don’t know the first thing about running a business, so you enlist the help of an investor to help you save it. Word Count: 1.3k I can explain Warnings: mentions a deceased parent

Inspired by this post. This is actually part of a larger work I’ve been sitting on titled Gossip Man. I’ve wanted to write something in the style of Kdramas (tropes and all). Depending on the reception, I’ll release it next year or so.

You fidgeted with your clothes, running your trembling hands down the front of your soft cotton t-shirt. Were you dressed too casually? Should you have picked out your job interview ensemble? The email hadn't given you any clue one way or another. You hoped it didn't matter — everything you had depended on this consultation. If it ended badly because you’d chosen denim slacks over the black pencil skirt, you’d seriously consider jumping from the nearest bridge. ‘Calm down, girl. Get it together.’ You inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly through your nose, summoning calm and control of your nerves.

You needed this consultation like you needed air. The old bookstore had meant the world to your mother, and you would do everything in your power to keep it open and operational. Okay, so maybe you didn't know jack shit about running a business. It was also possible that you used a little over half of your inheritance from your mother's life insurance policy to buy the bookstore from the lovely old couple who had put it up for sale. Just as it was more than likely that you would have to use the rest of your savings — all of it — to make the necessary repairs and update the place to be able to compete with other bookstores in the area that offered new modern services like online sales and ebooks. That's why this meeting was so life threatening. If the best investing company Seoul had to offer didn't see a way to save the store, all of your attempts to save it would have been in vain and would leave you in debt. Worst of all, you would lose the one thing your mother treasured and hoped that her grandchildren would be able to visit in the future. You wanted to keep the bookstore open as your way of honoring the woman who brought joy to so many others.

The front door opened smoothly, setting off a high chime of the wind catcher that hung near the door. This is it. You took another deep breath and turned around. A tall, slender man stood there with his hands in his pockets, eyes taking in his surroundings. He looked so out of place, all dressed up as if he were going to a cocktail party or some red carpet affair. He made the dusty, run down store look worse just by existing. As if he could hear your thoughts, his eyes fell on you expectantly, lips curved into a gentle smile. “Ms. Davids, I suppose?”

He extended his hand, but didn’t budge from his spot. Your jaw moved as you tried to find the voice to speak, to answer his question, but your brain had shorted out for a second. “Y-yes. That’s me. Call me _____, please.” You moved around the counter and took his hand, not too surprised by the strength in his grip. Of course, he’s strong. He probably can afford a gym trainer if his suit was anything to judge by. “I was under the impression the agency was sending over a woman, Mrs. Howard?”

Mr. Suit’s eyes were fixed on you now. “She was supposed to come, but I found myself with an open schedule this morning and decided to take the consult. She’s due to have her baby soon, so I thought she’d like to rest her feet.” He glanced at the store, then returned that piercing gaze to you. “Besides that, I’ve been keeping tabs on this shopping center.”

“Y-you have?” You swallowed hard and fought to stand your ground. It felt like he was crowding you, even though he was standing a bit more than an arm’s length away. His presence was so…overwhelming.

He nodded and took a step away from you, examining one of the bookshelves that stood near the register. “Of course. Real estate is one of my areas of expertise. The shopping center has always been a hot commodity since the university opened up. Personally, I’m impressed the owners of the various stores have been able to keep the corporate companies at bay.”

You fought to keep up your friendly smile. “We’re a family here. We help each other out. Selling out to those hounds wouldn’t help anybody.”

“True.” He mused, slipping a book off of a shelf and thumbing through its pages. “But then again, business has been down since the bidding war began, right? What happened to the couple who owned this store before you? The Choi’s?”

You looked down at the ground between you, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Their health isn’t the best right now. With the cost of health care, they couldn’t afford to keep the store open. I bought it from them to keep it open and away from the bidding war.”

“I see. Smart decision, seeking help from an investment firm. My name is Byun Baekhyun, by the way.” He nodded his head towards you, stuffing his hands back into his pockets as he leisurely made his way through the store. You followed behind him, keeping your distance while wringing your hands with worry. He didn’t say much, occasionally asking questions about things he spotted, like holes in the ceiling, cracks in the wall. He even noticed things you hadn’t seen before or thought to look at. It was clear that an inspector would have to come out and thoroughly check the building out. By the time you’d reached the back of the store, the look on his face wasn’t promising. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, shall we?”

