#i think it’s in one of my magazines too it looks familiar
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
deep-sea-gigantinism · 9 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
they are about to drop the craziest shoegaze album you’ve ever heard
408 notes · View notes
alphabetboyluvr · 10 months ago
Text
habits of a clandestine nature | jjk
Tumblr media
pairing: collegejk x female oc (angst, smut)
warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao
wordcount: 16k
note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33
minors dni // cross posted to wattpad
Tumblr media
It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.
Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.
You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.
Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.
From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.
All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.
Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.
It's not that you actively want to see him.
You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.
He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.
God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.
The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.
In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.
Has told you a lot.
Told you far too much.
Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.
Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.
And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.
You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.
But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.
You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.
It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.
But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.
Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?
Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.
The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.
The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.
The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.
For a minute, you feel vindicated.
It doesn't last.
For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.
The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.
He always slept well in your bedroom, though.
Funny, that.
He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.
Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.
The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.
"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.
Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.
"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.
They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.
There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.
It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.
"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"
"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"
"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."
On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.
Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.
Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.
After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.
Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.
Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.
Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.
"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"
"Obviously."
"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."
"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."
Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.
And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.
While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.
But summer was lonely.
Or at least it was.
Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.
Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"
The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.
After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.
When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.
"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.
Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.
Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.
But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.
He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.
A routine grew. Habits formed.
Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.
Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.
The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.
He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.
And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.
Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.
But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.
Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."
"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.
You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.
The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.
But he was, and it was lovely.
The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.
"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."
It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.
Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.
Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.
But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.
Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.
You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.
It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.
"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.
"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.
"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"
On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.
"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."
A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.
"Sure."
There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.
"You think I can't be trusted?"
"I think it's foolish to trust any man."
His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.
"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"
"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.
"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"
With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."
"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.
"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"
"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.
"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.
Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."
Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.
A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.
And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?
His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.
Have you not served him enough?
You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.
"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.
He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.
"Excuse me, sir."
Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.
"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.
More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.
Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.
Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.
You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.
Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.
"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."
Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.
Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.
You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
Tumblr media
21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.
You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.
As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.
But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.
Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.
But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.
You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.
Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.
It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.
In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.
"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"
The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.
It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud. 
In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.
But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.
You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.
Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.
Where you at? It could read. I'm here.
Or maybe, I miss you.
I can't sleep without you.
This is so stupid. Can I come over?
It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.
Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.
You: you not coming in tonight?
You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x
You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?
Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.
Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.
Jackass Wang: party tonight
You: so????
One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.
Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery
"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.
It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.
Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.
You: i like it better when i don't see you x
Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.
You: they'd rather die :) x
Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
You: you just can't take no for an answer
Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.
You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????
The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.
Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.
You: charming x
Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.
You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.
Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.
The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.
Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.
Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.
Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.
"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.
Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.
"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"
Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"
His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.
Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."
He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.
"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"
"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."
"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."
"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."
Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.
"Don't give me that bull."
"It's not bull!"
"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"
"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"
His expression is flat. You are paper thin.
He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.
He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.
"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"
"No!"
Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.
Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"
"I'm not!"
"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"
Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.
"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."
"Yes, we are."
"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.
"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."
"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.
He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.
"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"
With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.
"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."
You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.
As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.
By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.
"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.
There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.
Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.
Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.
Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.
It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.
But he did, and you damn well know it.
Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.
"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."
But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."
You're silent when he says this.
Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.
But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.
Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.
"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."
Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.
Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.
Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.
He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.
"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."
"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"
"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."
He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.
They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.
Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.
"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."
"Who?" Jimin chirps.
Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."
"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"
"I said leave it."
"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.
"No one."
"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"
"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."
"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."
Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.
"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.
They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?
"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.
It's not that he's ashamed. 
It's that you're separate.
When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.
If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.
He doesn't want that.
He wants you to be a safe haven.
A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.
But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.
He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.
"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"
With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."
"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"
"You really have to ask?"
For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.
They always have done.
When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.
Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.
How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.
Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.
When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.
So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.
"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"
"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."
Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.
The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.
It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.
The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.
The irony isn't lost on you.
"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"
"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.
If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.
All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.
One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.
When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.
You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.
Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.
Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.
"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."
"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."
"It's not my new home—"
"MONTGOMERY!"
The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.
"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."
Nothing happened between you.
It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.
"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.
"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."
Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.
Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.
It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.
"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.
Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."
As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.
How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.
"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."
Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.
A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.
"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."
Tumblr media
It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.
They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.
And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.
Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.
The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.
Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail. 
Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.
In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.
Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.
The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.
Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.
Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.
But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.
A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.
"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.
The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.
Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.
"Cut the bullshit," he says.
"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"
"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"
Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.
"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."
Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.
Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.
You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.
"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"
It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.
"Mistaken identity."
"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"
You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.
He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.
"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.
"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."
"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.
With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.
"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."
Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.
"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."
Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.
He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.
It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.
Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.
This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.
You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.
Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.
As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.
Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.
But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.
"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"
Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."
"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."
And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.
If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.
He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.
But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.
It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.
Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.
"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.
"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."
The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.
"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"
"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."
Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.
"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"
"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"
It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.
But every cloud has a silver lining.
"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."
He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.
"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."
Tumblr media
The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.
A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.
And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.
Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.
The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.
"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"
You're gonna kill Taehyung. 
In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.
"Safe," you grimace.
Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"
"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.
"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.
"My sentiments exactly."
Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge
"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."
"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."
Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.
"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.
"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."
Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.
"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.
The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.
You wish you didn't.
"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.
"Excuse me?" 
"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"
"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."
"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"
Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.
And so he doesn't try.
"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"
You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.
Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.
You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.
"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.
"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"
It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.
"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."
"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.
"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."
"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"
"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"
He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."
Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.
"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"
He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.
"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"
"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.
"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."
"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.
The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.
"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."
"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"
He's silent, now. Cowardly.
"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."
"You know that's not—"
"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.
Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.
Feels like it, too. 
"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.
"Tell you wha—"
"That you were a virgin."
Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!
Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.
"Hardly relevant, is it?"
"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"
"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"
"I didn't ghost you."
"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."
"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"
"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"
"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."
"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."
"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"
The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.
"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."
You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.
To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.
With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.
Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.
With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.
Looks down at you.
Is so close you can smell his aftershave.
A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.
"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."
Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.
The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.
"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.
"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."
He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."
The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.
Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.
Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.
"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"
The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?
All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.
"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"
The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.
Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.
And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.
It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.
Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.
An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.
When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.
While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.
He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.
He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.
As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.
And so it's up to him to put you back together again.
"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"
His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to.  Also knows that he does need to.
"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."
"But I—"
"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up." 
He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.
"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"
His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.
An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).
"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.
The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"
"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"
"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."
Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.
Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.
It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.
"I want you," he husks against your lips. 
"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.
"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."
"And what was that?" You encourage.
There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer. 
Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."
And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?
Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.
The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.
"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.
"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"
"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."
He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.
"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.
"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.
As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.
"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"
You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."
He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.
"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.
"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.
"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.
There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.
"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."
Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."
"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.
And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.
His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.
"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"
"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.
"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."
With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.
Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.
His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.
Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."
The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.
He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.
When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.
Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.
But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.
"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."
If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.
Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.
Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.
You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.
But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.
As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"
Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.
"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."
The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.
"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.
"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.
"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."
It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.
His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.
"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.
"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.
"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."
"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"
"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.
He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.
"S'all there is. They alright?"
"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"
"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."
His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.
"I don't care. I don't want them—"
You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.
"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"
When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.
"I promise," you swear.
As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.
"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"
"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"
"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.
"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."
With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.
"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.
"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.
"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."
"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.
You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.
"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.
Your argumentative streak wants to fight.
You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."
His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.
The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.
In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.
Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.
Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."
Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.
He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.
"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.
The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.
You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.
"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."
"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"
His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."
And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.
But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.
Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."
"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.
"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."
"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.
"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole. 
His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes. 
Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"
There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."
But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."
"You're stupid."
"You're stupider."
"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before. 
His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"
"Think you were gonna make me cum."
"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."
His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.
The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.
As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.
The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.
"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.
"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."
You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.
"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.
"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"
It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.
"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.
"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."
The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with. 
His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.
But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"
That's the thing.
He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.
Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.
"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."
Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.
And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.
"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"
You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.
"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."
It's been half an hour.
He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.
The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck. 
Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.
Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.
"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.
"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."
"We?" You question, incredibly confused.
"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.
Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.
As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.
Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.
"Sorry, what the fuck?!"
Tumblr media
5K notes · View notes
hairmetal666 · 5 months ago
Text
"I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington," he declares to all and sundry (Steve and Robin) in Family Video.
Steve laughs, ducks his head, hair a bountiful cascade that doesn't move an inch. He's blushing but it's not, like, a reaction to the sentiment of marriage. Steve knows Eddie is just like that, flirtatious and over-the-top and incapable of not speaking his thoughts as soon as they enter his head.
Robin roles her eyes, goes back to flipping through her magazine, something about cinema, and Eddie swipes his just rented movies off the counter.
"You think I'm joking," he twists so he's facing them, walking backwards to the door. "But I swear it, oh, beloved purveyor of movies and deleter of late fees."
"Yeah, yeah." Steve's face is pinker than before and Eddie recognizes and immediately forces himself to forget how cute it is. "But get out of here before I change my mind."
And Eddie, he loves to push his luck and also has very little filter between his brain and his mouth, so he says, "aw, don't be that way, Stevie, you love me."
Robin looks up, then, mouth a pursed twist as she tries not to laugh. "Gross, Eddie." She throws a Sour Patch at him. "Keep all that mushy stuff to when you two are alone."
It's his turn to blush, fierce and raging, and Steve whirls, squeaking, to whack Robin with a Twizzler.
Eddie points at her. "Rude, Buckley. You know I love you too."
"Again, gross." She sticks out her tongue, tinged blue from the Sour Patch.
"We really need to work on your ability to accept affection," Steve tells her.
She scowls, kicks him, makes Eddie laugh.
"I think that's my cue to leave, children." He says. He, quite literally, bows out of the store, just missing the barrage of candy thrown his way.