Baekhyun extended a hand to allow you to pass by him. As you did, his hand lightly touched the small of your back as he guided you back to the register and prompted you to sit down on the stool behind the counter. He stood in front of you on the other side, resting his elbows on the counter and clasping his hands together.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You asked.

He exhaled hard and nodded. “Yeah, it is. I’ll be honest with you, _____. I don’t see how this place has been operational. There are a number of issues I can see, so there’s no telling how much more will be uncovered with a proper inspection.”

“I have money saved up. I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to save this place.” You leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Please, this place means the world to me.”

He held your gaze for what seemed like forever until he stood up straight. “I’ll arrange for the inspector to come and assess the property. If the repairs needed are reasonable, I’ll have someone set up an appointment with you to get things going.” He looked around the store. “I can’t guarantee that things will go your way, though.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. “I understand.”

Baekhyun studied you a moment longer, then took a step forward and placed a hand on your shoulder. “This place has a lot of charm to it and it’s in a great location. Don’t lose hope just yet, okay?”

You looked into his eyes and were startled by the gentleness you found in them. You’d come across a slew of men in suits with kind smiles, offering to pay top dollar for the property if you and the other store owners agreed to sell. Baekhyun’s smile was the first genuine smile you’d seen in a while. You weren’t sure if you should trust him, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. “Okay.”

⟨⟨ Series ML || Group ML ⟩⟩

#exo-writers-net #exo ceo au #exo as rich kids #exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo drabbles #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #ceo!baekhyun #look #i'm obsessed with him #kvanity

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erodasfishtacos · 4 years ago

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Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow.

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek.

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.”

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.”

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all.

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.”

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound.

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

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kassandras-one-braincell · 4 years ago

Text

Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies – the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. “Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

“Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.�� The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie��. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #female eivor #tattoo parlor au #modern au #ac valhalla

389 notes · View notes

illicitlimerence-writes · 4 years ago

Text

close friends | t. holland

pairing: tom holland x fem!reader word count: 3.1k warnings: some language, some angst if u squint. otherwise it's just fluff and tom being tom. didn't proofread this. a/n: so tumblr decided to be a little bitch and deleted this t w i c e. so i had to write this t h r e e times. this came up in my head after i got like three notifications that tom posted something on his ig story, and then it turned out he deleted them. as always, english isn't my first language so i'm sorry if this gets confusing bye. also, i was listening to cardigan by taylor swift as i wrote this.

my masterlist

so we all know tom sucks at instagram. that's a surprise to literally no one. no matter how many times you tried to teach him he still doesn't get it, and it was only a matter of time before he finally posted something he shouldn't have.

it was just one of those days, you missed him like hell. he was away filming the third spiderman, and you had to stay behind because of work.

naturally, you relied on face time and texts to survive and fill the void he left behind. you loved talking to him, listening as he rambled on and on about his adventures on set. a love-struck look on your face as you tried your hardest to stay awake despite the urge to close your eyes.

eventually, sleep took over you, and you drifted off with the sound of his voice lulling you to sleep. he stopped talking abruptly when he didn't hear your soft chuckling in reply to the story he was telling.

instead, he saw your sleeping figure, long steady breaths moving your chest up and down. and he cursed himself for making you stay up so late for him. he took one last look at you, taking a screenshot of your sleeping form.

he quickly hung up the video call and opened instagram instead, uploading the screenshot to his story,

'missing my favorite girl, thank you so much for everything you do for me. x @yourusername'

the next morning you woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing. at first, thought someone had died as one notification after another filled your screen. most of them came from instagram, so you opened that app first.

thousands upon thousands of mentions, tags and new followers. you frowned, and suddenly a text from your friend popped up at the top of your screen.

'omg just saw his story. so happy for u both'

who's story? what was going on?

you refreshed your timeline, and tom's icon appeared, a colorful circle around it. an odd feeling sank in your stomach. you tapped his icon and suddenly your screen was full of... you.

a picture of you, sleeping. tom's smiling form in a small rectangle on the bottom right corner.

oh god. you read the words he wrote, over and over again. your heart pounding in your chest, and a sudden wave of fear ran through your body. but then you read his words once more, and all you could feel was love. pure, unconditional affection.

sure, your families and closest friends knew about you, but you hadn't talked about making your relationship public yet, but there was nothing you could do now.

you sighed, leaning back on your pillows. a small chuckle left your throat.

you grabbed your phone once again, quickly facetiming tom. you knew he had an early call today, and you hoped you could catch him while he was still in his hotel.

it ran once, twice, and then you saw him, hair all over the place, bare chest. hands rubbing sleep off of his face.

"mornin', darling." he said, his raspy morning voice making you smile.

"hi, baby. did i wake you?" you asked, sitting up and crossing your legs.

"yeah but it's fine, princess. i did keep you up last night so it's only fair."

"i'm sorry about falling asleep on you, that was a really nice picture you took last night," you lifted one eyebrow, and watched as he smiled at you sheepishly.

"i thought you looked really pretty, you always look pretty," he said, grabbing the water bottle on his nightstand and taking a swing.

"thanks, i hope the whole world thinks so, too," you declared. leaning your chin on your fist, watching him expectantly.

he did not react like you had expected him to.

his breath hitched as he sipped his water, and suddenly all you could see was the cream-colored ceiling, as you heard him spitting out and coughing.

"tom! oh, my god! are you okay?" you asked, getting on your knees and holding your phone up to your face, "tommy?" you repeated when he finally stopped coughing, you could now hear his heavy breaths.

at last, you saw his curls appear from the bottom of the screen.

"wh-what did you just say?" his voice was rough, his chest heaving.

"are you okay?" you asked again.

"ye-yeah i'm fine. babe, what did you mean by 'the whole world'? did something happen?" he asked, frowning. you echoed his expression, watching him for a second.

“you posted a picture to your story,” you repeated, and he nodded.

“yeah, i posted it to my close friends, i-” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes growing comically wide. “oh shit, did i-” he caught himself off as he threw the phone to one side, you heard him fumbling around for his laptop and you snorted. “shit, baby, don’t tell me i posted it… fuck!” you couldn’t keep it in any longer, you broke out laughing.

“of course this is how the world finds out about us!” you continued giggling until your stomach hurt.

“fuck, princess i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to, i swear i- why are you laughing!?”

“tommy, tommy! it’s okay, baby, don’t worry. i’m not mad,” you stopped once you noticed his pouting. “it’s fine, my love, i don’t mind. sure it’s unexpected, and a little sudden but i wouldn’t have it any other way. i knew what i was getting into when we started dating,” you told him honestly, wishing you were there to give him a hug and kiss him all over.

“darling, i’m really, really sorry. i swear i thought i tapped the green button like you told me to” he continued his sulking, nervous eyes glancing back and forth from his laptop screen to you.

“i know, baby, i know this is not your forte, and i really appreciate the sweet gesture, honestly. i love you so much,” you told him as you bit your lip. folding your legs to your chest, wrapping one around them.

“god, i love you. i swear i’ll make it up to you,” he ran his hand through his hair, giving you a quick peek of his bare chest.

“i’ll hold you to it,” you chuckled, you glanced to the clock on your nightstand, sighing when you saw the time. “i’ve gotta go,” you said as you stood up and stretched. a wicked idea ran through you head. “i’ve got like five meetings today, so i’ll probably be busy most of the day. just in case i don’t reply or something,” you made up you lie quickly. grabbing your laptop and opening a new tab.

“oh, okay. i’ll be on set until like 1 am, so we’ll talk tomorrow?” he asked, eyes bright. you nodded, biting your lip.

“definitely. i love you,” you blew him a kiss. he smiled, and you felt your heart swelling.