---
Three Months Later
Eddie stumbles into the Harrington house, kicking his boots off by the door. Steve's in the kitchen, fussing around the stove. His hair's askew and he's--
"Harrington, are you wearing an apron?" He ignores the kick in his chest at the sight. "You'll make a sweet little housewife one day."
"Shut-up," Steve says without any heat. "Try this."
He brandishes a spoon filled with red sauce in Eddie's direction, and Eddie--heart always on his sleeve--eagerly leans in to taste. He closes his eyes, savors, and it's good, truly. Perfect fresh acidity with just a burst of sweetness.
"It's amazing, baby," he says without thinking. He opens his eyes right in time to see Steve turning back to the sauce, blush high on his cheekbones.
"Thanks. You're making me nervous though, hovering." Steve hip checks him. "Go sit somewhere."
And Eddie does, jumps onto the island--the Harrington's are the kind of people who have an island--and chatters to Steve about his day, about his new campaign, about the new song he's trying to learn.
All the while, he's watching Steve cook, in his apron, with such care and thoughtfulness, with true command. Maybe it's the domesticity of the scene, maybe his raging crush, but he has this flash of the two of them in the future. In their kitchen, Steve cooking dinner, and Eddie's arms are wrapped around his waist, he's pressing kisses to his temple, complimenting all his hard work and--
Steve feeds him a bite of the finished pasta, and it's so good that he groans, full-throated, unembarrassed, and says--he says, "I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington."
He laughs, face pink, batting Eddie's shoulder. "Go sit down, man. It's time to eat."
---
Two Months After That
Eddie's working on a new campaign when the storm rolls in, wind rocking the trailer, thunder and lightning crackling in the sky. The power doesn't go out, but only just barely, the flickers making his heart pound for reasons that have nothing to do with weather.
There's a knock on the trailer door, and he opens it to find Steve Harrington standing on the porch, hair plastered to his head, clothes soaked. Robin's bike is propped against one of the awning supports. Familiar panic snaps to life in his gut.
"God, Steve, are you okay? Did something happen? That's Robin's bike, where's the Beamer? Is it--is it Vecna? Is--" He's blabbering can't stop, so he shoves his palm against his lips.
"It's not--not Upside Down stuff." He runs a hand through his soggy hair. "Can I come in, man? I--I want to tell you something."
This snaps Eddie out of his panic, and he's moving aside, saying, "Oh my god, get in here, you're soaked. Let me get towels. Do you want a change of clothes, I can--"
Steve catches him by the elbow and he full stops at the look in those big hazel eyes, fearful and sad and he doesn't know what, but his anxiety amps back up.
"I was with Robin and we were--we were talking, you know? And I told her that I like somebody, like really like them, but it was unexpected and--and--it's a guy. He's a guy but I still like girls? Robin said--she said that I'm probably bisexual. That I like guys and girls and--and everyone, I think."
It sends shockwaves through him, and he hopes it doesn't show, doesn't think it shows, but he's having trouble processing. Steve is bi and he likes someone and--Eddie stuffs down the jealousy that claws at him, knows it's more important that he's here for his friend.
"Thank you for telling me, sweetheart." He reaches out, slow in case Steve doesn't want to be hugged, but he launches himself into Eddie's arms.
Eddie holds him tight, heedless of his wet clothes, can feel his shoulders shake, and it tears Eddie's heart in two. All he can do is hold Steve and offer comfort, jealousy be damned.
"You're so brave, honey," he says once the tears taper off.
Steve gives a wet chuckle, face still buried against Eddie's neck. "I don't know about that. I think I got snot in your hair."
"It'll wash out." He laughs. "Is now the time to welcome you to the family? Apparently, we're growing exponentially."
"Does the welcome include a cake or something? I could really use cake."
And God, Steve, is so fucking cute, so sweet, so--everything Eddie has always wanted, and he--it's an accident, or at least, thoughtless--he presses a kiss to Steve's temple. More than one.
Steve pulls back fast, and Eddie lets go immediately. "Sorry, sorry. I--that was stupid. You like someone already, and I--"
His words are cut off as Steve kisses him. Steve kisses him? His brain can't process, but he kisses back. Can't not, not with Steve. Like, he doesn't know anything, head empty, but his body is with the program.
They break apart, he's breathing hard. Steve is beautifully flushed, mouth red and swollen. "You like someone," is what Eddie says.
Steve laughs. "I like you, Munson. Fucking crazy about you."
He smiles, so big it hurts, so big it grows into a delight laugh. "I'm going to marry you one day, Steve Harrington," he says.
---
Six Years Later
They're in bed, Saturday morning, rain pattering softly on the window.
Steve places slow kisses against his naked tummy, makes him tremble, shiver with overstimulation.
"Baby," he whines. "Sweetheart."
Steve smiles up at him, something cold pressing against his ribs, then into his hand.
It's a ring, black metal, shiny and iridescent as he turns it in the light. "What--Steve?"
With one last kiss to his hip bone, Steve sits up, slips the ring onto Eddie's finger. "I'm going to marry you one day, Eddie Munson."
2K notes · View notes
not-neverland06 · 5 months ago
Text
forgotten promises
pt two of broken promises (I know I'm so creative with names)
bodyguard!logan howlett x fem!runaway reader
Tumblr media
a/n: SMUT 18+ MDNI they, like, never use protection (don't be silly, sheathe your willy) but I’d like to make it 100% clear now that she has a magic uterus and there will be absolutely NO baby-making. Just rocking unprotected sex 😎👍 If you’re tagged in this, it does not mean that I am permanently adding you to my taglist. It just means I saw you in my comments/reblogs/inbox asking for a part two and this was the easiest way to let you know I made one. If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask.  Summary: Life on the road isn't exactly glamorous. Cramped spaces and too many cheap motels have you and Logan at each other's throats. You feel eyes tracking you everywhere you go but you're afraid to tell him, afraid it will be the end of the road for the both of you. One cheap bar and an explosion later and your whole life is flipped upside down.
Tumblr media
“What are you doing?”
You glance over Logan’s shoulder at the register. The man behind it isn’t looking at either of you, just disinterestedly scrolling through his phone. 
“Isn’t this what you do?” You ask, motioning to the pack of beef jerky you’re stuffing down your jacket. 
Logan scoffs and shakes his head. “No, kid.” He takes the bag from you and rolls his eyes. 
“Well, then how do you pay for this stuff?”
“Normally, with the money I get from my jobs. But your dad wasn’t too forthcoming with my last paycheck.”
You feel that familiar burning churn of guilt roiling around in your gut. You’ve definitely added another complication to his life and it makes you feel like nothing more than a burden sometimes. “Oh, Logan, I’m sorry.”
Logan glances down at you. He gives you that familiar appeasing look, squeezing you closer, and drags you towards the register. He tosses the snacks and drinks onto the counter. The guy just barely glances up at you both. 
“Will that be all?” He asks in a tone that says he could care less. 
“Yeah,” you answer, eyes drifting towards the magazine rack. Your face is plastered on the cover of a cheap tabloid. 
LOCAL POLITICIANS DAUGHTER STILL MISSING
Exclusive interview with family on PG. 6
Your eyes go wide and you turn your face further into Logan’s chest. He gives you a confused look before his eyes are snagged by the same thing that caught your attention. 
“Why don’t you go wait in the truck?” You nod and slip out of his hold, being mindful to keep your face away from the security camera near the front. 
That keeps happening. You hadn’t thought you would have made news, but your father was making this a part of his campaign. Claiming you’d been taken by a mutant bodyguard and that he’s been praying for your safe return. “Experts” have been claiming that with no ransom demanded you’re being turned into a message for anyone who goes against mutants. 
Now, mutants despise you and everyone else thinks you’re a martyr. In a few years, you’re sure you’ll be turned into some true crime documentary where people you’ve never met before are crying over your disappearance. 
You slide into the truck and let out a deep sigh. You’d thought running away would be freeing. But even a hundred miles from him, you can still feel the cold grip of your father’s hand around your throat. 
Tumblr media
“Twenty on pump seven,” Logan tosses the cash on the counter, eyes drifting to you in the truck. It was instinct at this point, always keeping an eye on you. Especially since one of your father’s more fanatic supporters had spotted you in a shitty diner a week ago. They’d called the cops and tried to bar you and Logan from leaving. 
It hadn’t gone over well for him. 
He’d been trying to keep you a little more hidden since then, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d gotten you out of that house to show you what real life was like, to give you a taste of freedom. 
He felt like he was no better than your father, keeping you cooped up and covered constantly. 
When the kid in front of him doesn’t say anything, Logan clears his throat. He gives him a quizzical look but the boy’s eyes are stuck on the door. 
“I swear I know her,” he mutters. Logan’s eyes drift towards the TV behind the counter and he sees an old news story of you. They’re using the footage of the acid attack, claiming you’ve always been the mutant movement’s target. 
“Can I get twenty on pump seven,” Logan repeats, voice firm. The kid finally looks at him and whatever expression Logan is wearing is enough for him to finally start moving. 
The second the receipt is in his hand he’s rushing out the door. He doesn’t know how long it’s going to take that dumbass to piece two and two together but he can’t risk dawdling. 
He fills the tank up, eyes scanning the gas station the entire time. He’s had a cloying sense of paranoia ever since the incident in the diner. He knows that at some point this little run of yours is going to come to an end. 
He doesn’t know if it’ll end with cops finding the two of you. Or if you’re going to realize the real world isn’t all that fun and leave him behind. He knows that a girl like you, one who's used to the finer things, is never going to be satisfied by the life he can offer. 
But he’s hoping that you come to your senses later rather than sooner. He’s enjoying traveling with you a lot more than he wants to admit. 
He gets in the truck, starts it up, and glances over at you. You smile, the smile that makes him feel things he doesn’t like admitting to himself or you. 
“All good?” You ask. 
He nods, driving off without a word because he doesn’t want to tell you the truth. Doesn’t want to admit what you both know to be a fact. The time you have together has an expiration date and he’s worried it’s creeping closer. 
Tumblr media
Logan’s inside some shitty roadside motel. Whatever he’s talking about with the owner is clearly getting heated. You can see the way the anger’s growing on his face. His body is tensed up and he looks like he’s five seconds away from leaping over the counter and taking the greasy man leering at him down. 
There’s a final word exchanged between them and then Logan is storming back towards the truck. He slams the door closed so hard you’re surprised the windows don’t shatter. Normally, you sleep in the trailer. It’s not always the warmest or coziest, but you make it work. 
It’s too cold out tonight to do that and Logan doesn’t have a spare tank for the heating. He’d thought he’d had enough for a cheap room for tonight, but clearly, he doesn’t. There’s a tense silence in the truck as you mentally debate saying anything to him. 
His fists are wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel you can hear it creaking. You shift, sitting up straighter in your seat and uncurling your legs. There’s a stiffness to your joints that has you groaning. It’s involuntary, ripped out of you simply because you’ve been sitting for too long. 
It catches Logan’s attention and he glances over at you. There’s a resigned sort of guilt on his face and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. He’s used to this type of lifestyle, and sometimes you think he’s embarrassed to share it with you. 
You’d never judge him for roadside motels or living off cheap gas station meals. You know you were privileged living up with the wealth you did. But there is something infinitely more satisfying about being poor and happy than there ever was being rich and miserable.
“Look, kid,” he lets out a heavy sigh and you mentally prepare yourself for what you’ve been expecting. You were a fun time, a nice ride, but you’re becoming a burden and he can’t deal with it anymore. 
You let your nails dig into the thin skin of your palms so you can attempt to ground yourself. “I need to make some money tonight, so I just need you to bear with me for a while.”
Like there is every time he doesn’t boot you to the curb, a relieved rush of air expels from your chest almost violently.  “Okay,” you say tentatively, the word dragging out while you try and understand his meaning. 
“I just,” he stops and it looks like he’s struggling to find the words to say to you. You wait patiently for him to finish, or try to at least. “There’s a bar nearby. I’ll find some work there,” his words are ominous. They give you nothing and convey so much. 
Clearly, he’s hiding something from you. You can tell that much from the way he’s avoiding eye contact with you. He pulls out of the motel’s parking lot and turns the radio on. You’ve learned that's his way of telling you he doesn’t want to talk without being a dick about it. 
You want to respect his space because you still feel like an imposter. But it’s hard. He’s being oddly cagey about this. 
The drive is short but it feels like you’ve been transported to an entirely different town than the one you were in before. He takes only backroads and middle-class homes turn into shady shops with barbed fences. Caged dogs bark at the truck as it drives by and you get a sinking feeling in your gut. 
Perhaps it’s a little classist of you to automatically assume a few low-end homes equate to a bad neighborhood. But instinctually you know something is off about this place. 
He parks in front of a run-down bar. Even from here, you can hear loud shouts and jeering coming from inside. You don’t know what’s being said but they’re certainly passionate. Logan turns towards you, the expression on his face so serious you feel like you’re about to be scolded. 
“I need you to stay here. I won’t be gone long, just an hour at most. But you need to stay in the truck.”
Your jaw gapes and you scoff at him. “Logan, an hour that’s rid-”
He cuts you off with a stern call of your name. Your mouth snaps shut and you narrow your eyes at him, teeth gritting together to keep your tongue at bay. “Stay here, I mean it. Got it?”
You nod and he repeats your name, sounding aggrieved. “Fine,” you huff. “I got it.” He lingers for a moment. You don’t know if he doesn’t trust you or is just reluctant to leave you alone. You’re reluctant to be left alone, especially in a shady dark parking lot like this. But clearly whatever is going on inside is worse than whatever could happen to you out here. 
“I’ll be back soon,” he makes this whole thing sound so grave. It makes your brows furrow and doubt churn in your gut. What could he be doing in there that’s so awful?
He gets out and you watch his form under the flickering street lamps until you can’t see him anymore. You sit quietly in the truck for at least three minutes before you already feel the boredom set in. 
You’d thought you’d be able to last longer. You used to go for hours dissociating at your father’s galas. This is different, though. You’re a little afraid to let your guard down here. 
You try to listen to music but you feel bad wasting his gas so you just turn the truck off and huddle under a blanket in the trailer. You try and let yourself fall asleep but you don’t last long. 
It’s too cold outside to really get a good rest and you can hear people moving around outside the trailer. After about an hour of rolling around and frozen limbs, you figure enough is enough. 
As much as you don’t want to provoke Logan or give him any reason to get rid of you, you can’t stay in here all night. Besides, Logan said he wouldn’t be long, you can always just lie and say you were worried about him. 
Satisfied with your excuse you leave the comfort of your blanket behind and slip into Logan’s jacket. You tuck the truck keys in your pocket and walk out into the snowy night. It’s less cold outside than it was in the trailer, you can see why he wanted a motel room for the night. 
A few people linger by the cars, smoking and muttering to themselves. You slip past them, ignoring the feeling of their eyes burning into your skin. You’re sure it's because you look like you don’t belong here. 
The noise in the bar gets louder the closer you get and it reminds you of the night Logan had snuck you out of the house. But you’d had him to lean on, right now, until you find him, you’re on your own. For all the noise coming from the building, the bar is surprisingly empty. 
Only a few old men are sitting around, drinking beers in silence. The bartender cleans glasses behind the counter, sparing you an odd look before getting back to work. There’s not very far for you to look before you figure out that Logan isn’t anywhere nearby. 
“Excuse me?” The bartender spares you a fleeting glance before barely grunting in greeting. 
The floor underneath you tremors and you glance down at it in surprise. You can hear something going on underneath. You figure that has to be where all the noises are coming from. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, mean as hell, he’s got this hair,” you swoop your hands up by the sides of your head, trying to mimic the odd fluff of Logan’s hair. 
“Downstairs.” You nod and move around the bar, trying to get to the door behind him. He reaches out, grabbing your bicep and stopping you before you can get far. “It's a forty-dollar entrance fee, sweetheart.”
Your brow furrows in confusion and you frown as you dig around in your jacket pockets. You’ve come too far to be deterred now. Ignoring the moral implications, you slip Logan’s wallet out of his jacket and give the man forty dollars. 
He nods towards the door and you give him a weak thank you as you slip past him. Opening the door is like breaking a seal. The noises bombard you almost immediately, so much clearer than they were before. 
You still can’t understand what they’re screaming but there’s a violent atmosphere slipping around you as you head down the stairs. The heady smell of cigars and cigarettes threatens to suffocate you. Your eyes water at the smoke in the air. 
You’d think you’d have gotten used to secondhand smoking after being around Logan, but he’s less inclined to hotbox the car if you’re beside him. The second your feet hit the floor you’re being jostled to the side violently by the people around you. 
It’s nearly impossible to elbow your way through the crowd, but you’re determined to figure out what’s in the middle of the cage that’s got them all excited. You can hear the people around you screaming out bets and numbers you don’t understand. 
For one nauseating moment, you think this might be a dog fighting ring, that Logan gambles on it to earn his money. It makes you want to turn around, to shield yourself from the truth. But this is something he tried to keep hidden from you and you need to know the truth about whoever you’re traveling with. 
You can hear the announcer, but you can’t get close enough to see anything yet. “Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?” There’s a resounding NO! from the crowd that makes you jump. 
A booming voice shouts over the throng of voices, “I’ll take him!” 
“Our savior ladies and gentlemen!” You shove through two men, ignoring the way they complain about how their beer sloshes on their sleeves. 
“Hey-” You glance over your shoulder as one of them reaches for you.  You flick your wrist, sending him and his friend tumbling back into the crowd. You roll your eyes and turn back towards the cage. 
Your eyes widen and so do Logan’s as you finally see what exactly is going on. He’s cage fighting, this is what he’d been so secretive about. Honestly, it’s a relief compared to the brutality you were bracing yourself for. 
You can see his lips starting to form the shape of your name but the man from before is barrelling into his side as the bell goes off. You wince, jumping away from the cage as you hear the meaty impact of his fist against Logan’s face. 
The people near you scream, shouting for Logan’s blood. It’s easy to figure out that he’s been beating everyone he’s gone up against based on some bloody faces in the crowd. It’s smart, easy money. He can always heal, and can never really be beaten, not when he’s literally got fists of steel. 
You’re surprised that no one’s ever caught onto this scam of his. You also wonder why he had been so adamant about you not seeing this. Sure, it’s brutal watching blood spray against the mat. But you don’t care. Besides, he’s ridiculously attractive in just his jeans as he pummels into some guy. 
Maybe that’s not a normal line of thinking. 
You shake your head, shelving that for later as the fight dies down. The man is limp on the mat of the cage and Logan is leaning against the wall, smoking a cigar and pointedly not looking at you. 
You feel that familiar twisting feeling in your stomach and wonder if this was a horrible idea. You should have just stayed in the car like he asked. You’re sure it would have only been another hour of tirelessly rolling around before he came back. But you couldn’t help yourself. 
He tells you so little about himself. If you get a chance to learn more, you’re going to pounce on the opportunity. Maybe it was a violation of his trust. You sincerely doubt that he would ever willingly have revealed this sort of lifestyle to you, though. 
He seems to be under the same misguided intention that you need to be sheltered. It reminds you a little of your father. That might be a cruel comparison but it’s the same suffocating feeling of being kept in the dark to suit their needs. 
The guilt you’d been holding unfurls and blossoms into anger. You find yourself retreating away from the cage and rushing back up the stairs of the bar. You don’t want to watch him fight any longer. You don’t want to look at him. 
You just want him to treat you like an equal. Not like some little girl who’s going to run at the first sign of things getting hard. 
You burst through the door of the bar, ignoring the cold laughter of the bartender behind you. He clearly seemed to think you couldn’t handle a little blood. He wasn’t the only one. 
You’re only a couple of feet from the truck when you hear footsteps loudly stomping through the snow behind you. “What the hell were you doing?” You scoff, unbelieving that he would have the gall to shout at you. 