“i love you, too. good luck today!” he said as you reluctantly hung up the call.

you immediately got to work, calling your assistant and telling her you were taking a few personal weeks, and to email you in case of emergencies. next, you texted harry, asking him to call you once tom was busy on set.

you waited for the page to load, and once you had bought your one-way ticket to atlanta you hurriedly threw some pre-planned outfits into two suitcases, just in case. your phone rang and harry’s face popped up on your screen. you quickly answered the call, and let him know of your out-of-the-blue plan. he agreed to meet you at the airport and drive you to set. and because of your recent and sudden rise to fame, he suggested you wear all black and a cap. you followed his advice, throwing on some sunglasses as well, as you had seen tom do many times before.

once you reached the airport and checked-in, you bought some coffee and breakfast, as well as some food for the flight. you opened instagram, seeing all the messages and comments. you had seen how the fans reacted when their favorite celebrities announced a relationship, and you knew to expect the meanest comments, and even death threats. for your own sake and peace of mind, you allowed yourself to scroll until you read three of those, and closed the app.

once the plane took off, you tried to catch some sleep, preparing for the inevitable jet lag, but your mind kept buzzing from one scenario to another. so you took out your book and tried to read some chapters, putting in your earbuds, music playing quietly.

when you finally, finally landed, you stretched your legs and grabbed your bags, putting on the cap and sunglasses again, you spotted a familiar head of wild curls. you quickly approached harry.

“what happened to all black and a cap to go unnoticed?” you asked as he took one of your bags in his hands.

“think about it, two kids wearing black, a cap and sunglasses? people would think we’re up to no good.” he gave you a tight hug, you’d missed him almost as much as you’d missed tom.

he caught you up on everything he and tom had been doing these past months, you shifted in your seat in excitement, the sleep that was slowly taking over you on the plane had now disappeared from your body.

in what was probably a 15 -but to you felt like five- minute drive, you got to the hotel to leave your bags and take a quick shower. harry left you alone in tom’s room, making his way to his own room next door. he said he’d order something for you to eat whilst you got ready to see tom.

you took the quickest shower ever known to humankind, and when you walked out of the bathroom after using tom’s shampoo and conditioner, -you’d missed his smell all over you. the few forgotten hoodies and shirts that were once drenched in the smell of his soap and cologne, were now very faint.- you wrapped a bathrobe around your body, rummaging through tom’s clothes until you found one of his shirts.

you pulled it close to your face, sighing at the familiar scent you’d missed so much. you got dressed quickly, grabbing your now fully-charged phone and the key to tom’s room that harry had left on a coffee table. you knocked on harry’s door and he let you in.

“i just texted tom, he says they’ve got like three hours left.” you sat next to him on the couch, the table in front of you filled with food waiting to be devoured.

“my poor baby, they overwork him,” you pouted, reaching for one of the plates.

“it was his idea, said he’ll do anything that helps finish filming sooner.” you stopped chewing your food.

“wait, really?” you asked in disbelief, you knew tom loved his job, and you found it odd that he wanted to cut his time on set short.

“yeah, it’s been rough for him. not having you around, i mean, after he spent months with you. he’s been pretty distracted lately. messing up lines, he’s been waking up late and missing early calls...” your heart sank at the words. you ate the rest of your food with a knot in your stomach, cursing yourself for not getting there sooner. soon enough, you were back in the car, your leg bouncing up and down. you fell asleep on your way to set, waking up when harry parked the car and nudged your shoulder.

you stepped out carefully, your head turning back every few steps you took, in fear that tom might catch you. once you reached the stage where tom was filming, you flashed the visitor badge harry had given you to the guard and he let you both in. you walked in as you leaned down, your forehead against harry’s back, shielding you from the curious stares. harry told you to hide behind a giant box where they kept some lights whilst he spoke to the director.

although the box was big and tall enough to cover you completely, you crouched down, straining your ears for nearing footsteps. you heard two sets of feet approaching, your heartbeat racing.

you were met with your accomplice, a friendly-looking man behind him. you stood up as they approached you.

“this the girl?” the man asked, and harry nodded, “nice to meetcha, i’m jon.” you shook his hand, “okay, so we’ve cleared tom’s schedule for one week, we’ll need him back fully recharged and ready to work like it’s his first day on set, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, if it means he’ll work better if you’re here you can stay until we're done. i really don’t mind, i just need my guy back.” you blinked at his words, nodding slowly. “we’ve got a couple hours left tonight, i’m all up for some cheesy reunion, but it’ll have to be when we’re finished, i can barely keep him focused as it is.”

with that he left, and harry led you to tom’s trailer, where you caught some sleep while you waited. like that morning, you woke up to your phone buzzing. you reached for it, sleep leaving your body as you read the text.