You whirl around on him and it catches him off guard. His right foot slides against the slush as he tries to stop himself from ramming into you. “I’m not a little girl, Logan! You don’t need to hide stuff like that from me.”
He crosses his arms and glares down at you. “I wasn’t hiding anything,” he insists. But the tone of his voice gives him away. He doesn’t like that he was caught. “I don’t need to tell you jackshit about what I do for money.”
You can’t believe how he sounds right now. Why is he getting so defensive about this? “I don’t care what you do for money, alright. I just don’t get why you felt like I couldn’t know about this.” You hate the way the hurt is audible in your voice. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even when you try and cover it. 
In the same way, he’s masking his feelings with anger, so are you. Just with less success. Something draws across his face, some emotion you can’t discern. His voice goes cold and quiet as he shoves an envelope full of cash into your hands. 
“Go back to the motel. Get a room.”
He storms past you and walks towards the trailer. You follow after him, slightly dumbfounded by how he’s behaving. He rips his motorcycle out from the back and rolls it into a parking spot. You watch him do all this with your tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. 
It’s only when he starts to head back towards the bar that you realize he’s not coming with you. “Logan!” You call out, trailing after him slightly. He barely turns back to face you. “Are you,” the words die on your tongue and you can’t find it in yourself to finish. 
Are you angry?
Are you leaving?
Are you going to ditch me at the next bus stop?
Instead of asking any of your ridiculously pining questions, you turn on your heel and storm towards the truck. You rip the door open with more force than necessary and drive off without looking back at him. But you know he watches, know he keeps an eye on you until he can’t see you anymore. 
Your rides with him are normally silent, but this one feels painfully so. 
Tumblr media
You nearly get a room with two beds. But you feel like if you do it will be a horrendous mistake. Reluctantly, you give the man behind the counter enough for a room with one bed large enough for the both of you. 
You’re not exactly excited about sharing a bed with him, not after how he behaved tonight. You grumble to yourself as you drag your bag inside and toss it on the ground. You picture putting up a wall of pillows between the two of you, just to be petty. 
It’s as you’re showering that you realize you might not even have to. He might not come to join you tonight. He won’t know what room you’re in. And he’d made it pretty clear how pissed he was at you for sneaking into the bar. 
Maybe you’ve finally pushed him too far. You’ve been toying with the boundaries of his patience for a while. Little tests to determine whether he truly wants you around simply to have a warm body ready beside him. Or if he wants you because he genuinely cares for you. 
You suppose tonight, whether you want it or not, you’ll finally have the truth. 
The thought keeps you awake. You toss and you turn for hours, fighting with yourself. You should be happy, finally figuring out what’s been haunting you. But you’re not. You’re petrified. You’d rather keep living a lie than finally accept that he truly doesn’t want you. 
You throw the covers off, the scratchy material only further adding to your irritation. You stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the sink splashing some cool water over your face to try and rid yourself of the warmth lingering under your skin. You don’t know if this feeling of being uncomfortable in your own body is from pent-up anger or anxiety. 
You don’t care. You just want to sleep this night away and pretend it never happened. But, of course, the universe has other plans. The motel door creaks open as you’re hovering over the sink, debating whether or not you’re nauseous enough to throw up. 
You tilt your head slightly towards the sound. Growing up in your house, filtering through rooms like an unheard ghost, allowed you to get good at recognizing footsteps. Logan has finally decided to grace you with his presence. 
You listen to him as he creeps silently across the room, landing on the squeaky bed. You press your ear against the door and can hear the way the sheets rustle and he cusses under his breath. There’s worry staining his voice and you figure you shouldn’t drag this on much longer. 
You open the bathroom door and flip the switch, turning the lamps on like a disappointed mother waiting up for her teenager. You cross your arms mutely and lean against the doorframe as he winces under the sudden light. 
He jumps, just slightly, and glares over at you. “Thought you weren’t here,” he accuses. He tries sounding angry, but you have a sudden rush of clarity in that moment. Where you would normally focus only on him being upset with you, you can see the truth of his concern.
Same as you, he doesn’t know where he stands in this whole situation. You doubt he had a clear plan when he rescued you from your tower like some ridiculous storybook knight. He most likely thought that you left, the same way you thought he would. 
You remain silent, though, still a little too flustered to speak coherently. Instead, you examine him. There are cuts and blood all over his shirt. Splatters of it on his face. Though, you know if you looked there would be no physical evidence of him ever being hurt. 
His brows furrow the longer you stare, a wall building between the two of you. “Kid?” He questions, equal parts worried and defensive. Does he really think you actually give a fuck about him fighting?
You shake your head and walk back into the bathroom. You rustle around in the cabinet underneath the sink until you find a washcloth. Wetting it, you bring it back out to him. You station yourself between his spread legs, holding the cloth between you like a peace offering. 
He looks doubtful as he glances between you and it. Finally, he lets out a rough sigh and simply nods his head. But when he reaches for it you snatch it back, much to his chagrin. You offer him a small smile and tilt his chin up towards you, gently wiping some of the dried blood off his cheeks. 
He doesn’t flinch or hiss away from the less-than-gentle fabric. He stares at you unblinkingly, like if he closes his eyes for a moment he’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream. “You don’t have to do this, kid.”
You roll your eyes and crane your neck to get a better look at him. “Would you shut up?” You whisper teasingly. 
His lips quirk slightly and you can see his shoulder slump in relief at the sound of your voice. “So, she can talk.” You can’t help the little laugh that comes out of you. He grins fully at that and his hands come up to rest on your hips. 
His thumbs rub soothing circles along the sides of your waist as his hands dip a little lower. “What are you doing?” Your hand drifts down to his neck to wipe some blood off there as well. 
He shakes his head and shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You lift your gaze to his and your lips fall flat, “Logan-”
He cuts you off before you can finish. In one smooth motion, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs. He lifts you slightly and drops you onto his lap. He grins at the slight huff of surprise that rushes out of you. 
His arms go back to your waist, pulling you closer to him and grinding you a little against him. You bite your lip to stop any noises from escaping. As much as you wouldn’t mind what he’s thinking, you need to talk. 
“Logan,” you scold. 
He smirks and tilts his head patronizingly, “Something wrong, sweetheart?”
“It’s not happening,” you tell him firmly, hand still working on cleaning him. 
He sighs and one of his arms drops away from you. He cups your hand in his, stilling your movements and forcing you to meet his gaze. Gently, he takes the cloth from you and tosses it somewhere you can’t see. “I’m fine,” he whispers, eyes searching yours. 
It’s hard meeting his gaze. The worry and anxiety from the night still weigh heavily on your shoulders. He repeats himself, fingers tilting your chin up to face him. “Alright?”
“I don’t care,” the words come rushing out of you before you can stop them. His brows raise in shock and he gives a slight chuckle of amusement. A lump grows in your throat and your eyes grow wide. “Wait, I don’t mean-”
You cut yourself off and rub your hands over your face, trying to get your head on right. Logan’s patient, rubbing your back and clearly trying not to laugh at you. You finally take in a deep breath and face him again. 
“I don’t care about the fighting,” you can see his shoulders tense slightly like he doesn’t believe you. “I don’t care, Logan. You do what you have to survive and I’m not gonna judge you for that.”
“What if I enjoy it?” He cuts you off, tone harsh as he glares down at you. There's experience in how quickly he doubts you, how quickly he tries to get you to change your mind about him.
You wonder how many times he’s been rejected just for being a mutant. You’ve only ever been rejected by one person because only he ever knew. Your father. And that hurt enough for one lifetime. 
You can’t imagine going for as long as he has and constantly being called a monster for something he can’t control. Your brows furrow and you lean into him until your lips are brushing. He remains stiff beneath you but you don’t let it deter you. 
“I don’t care,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his before slowly pulling back. You wait for him to respond, physically or verbally, but he’s still looking at you with that cold unfamiliar gaze. 
You wonder if maybe it was a mistake, to bring it up at all. But just as the thought comes he’s surging forward. His lips catch yours, his hands digging so desperately into your shirt you know it rips. 
Your arms go to his neck, holding onto him so you don’t slip off his lap. You haven't been this close for a few days. You think it might have made you both feel on edge. There’s a relief that comes from not just having sex with him, but also just being intimate and close to one another. 
It’s a reminder that you’re not alone, that there’s someone here beside you to be a partner and a pillar of stability. You’ve never had that before. Someone that you can rely on and trust fully. You don’t think he has either. 
He craves you the same way you do him. Each kiss, every shared breath, is treated like it will be your last. You don’t know when your father will finally catch up to the two of you. You don’t know when the police might finally recognize Logan. 
There’s no definitive future for either of you. It’s a real possibility that this could be your last night together. And neither of you wants to be upset with each other. Because you were never truly mad. You were always just worried. 
Your hands drop to his shirt, dipping to find the holes in it from his fight and ripping at the flimsy fabric until you can just yank it off. He smiles against your lips at the eager way you move atop him. But he can’t tease you, he’s already annoyed with the buttons on your shirt. 
He pulls back, glaring down at the fabric like it's insulting him. Without another word, he slices through it, leaving it in tatters on your shoulder. You grin, shrugging the rest of it off. “That was yours.”
He grips your hips tightly and leaves marks where his fingers are as a reminder that he was here. He flips you over, leaves you breathless as he hovers over you. “I really don’t give a fuck, sweetheart.”
You’re addicted to his voice. How breathy and desperate it is when he’s with you. It’s a level of vulnerability you rarely get to see from him. He can’t hide himself when he’s with you like this. He wants you just as badly as you do him. 
It gives you a confidence rush like no other, makes your ego grow ten times its size. If you can make a man like this fall to his knees from nothing more than a kiss, then you’re capable of a lot more than you give yourself credit for. 
But you don’t want that tonight. You reach for him before he can go much further, grabbing him by his hair and tugging until you know it stings. He nearly fucking moans at your rough touch, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The green of them has been wholly consumed by his desire for you and it makes you ache for him. 