‘just finished filming for the night, i’m exhausted. miss u, love you. x.’

all rational thoughts left your head, you opened the door to tom’s trailer and sprinted out of there until you reached the set. your eyes finally, finally met his figure, and tears filled your eyes.

your legs moved on their own accord, you mumbled apologies as you crashed into people, but you didn’t care. tom had his back to you, and even though he wasn’t wearing the spiderman costume, you’d recognize that ass anywhere.

“tom!” you called out, stopping a few feet away from him. you saw him whipping his head around, eyes scanning the sea of people. you made your way up to him, “tommy!” you repeated, and he finally turned around.

his mouth wide opened in disbelief, arms twitching, feet running towards you as you did the same. you crashed into each other, your legs wrapping around him, arms around his neck, fingers curling on his soft hair. his hands running all over your back, your hair. pulling you as close as humanly possible.

whispers of ‘i love you’, ‘god, i missed you’, ‘never leave me again’, and ‘i promise’ were exchanged. you tightened your hold on his hair, pulling back to look at him.

“hi,” you whispered, your nose brushing his.

“hey,” he replied, burying his face on your neck again, pressing small kisses anywhere he could reach. his hands settled on the back of your thighs as he spun you two. you giggled, sniffling as a few tears escaped your eyes.

you could not care less about the people around you, all you could think about was the boy wrapped all over you, your favorite boy. tom led you back to his trailer, where you finally untangled yourself from him. he settled you down and you immediately wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him close to you again.

you had been starved of his touch for so long, there was no way you were letting him go anytime soon.

after many kisses, touches, tears, promises and more kisses, you left for the hotel. harry had already left, getting a ride from another cast member to leave you two alone. at that moment you swore you’d make him godfather of your firstborn child.

as you waited for tom to step out of the shower -you would’ve joined him, but three showers in a day seemed kind of excessive-, you laid down on the bed, throwing the covers over your body, tom's scent engulfing you. you breathed in happily. you tapped on your phone, replying to some work emails when you received a text from harry.

‘i believe the ball is in your court. you’re welcome.’

next, you received a picture of you and tom. harry must’ve taken the picture when you and tom were too lost in each other to even notice anyone around you. in the picture, your legs are around tom, bodies pressed closed together, your noses touching as you stare lovingly into each other’s eyes. it was a beautiful picture. and the black and white filter harry had applied to it made it seem like one of those old pictures of wives reuniting with their spouses after the war.

you smiled, heart swelling with emotion as you contemplated your options. you hummed quietly, tapping the instagram logo and waiting for the app to load.

you quickly uploaded the picture harry sent you tagging both him and tom and adding a quick caption before you shut down your phone. you were drifting off to sleep when you felt familiar arms around you.

you leaned into tom’s touch, your back resting against his chest, legs tangling with his as he interlocked his fingers with your own.

“thank you so much for being here, my love. i love you,” tom whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“i’ll be here whenever you need me. i’ll always come back to you.” you turned around, facing him. you kissed the corner of his lips, and he cupped your cheek, his lips meeting yours in a slow kiss, filled with emotion. your fingers played with his fingers as you moved to straddle his waist. “i love you,” you broke the kiss reluctantly. as much as you both wanted to make love that night, you’d made it your top priority that tom took his time off to rest as much as he could, and that included that first night.

you gave him one last kiss, going back to your previous position. the familiar and comfortable weight of his arms around you, the feeling of his lips on your neck, his chest rising and falling against your back, you couldn’t ask for anything better.

the peaceful environment you had created suddenly burst like a bubble as tom’s phone pinged over and over again. you heard him grunting, arms reluctantly leaving you.

tom chuckled, putting his phone on do-not-disturb and throwing it somewhere on the bed.

“you’re perfect for me, my favorite girl.” you smiled, leaning into his touch as he kissed you all over. sleep quickly taking over both of you.

tom swore his heart stopped when he’d seen the picture you posted. you’d never looked more beautiful than when you were staring up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth. the words you wrote as a caption were the last thing on his brain as he finally succumbed to sleep.

‘i said, “i bet you can’t keep this a secret for five months.” he said, “darling, i won’t make it past three.” @ tomholland2013 it’s been 10 months, who won?’

edit: i just saw henry cavill's ig post and omg what is my life. pls respect celebrities' privacy and relationships.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #marvel #mcu #avengers imagine

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stutterfly · 4 years ago

Text

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

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