“Not tonight,” you tell him. There’s no room for argument in your tone. As much as he might want to taste you, devour you, all you want is to be as close to him as possible. You want to be covered and filled by him in every way you can be. 
His head falls against your thigh, a rough groan tumbling from his throat at your words. You drag him towards you, pulling him up your body until you’re face to face. You smile softly up at him, lifting your head so you can meet his lips again. 
You’ll never get enough of kissing him, of tasting him. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from reaching across the seats and kissing him while he drives. You’ve nearly made him wreck a few times and forced him to pull over so you could both have some fun in the back. 
Addiction isn’t the right word for what you feel for him. It brings along its own negative connotations. The taint of dependency and toxicity. With addiction, it’s a parasitic relationship, hurts you but makes you feel good. 
This is just goodness. This is a kind touch for the first time in your life and finally feeling safe in someone elses arms. This is opening yourself up to him fully and not once feeling like you need to mold yourself into something else to make him happy. It’s accepting him as he is, a broken dog who likes to fight to punish himself. You don’t want to change him or make him “better.” You just want him to be happy. 
You use your powers to help yourself, flipping him over and straddling his hips. You drag his jeans down his legs and flick your wrist, sending them flying somewhere across the room. He watches you with eyes filled with awe, hands drifting over your curves like something to be worshipped. 
You know he’s waiting for it, for you to sink yourself down on him and finally be filled. But you wait, hover over him even as the muscles of your thighs tremor. “You don’t hide things from me anymore,” you warn him. You’re not asking, for once, you’re demanding what you want. 
He doesn’t look angry like you’d been expecting. Instead, it only seems to turn him on more. “Ya know,” his hands drift to your hips, dragging you down and over his cock until it’s wet with your want. Your nails dig into his chest until there’s blood beading under them and you’re trying not to let your noises slip out. 
“I kinda like it when you’re all bossy like this.” 
“Logan,” you grit his name out. It takes everything in you not to look as affected by him as you feel. “No more hiding shit.”
He leans up on his elbows. His hand drifts to the nape of your neck and drags you down until your lips are nearly touching his. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”
Like a taut rope being cut, you sink into him, your hips finally drop and he guides you down every inch of him until you feel like you’re so full you can’t breathe. He lets you linger for a moment, and get used to this feeling while he steals the very air from your lungs. 
He’s greedy with the way he touches you. His hands always moving like he’ll never fully be satisfied with how much of you he can feel. He’s always reaching for you like he needs to make sure you’re actually real and not just something he’s dreamt up. 
Even with how impatient he is, you’re always the one that moves first. You roll your hips over him, moaning at how he feels inside you. It’s like he’s perfectly molded you around him. He always manages to brush against the spots that make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 
The second your hips begin to roll, he’s wrapping his heavy arms around you, grinding you down into him. He keeps you trapped in place, using you like a toy as he bounces you on his lap. Your mind is fuzzy, every bad thought and feeling shoved out while he makes you go dumb on his dick.
You love how boneless you go. You don’t have to think now, don’t have to worry. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, shifting yourself further on top of him until you're practically burying yourself under his skin. 
Not thinking always comes with its own consequences, though. Your powers slip a little out of your grasp. The walls trembling and the drawers and cabinets opening and closing. The both of you have gotten used to the noise, know how to drown it out, and just focus on each other. 
One of these days, you’ll need to figure out a way to have sex with him without bringing the room down around you. That’s a problem for later though. His whispered praises and grunts of your name filter through your mind until there’s nothing left inside you but him. 
“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, “you’re so fucking tight around me. You close?” He grunts, hand drifting down to rub tight circles on your clit. You dig your nails into his shoulders, nodding your head frantically against his neck. “Words, sweetheart.”
“Shit,” you can barely think of your own damn name. Let alone what you want from him. “Fuck off,” you hiss. He chuckles at the attitude and you almost expect him to stop, just to be a dick because you were a brat. 
But he’s just as close as you are and he’s too selfish to tease. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes down on you as your body shakes against his. He follows quickly after you, warmth shooting up inside you and almost leaking down your thighs. You feel stuffed, like your body’s been pushed to the limit and further. 
You both sit together in silence for a while. You ignore the way your skin sticks to his uncomfortably, instead reveling in the warmth he provides you. Anyone else, and you’d be rushing to get away from them. 
You’re always extra sensitive after sex, every little thing setting you off. But there’s a comfort to the way his hairy ass chest brushes against your breasts and his arms squeeze around you. It’s a nice grounding feeling. 
The tips of your fingers drift over his arms, following the path of his veins and brushing against his fingers lazily. He flips his palm over, encasing your hand in his own wordlessly. Little things like that ease your worries. Makes you feel like something more than just a quick fuck. 
He breaks the silence first, which is rare for him. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
You frown and peer up at him. “I told you, I don’t care about the fighting.”
He sighs and shakes his head, “Not that. I shouldn’t have gotten so fucking mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You want to interrupt him, assure him that you both acted pretty childishly. 
But you understand it’s difficult for him to express himself verbally. He usually prefers silent acts of apologies and expression, you don’t want to mess him up before he can get out what he wants to say. 
“I don’t want to be like your father.” Your face screws up a little and you shift uncomfortably on his lap. He loosens his grip, giving you room to leave if you want to, but you stay put. “I’m trying not to coddle you, sweetheart, or hide you away from the world. But I don’t like you seeing that shit.”
“You’re not my dad, Logan. He wouldn’t give me a choice,” you try and joke but it just seems to make him more irritated. Sighing you straighten up, bracing yourself on his chest and staring down at him. 
Your head tilts to the side in contemplation and he almost looks uncomfortable under the attention. “I’m not so fragile or sheltered that I’m going to shatter at the first taste of the real world, Logan. I mean, for god’s sake, I’ve had acid thrown at me and bodyguards since I could walk. I know how dangerous it is. Whatever you want to hide from me, I’ve seen worse.”
You let your words sink in for a moment and he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. You know that it’s odd for him, to comprehend a girl who was afraid to go into a bar swallowing down an illegal fighting ring like it’s nothing. But you’re not lying. Everyday little things are what you’re unused to. But you’ve lived alongside violence your whole life. 
“Look, fighting, sleeping in shitty motels, and your truck, that doesn't bother me. But I don’t like when you hide things and I don’t,” you take in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the worst. This is what you’ve been trying to tell him for weeks. 
A few little words have your tongue tied and make you desperate to cover yourself up again. He can see the shift in your expression, and feel how tense you get. He sits up a little more, thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand. 
“I don’t want to just be someone to fuck you, Logan. I didn’t come with you so you’d have easy access pussy,” he looks thoroughly amused at your crude words, but there’s something else lingering in his expression. Something like hurt. 
“Is that what you think?” He asks, tone distant. You can’t find the words so you simply nod. He sighs and shakes his head. He eases you off his lap and you worry you’ve truly fucked this up somehow. 
He goes into the bathroom, returns with a wet washcloth. He still doesn’t speak and you’re on edge the entire time he cleans the both of you up. You can see he’s thinking, biting his tongue, and trying to figure out what it is that he wants to say to you. 
You’re impatient, five seconds away from just demanding a response from him. He tosses the cloth and drops into bed beside you. You draw the sheets up to your chest, glaring down at him while he rubs his hands over his face with a tired sigh. 
When he opens his eyes again he laughs at how close you are. “Jesus,” he wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you down into his chest even though you fight him. It must be easier for him to speak when you’re not staring at him. 
“I didn’t go back for you so I could fuck you, kid. I… care about you,” there’s a long pause before he says the word care. You think it’s funny, that he can’t bring himself to admit what he actually feels. But you’ll take it, you’ll give him the time he needs to come to terms with the truth. 
For now, you let yourself fall asleep, feeling just a little bit better about the road ahead. 
Tumblr media
Things get easier between the two of you. And somehow harder at the same time. You don’t walk on eggshells around each other, no longer afraid of scaring the other off now. Which also means that you find it easier to bicker with him about little things. Like, not just tossing his trash everywhere in the truck. You’re practically living out of the trailer, the least he could do is help you keep it tidy. 
You know it’s weird for him. Suddenly having someone nag at him not to be a slob or to take breaks in between driving so he doesn’t wear himself out. It’s an adjustment you see him struggle with sometimes. 
You try not to be too pushy, but there’s only so many times you can flick crumbs from his burgers off your seat before you lose it. “Logan!” You snap, glaring at him as you stand up only to find chip crumbs squished into the fabric of your leggings. 
He glances over at you and shrugs, “What?” 
You glance between the crumbs and him with a glare but he doesn’t seem to be connecting the dots. “Fucks sake,” you grumble, passive-aggressively wiping the truck seat off before you slam the door and storm towards the diner. 
You’re sick of being cramped in the truck. You’re sick of the greasy food. You’ve begun to crave salads lately. Which is beyond weird. But the novelty of shitty food and milkshakes wore off a hundred miles ago. 
Logan catches up to you, huffing with irritation as he swings the door open for you. You take a seat in the booth near the corner, snatching up the menu and pointedly staring at it and not him. “Really?” He demands. When you don’t answer he tips the menu down, forcing you to meet his gaze. “What is your problem?” He hisses, trying not to draw attention to you both. 
You lean in, voice a harsh whisper. “How hard is it to just not make a mess? We live out of that damn truck, the least you could do is keep your crumbs on your side.”
He rolls his eyes and leans back in the booth. You’re both sick of having the same fight. But there’s really nothing else to do anymore. When you’re stuck together for so long, it’s the small things that get to you. 
You’re going to say more but the waitress pops in front of you out of nowhere. “Hi!” She beams and gives you her name, the bows in her hair trembling at how hyper she is. “What can I get you both today?”
You and Logan place your orders, and he shoots you an odd look when you only order the salad. “We’ve got a couple more hours ahead of us, you’re gonna get hungry.”
You cross your arms and shrug, “No, I won’t.”
He licks his lips, sucking on his teeth and leaning against the table. “Yes, you will,” he argues with a stern voice. 
You narrow your eyes at him and give him a bitter smile. “Kiss. My. Ass.”
Tumblr media
Your stomach grumbles for the third time and you know that Logan can hear it. You’re pointedly not making eye contact with him. It feels like it's louder than the music at this point and you really don’t want to prove him right. 
Without a word, he begins to dig around in the center console. You glance towards him, confused, “What’re you doing?”
He doesn’t say anything, just tosses whatever he’s grabbed onto your lap. You glance down at it and frown. It’s somehow cold as you unwrap it. You pull the parchment paper away and let out a relieved sigh. 
He ordered you a wrap from the diner without you realizing. You take a bite, your hunger steadily easing away. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, pointedly looking out the window. 
He glances over at you and scoffs. “What was that? Couldn’t hear ya, kid.” 
You roll your eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s already looking at you, a teasing tilt to his lips. “I said I’m sorry,” you snap. “I shouldn’t have been a bitch.”
He shakes his head and waves you off. “I haven’t exactly been pleasant myself. I’ll,” he huffs lowly and forces the words out, “clean up more.”  
“I think we’ve just been stuck on the road too long. We’re gonna end up driving each other insane.”
His eyes glance along the signs on the highway. There’s a notice for food and shopping at the next exit and he nods towards it. “We’ll stop at a motel for a few nights. Take a break.” You want to ask him if he’s sure that’s smart. 
It seems risky, to slow down for so long. But you need to walk around, breathe fresh air, and stretch your legs. You’re too selfish to tell him not to stop and keep going. Instead, you nod and smile at him. “That sounds really nice.”
He gives you a slight smile that’s gone as quickly as it came, reaching over and resting his hand on your thigh. You move closer to him and he turns the radio up. You wonder why he doesn’t want to talk anymore but you don’t push it. You’re too excited to finally get out of the truck again. 
Tumblr media
The town is nice enough. It’s small, with only a few shops where you buy some new shirts to replace one’s that Logan has torn up. The motel you’re staying at doesn’t have a washing machine so you have to use the laundromat to wash your clothes. 
Logan says he’s going to see if he can find a quick job nearby. You wonder if that means a real job or a more bloody one. You decide not to ask questions, instead taking the little change you have and figuring you’ll try to get the smell of grease out of all your clothes. 
As you load the machine up and put your quarters in you can’t escape the feeling of someone watching you. You’ve been on high alert ever since Logan stole you away from the house. But this is different. 
You’ve gotten used to your own paranoia, you know when it’s real or not. You walk away from the machine, glancing out at the glass walls near the front and trying to see if there’s someone out there. This, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like a police stakeout where they’re going to track you back to the motel and bust Logan. 
This is something different. There is a deep-seated primal fear in you that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart races as your eyes search the dark street outside. What little glow comes from the streetlights isn’t enough for you to clearly make anything out. 
But you feel them, tracking your every move. They’re somewhere nearby, you can’t see them but they see you. You feel sick to your stomach. You glance at the door before racing towards it. You turn the lock, slowly backing away and keeping your eyes trained on the street. 
You look into the shadows and find shapes and movements where there are none. Your eyes spin as your brain crafts a horrible image of some monster waiting outside for you. When the timer for the washer goes off you let out a sharp scream, spinning around and clutching your chest as you glare at it. 
“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, angrily running your hand over your face and trying to catch your breath. You put the clothes in the dryer and by the time you're done, the feeling is gone. You don’t know if they were never there to begin with, or if they got bored and left. 
You’d told Logan that you didn’t need a ride, you’d just walk the short distance back to the motel. Now, you use the phone on the front counter and call him, telling him you’ve changed your mind after all. 
By the time he picks you up, he looks incredibly concerned. You know you sounded panicked when you called him. You still feel upset about the whole thing. But when he asks what’s wrong you just tell him you got a little scared walking back in the dark. 
You don’t tell him someone was watching you because you know he’ll make you pack up and leave again. You want some stability. Even if it's just for a week. So, as stupid as it is, you lie to him and say everything’s fine. 
When you try to go to sleep that night you feel like you’re being watched again. Even with the curtains closed their eyes burn into you. You toss and turn under the heavy weight of the sheets, struggling to get comfortable. 
There’s a low grumble behind you before Logan throws his arm over your waist and tugs you back into his chest. “Stop movin’ around,” he demands, his voice barely audible. You smile a little at how tired he sounds before forcing yourself to settle down. 
He doesn’t give you much choice, using his body as a weight to keep you pinned. You still feel their gaze, even more now, but his proximity brings you enough comfort to get a little bit of restless sleep. 
Tumblr media
Logan’s up before you, he always is. He comes in with cheap coffee and free breakfast from the lounge. You push the sheets off your legs, your shirt sticking to your back from the cold sweat of your nervous sleeping. You feel a little more at ease this morning. 
You wonder if you’re developing some late-in-life fear of the dark. You don’t know why you were so upset last night, you feel perfectly fine now. It’s almost like it was all one bad dream. Logan walks over, handing you the coffee wordlessly and rustling around in your bag for something. 
He pulls out the envelope of cash you keep stashed away and frowns at the contents. “Found a job,” he mutters, stuffing the envelope away and turning back towards you. He leans against the desk, face pensive. 
You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up a bit more so you sound coherent. “What is it?” You take a sip of the coffee and your face screws up at the aftertaste. 
“Fighting,” his tone is clipped and you wonder what’s got him up in arms. He walks past you, heading into the bathroom, and closing the door behind him. You tilt your head, gaze following him curiously. He doesn’t normally close the door, he usually likes to invite you to join him. 
Something happened and you wonder if he’s hiding the same thing you are. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath and closing your mind off to the fear from last night. 
By the time Logan is done in the bathroom, you’re feeling more awake. You can’t just dismiss what happened last night. You’ve never gotten scared like that before. You refuse to ignore your instincts, but you’re also not going to let whoever that was terrify you into going back on the road. 
You don’t want things between you and Logan to grow more tense than they already are. The time away from each other yesterday helped a lot. You no longer want to strangle him when you hear him breathe. You’ll just stick closer to him today and see if you feel the eyes on you again tonight. 
“So,” you start, testing the waters to see if he’s still in a bad mood. He glances over at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity but you’re tongue-tied as you stare at him. However many weeks you’ve been with him and you’re never gonna get used to seeing him straight out of the shower. 
The towel is draped low on his hips, giving you a taunting look at what lies underneath the white cloth. Droplets drip down his abs and you’ve never wanted to be water more than you do right now. It’s unfair, just how attractive he is. 
You always forget what you’re going to say. You can’t think when he has a shirt off, it’s infuriating. Scoffing, you turn away from him and shake your head. You hear him chuckle, you know he knows what you’re thinking about. 
“What’s wrong?” He creeps up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you back into his chest. 
“Logan, dammit,” water soaks into the back of your shirt uncomfortably and you tilt your head to glare at him. 
He smirks down at you, “Cat got your tongue, kid?”
You roll your eyes and push away from him. “I can’t even remember what I was going to say.” You snatch a shirt from the dresser and shove it into his hands. “Put this on.”
He scoffs and gives you a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” You wait for him, gaze expectant. You’re not gonna be able to think when he looks like this. Sighing, he acquieses and tugs the shirt on. His lips fall into a sarcastic line, “Happy?”
Like a switch being flipped you finally remember what you were going to ask him. “The job you told me about. Where is it?”
You can see on his face how little he wants to divulge that information to you. But you know he’s going to tell you. You two made a deal not to hide things, although, you might be breaking your side of that right now. 
“Some shitty bar a few miles from here. Listen-”
You’re not gonna like it. 
I don’t want you tagging along. 
You should just stay here and read or some shit.
You wonder which one he’ll pick today. “You wouldn’t like it, it’s just a shitty little place where I can make some quick cash.” Look at that, it’s rarely ever your first pick excuse. You must be getting better at reading him. 
“I’ll come with you,” you tell him because you’re not asking. You’re not staying by yourself tonight and you both need the money. You grin at him even as his face falls in disappointment. “Maybe I’ll fight.”
He doesn’t even say anything and you immediately regret what you said. The look he’s giving you would put you six feet under if it could. “It was just a joke,” you mutter.
“Wasn’t funny, kid,” he tells you, tone clipped as he moves around you to grab his jeans. “I don’t even want you in those places, let alone fuckin’ fighting.”
You purse your lips and take a seat on the bed, handing him his jacket when he begins looking for it. “I have abilities too, you know. Maybe I could win a fight.”
“Don’t,” he snaps. “I win because I can take the hits people deal me. You can’t,” you don’t bother arguing with him that you heal too. You understand what he means. You might be able to recover physically, but there’s a mental aspect to being knocked on the ground. There’s humiliation and fear in cage fights, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle that side of it. 
He waits for you to say anything else but when he realizes you’ve dropped the subject he lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ll stay in the truck,” he tries. 
You give him a deadpan look, slipping the keys out of your purse and handing them to him. “No way in hell, but I’ll stay by the bar if it makes you feel better.” He stays silent and nods but you know he’ll try and convince you otherwise when you actually get to the place. Tough luck, though, you don’t think it’s safe for either of you to be apart tonight. Even if it’s just staying in the truck. 
Tumblr media
The setup of these places is always the same. Though, this bar seems to be particularly disgusting in comparison to other ones you’ve been to. You position yourself near the corner, your back to the wall so you’re less likely to be noticed in the crowd. 
The fights never last more than a few minutes. And that’s if Logan is feeling generous. Most of the time you only need to be here an hour before people get pissed off and go home. Someone bumps into you and you hear a small, “I’m sorry,” before they rush to claim a stool. 
The crowd’s already begun to die out. Most leave while they still have a little money left in their pockets. You duck your head down, catching the eye of the girl who’d bumped into you. She looks young and incredibly skittish. Her eyes keep darting to the tip jar near the bartender. 
She quietly asks for water but the bartender just shakes his head, tugging the jar closer to him. You don’t know why you’re drawn to her, maybe it’s because she looks like one of those sad pound puppies, but you take a seat beside her. 
“Water,” you order, slipping him some change. When he gives it to you, you pass it off to her, spotting the greedy way she eyes it. You know a runaway when you see one, she clearly needs a little help. But Logan’s got enough on his shoulders, you’re not gonna bug him with adding another person to the mix. 
“Thank you,” she gulps it down like she hasn’t drunk anything in days. You feel your stomach twist with empathy. What little cash you have in your wallet, you slip into her bag as you pass by her. Logan will have made enough for it to be spared and it's the least you can do. 
Not everyone is as lucky as you to have someone help them navigate a new life. 
Logan grabs his jacket, wiping blood off from under his nose and heading towards you. You know he’ll want a drink before you go, he always does. Before he can say anything someone’s shouting the name he uses in the cage. “Hey, Wolverine! I want my fucking money back.”
The big man he’d knocked down earlier takes a step towards him. His friend tries to hold him back, but there’s no stopping him. He’s already had his ass kicked once, what makes him think this is going to be any different?
“Not your money anymore, bub.” Logan scoffs and turns back towards you. You just want to leave now. You don’t want to stay for a drink or go get something to eat. You feel the eyes on you again, but when you turn to find them there’s no one there but the girl. 
And she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are wide and staring at something else. “Behind you!” She screeches, and both you and Logan whirl around to find the man barreling towards him with a knife outstretched. 
Logan moves so quickly that you stumble back slightly. He grabs the guy's arm, twisting his wrist until the knife drops to the ground. He shoves him back against the wall, claws out and pinning him there.
“Shit,” you whisper, glancing around as the few patrons of the bar stare in horror at Logan. The people counting his money stop and tuck it back into the cash box. You clench your eyes shut in irritation, he’s not gonna be getting paid tonight, that’s for sure. 
There’s a strange noise behind you, like someone cocking a gun. You turn around slowly, gasping when you see the bartender pointing the barrel of his shotgun at your chest. He’s not aiming it at Logan, he’s aiming it at you. Like he somehow knows that’s the only way to get him to back off. 
It’s not like he was going to kill the guy, besides, he came at him with a knife first. What’s the difference if Logan’s a mutant? He’s defending himself. Why does no one understand that?
“Get out of my bar,” the old man warns lowly, taking a step closer to you. Logan turns around and finally spots what’s going on. 
“Pay me and I’ll be on my way.” You know you’d be able to heal from the shotgun blast, but you don’t exactly want to go through it. 
The old man laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not getting paid, buddy. Get the fuck out of my bar before I put a hole in your little girlfriend.”
Your eyes narrow in disbelief. You debate with yourself for a moment, if this is smart or not. But the guy’s being a prick and you’re sick of people treating mutants like they’re less than nothing. You flick your wrist and the shotgun goes flying out of his hand. 
You glance over at the cashbox and it comes floating towards you, landing easily in your outstretched palm. “Be thankful I’m not blowing a hole in you,” you warn, glaring at the cowering man. You walk forward and he stumbles back and you try not to focus on the sick feeling of satisfaction it brings you. You grab the tip jar and shove it towards the girl at the end of the bar. “Good luck, kid.”
Logan releases the man from the before, taking a step towards you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and rush towards the exit of the bar. You need to just get the fuck out of this town as quickly as possible, you’re not safe here anymore. 
Logan seems to agree with you. He gets into the truck and doesn’t turn back to the motel. Instead, he turns onto the highway while you keep your eyes peeled on the trees outside your window. There’s someone out there, still following you. 
Tumblr media
“Something’s wrong with the suspension,” you glance up from where you’d been working on breaking open the cashbox and frown. Logan’s glaring down at the steering wheel, it seems like he’s struggling to get it to turn properly. 
“What?”
He scoffs and glares at you, “How should I know?” He pulls over to the side of the road, opens his door, and lets in a rush of cool air and snow. You toss the cashbox to the back of the trailer and follow after him. 
He goes to where he’s pulling his motorcycle and you feel like you notice an extra bump under the tarp. “What’s that?” You take a step towards it just as Logan pulls it back. You have to bite back a laugh when you see the girl from last night curled up next to his motorcycle. 
She gives you both guilty looks and slowly sits up. “I’m sorry,” Logan offers her a hand and she gets out of the trailer. He grabs her bag and drops it at her feet. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Find a different ride,” he growls, already heading back to the truck. You open your mouth, prepared to argue, but you can’t force her on him. As much as you might want to help her. She’s better off away from the two of you.
“You’re just gonna leave me here?” She snaps at him, a little attitude finally showing through. 
“Yep!” He gets in the truck and you know he wants to drive off immediately but he has to wait for you. You shoot her an apologetic look as you follow after him, slipping into the seat beside him. He starts the engine, driving off slowly, eyes drifting towards the rearview mirror. 
You bite your tongue, trying not to point out how cruel he is leaving her on a snowy highway in the middle of nowhere. He glances over at you, “What?” He snaps. 
You shake your head and shrug. “Nothing.” You’ve barely finished speaking before he’s slamming on his brakes. 
“God dammit,” he mutters, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. You can’t help the grin on your face, reaching over to open your door. It doesn’t take long for the girl to catch on, scooping up her bag and chasing after you. 
“You’re such a softie,” you tease him. 
“Shut the hell up.”
Tumblr media
Rogue is nice, if not a little odd. She claims to be a mutant too but doesn’t want to give specifics on her abilities. You don’t want to push her but you are curious about the gloves she wears. “What kind of name is Wolverine?” She asks, spotting Logan’s tags. 
He glances over at her and smiles slightly, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”
She goes to say something but you throw your arm out, holding her back as you shout, “Logan, watch out!” He tries to hit his brakes in time but the tree’s already coming down. The truck slams into it and it’s like time slows down, only for a moment. 
You can feel the impact of your body against the windshield, the glass dragging along your scalp and skin. It’s like a million razors each slicing into you. And then, you’re flying through the air, head snapping so hard against the ground you can’t see anything. 
You hear something happening around you, a roar that doesn’t sound human echoing through the air. There’s the sound of metal crunching and someone is screaming in the distance but you can’t see. It’s not like a total void of darkness, there’s just nothing. 
You feel the blood slowly leaking down the back of your skull and something lands harshly against your head. You don’t think much time has passed. When your eyes finally open, however, you’re not lying on the pavement. 
The world around you is foreign. It smells like a hospital but it’s not like any you’ve ever seen. X-rays are hanging on the wall and paperwork is scattered on a desk near the bed you’re lying on. 
Your mind is blank for a moment. Slowly turning back on while you process the sudden change of scenery. You don’t even remember closing your eyes, you don’t know when your vision came back to you or how long you’ve been here. 
The terror sets in quickly. You throw the blankets off your legs, staring down at the pajamas you wear in disgust. Someone had changed you. They’d run tests and done X-rays on you and you don’t remember a second of it. 
You rip the needle out of your arm, tossing it to the floor and running towards the door. Your feet slip on the metal floors as you run but you’re afraid to stop. Everything around you looks more and more like a lab. 
Did someone from the bar call some government agency? You’ve heard horror stories from your father about the tests the military has run on mutants. You’re starting to worry that’s what's happening to you. 
But you doubt the military would make it so easy for you to escape. This has to be something else. You’d heard other voices when you’d been lying on the ground. People who had been trying to help. Could that be who took you?
“You caught on quicker than your friend.” You nearly fall flat on your face, flipping around to see who spoke. But no one’s there. You’re completely alone. “I’m just grateful you didn’t choke out one of my associates.” it’s coming from beside you now. 
It’s all around you, the voice floating through the walls until you think he might be in your mind. “Much faster than your friend,” he sounds gleeful and it makes you even more anxious. “I’m a telepath, darling, nothing to fear. If you’d just take that elevator and come up to meet me.”
You’d have to be an idiot to actually listen to the voices in your head. But you don’t see another way out of here. So, reluctantly, you follow the floating voice’s instructions and slip inside the elevator. 
When the door opens up again you don’t have a chance to step inside before someone’s pushing you back. Logan stands in front of you, hands clamped tightly around your shoulders while he looks you over. 
You sink into his arms, hugging him tightly to you. You’d been terrified you were all alone here. It’s more than a relief to see him again. “You’re okay?” He asks, pulling back to look at you one last time. 
You nod, throat too dry to try and form a coherent sentence. You glance over his shoulders brows furrowed at the people awkwardly watching you reunite. There’s a man in a wheelchair smiling at you, “Ah, glad you could make it.” The floating voice, of course. “Logan here was quite worried about you.”
Logan turns to glare at the man and you offer a slight smile. There is something comforting about him. You’re not exactly threatened by an old guy in a wheelchair. The redhead behind him, however, is bugging you. Something about the way she’s looking at Logan doesn’t sit right with you. 
“Welcome to my school for the exceptionally gifted,” something about the way he says that makes you tilt your head in confusion. You don’t know what he means until there’s a puff of smoke behind him and some kid is walking by with their hair on fire like it’s nothing. 
Mutants. It’s an entire school for mutants. You think you could pass out again. 
Tumblr media
“It’s the best place we could have ended up, Logan. This is amazing.” You’ve been going back and forth for an hour. He won’t see reason. He keeps saying you need to leave. That you don’t know these people and it could all be one big trap. 
You don’t understand him, why he’s so desperate to get away from people like the both of you.  You’re rejected in every other corner of society. You could have something real here. 
It hits you at once. That’s the problem. He’s not ready for something real. He’s not used to it because he’s never had it before. At least you could pretend at a sense of normalcy living at home. It’s an entirely new concept to him, sticking to one place for so long. 
“We don’t know these people,” he hisses, leaning over the bed to argue with you. You narrow your eyes but your conversation is cut off by a knock on the door. You sigh, walking away from him and swinging the door open. 
Jean is on the other side, a surprised look on her face when she sees you. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to drop these off to Logan.” You glance down at the towels in your hand and give her a strained smile. That’s a flimsy excuse if you’ve ever seen one. “I must have the wrong room.”
You step to the side, opening the door wider so she can see him. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy angrily unmaking the bed. “No, you have the right one.” You hold your hands out expectantly, “I can just take those for you.”
The look on her face is priceless and finally causes a real smile to grow on your lips. She wordlessly hands you the towels, looking disappointed. You don’t know if it's because of what she was trying to do, or because she couldn’t do it. 
Before she leaves you call out a quick, “Tell Scott I said thank you again. Wouldn’t be here without him, after all.” Her shoulders tense and she rushes back down the hall. Whatever little crush or interest she has with Logan is going to need to be dealt with on her own. 
You’ve got enough shit going on without having to worry about her too. You shake your head and slam the door shut, tossing the towels on the desk. Logan sits on the bed, watching you with an odd look. 
“What was that about?”
“She’s into you,” you tell him bluntly, waiting for his reaction. He doesn’t even blink, just glances between the towels and you before shrugging. 
“Not interested.” You don’t want to admit that you feel any relief. There was never any real doubt. But it’s still nice to be reassured. 
You slip into bed beside him, taking his hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. “I know that this isn’t what either of us was expecting, but this is good, Logan. We don’t have to worry about pretending we’re something we’re not. We don’t have to worry about my dad or anyone finding us.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But he lets out a heavy sigh and drags you closer to him. He tucks your head under his chin, placing a brief kiss against your forehead. “If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But I’m not putting on that fucking costume.”
You laugh a little, peering up at him with a grin, “Deal.” 
There’s a place for you here, even if there isn’t in the rest of the world. You can be safe here, you don’t have to worry anymore. You don’t have to fear the eyes on the back of your head because they can’t get you here. 
Tumblr media
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 
Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  
@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl @allilium @insomniachox  ♡ 
Asked for part two: @enchantedbutterflies @strawberrylore @ittoscumdump @enananawoah @wotcherboo
@cali0101 @fluffy-b33z @pcrushinnerd @izbelross @saltwaterburns
@likeficsinthewnd ♡ 
1K notes · View notes
midascrow · 11 months ago
Text
Alastor x Gn!Reader
Favoritism pt.1
part 2
————/////————————//////
Synopsis: the others notice a certain Deer Demons positive behavior regarding one of the staff. (Reader)
a/n: reader is portrayed as pretty meek and quiet. At least upon first meeting people, and I may continue that trait in part 2 or have them open up a bit more.
———————————————/—/——————
“Don’t ya think it’s kinda…I dunno..weird?”
Charlie’s shiny eyes snapped up from the sparkly cards and glue strewn across the living room table. “What’s weird?” Angel hummed, one set of arms crossed thoughtfully as his eyes swept towards the far corner, watching a certain Radio Demon quietly chat with one of the hotels…”staff” members.
“That Smiles, is so sweet on (Y/n) and not the rest of us?” His hand waved around dramatically, watching Charlie’s eyes widen as they spun towards the aforementioned duo, studying them for a moment for any sign of irregular behavior on the deer demons part. Although not much could be considered regular in regards to him
“I’m pretty sure Alastor is just as much of a prick to them as he is to everyone else.” Vaggie huffed from her spot on the couches armchair, a small magazine in hand that she carefully tried to cut apart for the days craft. Scrapbooking, if it wasn’t clear. “…your markers bleeding babe..”
“Oh shoot!”
Angel guffawed, bolting up right and letting his arms flail wildly in disbelief. “No way toots! Don’t you remember when he first brought them ovah? As one of ‘s lil “Helpahs”?” He turned, “Huskers you know what I’m on about don’t ya?”
The grumpy cat deflated with a sigh, setting down a freshly cleaned glass just to pick up another and start again. “That demon, plays with souls and sinners like no other shitlord out there. And that one,” his clawed finger shot out to point dagger straight at you “just so happens to be his favorite. End of story.”
Charlies lips pursed at that, a small shimmer in her expression that made Vaggies brow furrow in stress, watching her lover fall back into her own mind and remember the hotels first ever introduction to you.
—————
“Now my friends, I do have one more favor to cash in on. I expect you all on your best behavior in regards to them..” His red eyes lingered on Angel with a sneer. “I won’t take kindly to any damage done by your hands.” The static that swelled behind his words reached its peak, before muffling once a small figure materialized just beside him.
A clawed hand curled atop your shoulder and if not for the familiar chill, perhaps you would’ve jumped, but the buzz of static and the crackle of a radio was a comforting sound you had grown all too close to.
“Now, this sweet thing is (Y/n), a special little friend of mine who will help you, though- mainly me, keep the hotel on tip top shape- isn’t that right dear?”
Your gaze darted around, and the others watched as you barely made a peep before a gentle smile pulled on your lips and you nodded..strange for someone in the company of the Radio Demon.
“What’s up with them? Can’t talk or what?” Angel mused, almost rudely, winking under your watchful eye that was almost..freakishly intense.
Alastor hummed and buzzed for a moment, gazing down at you in thought. “No No, just a bit shy is all. Always on the quieter side…”
“That won’t be a problem will it?” The static fluxed and swayed around them, shadows scratching at the walls of his underlying threat, that cut through the air.
……..
The princess was admittedly worried by your timid nature. You were almost…paranoid in a sense, looking as if you wanted to melt into the floor at any sign of confrontation, friendly or otherwise.
But…she did notice you seemed oddly at ease around the Overlord. Sticking close, though typically he was the one following you around as you did..whatever it is you were brought over to do.
She was even reminded of one instance, where you had been scuttling around, a stack of fresh dishes held precariously in your clammy hands as you made your way to the kitchen.
Charlie had been too busy at first to notice, she was speaking with Alastor about the future promotion of the hotel, when the loud sound of glass shattering rang through the room.
All heads snapped towards the cause, only to spot you, wide eyed and flat on the floor surrounded by dozens of broken plates and glasses.
Seemed you had tripped on a loose bit of tile.
Now, Husker just had been throughly..scolded by the Hotelier for dropping a bottle just a few hours prior, so the patrons and staff watched with baited breath as the ever encompassing form of the radio demon stalked towards your dejected form.
Vaggie had drawn her spear right as the crash had happened, ready to step in at any moment should she need.
But the others could only watch in surprise as you were gently ushered to your feet with soft dusts off your shoulder, and a little snap of clawed fingers. The mess disappeared in a flash, and your uniform was carefully adjusted by the tall red deer who softly scolded you.
“Now now my dear. You must remember not to overwork yourself. Can’t have you in poor shape now can we?” His words were condescending at best, paired with the gentle pinch of your cheek, but for whatever reason you seemed hardly put off, simply nodding shyly and quickly darting off to continue your next list of….errands, the deers ears swiveled in your direction till you vanished through the corridor.
——/
“Do you think they’re-?”
“Fuckin?”
“I was gonna say dating..” Charlie trailed off uncomfortably, watching tensely as Alastor almost…”playfully” whisked you around the parlor.
“They’re not.” Husks gruff voice cut through, dipped in firm belief that he was right. “That fucker has an angle no matter what, and whatever special treatment they’re receiving is just to follow through with it. That guy can’t even conceptualize caring about someone like that.”
Clearly that incident was still fresh on his mind as he mumbled quietly about how he was cut off from all booze the following week to, help clear his “shaky hands”.
The others grimaced, Vaggie especially as Charlie’s big eyes welled with fat tears. “That’s..that’s so sad!” She wailed, collapsing into her girlfriend’s arms, her reaction subtly mirrored by Sir Pentious who had slithered into the conversation.
“Wh..why are we crying??” He hissed, greated with rolled eyes from the spider and cat, and a dejected sniffle from the princess.
“Al-Alastor’s never been in love!!” She sobbed dramatically, Vaggie cooing in her ear while her hand rubbed her back soothingly.
“Oh..?” The snake perked up, a confused tilt to his head. “But aren’t Alassstor and (Y/n) …?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out! He totally dots on them don’t he Snakes??”
The engineer nodded rapidly, scales shimmering in the dim living room light.
“I told you morons, they’re not and never will-“ Husks aggravation of the topic was clear, the scrubbing of his glass a tad more aggressive.
“But…I jussst ssssssaw them kisssssing the other day…? Up on the terrace?”
…..
“Ex-fucking scuse me?”
3K notes · View notes
imaginedisish · 6 months ago
Text
Inside Out (Logan Howlett x f!reader)
A/N: Oh my god I'm back again. This is another soft!Logan fic. I couldn't hold myself back from writing this one. The next fic I have planned is going to be devious and diabolical, I promise, but for now, here's another angsty, soft and smutty Logan one shot. Couldn't stop listening to "Inside Out" by Duster while writing this one. I think it fits. Hope you guys enjoy :)
Summary: After a tense battle, you and Logan have it out (in more ways than one).
Warnings: SMUT! 18+ Minors DNI! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, PIV (unprotected...wrap it up, this is fiction!), Allusions to PTSD/mental health, Frenemies to Lovers, Fem!reader, AFAB!reader, Mutant!reader, Telepathic!reader (with heightened senses/visions), cannon typical violence/allusions to death, non-sexual intimacy becomes sexual intimacy (not sure if that warrants a warning), angry!Logan, reader has hair (length/texture/color not described!) major angst, probably grammatical errors, I think that's everything.
Word Count: 4477 wow
Tumblr media
You and Logan are surrounded. You can hear the other members of the team nearby in the forest, screaming, grunting, fighting. Guns going off, ricocheting against trees. And now, there is a circle of government-sanctioned mutant hunters pointing their machine guns and rifles directly at the two of you. 
Your heart beats out of your chest. How the fuck are you going to get out of this? It seems impossible. Sure, you and Logan can regenerate, but not nearly fast enough. You’re outnumbered 2 to at least 40, and more to come. Maybe this is the end. Maybe there’s no going home this time. 
But then, an idea crosses your mind. Briefly. A flash. A shot in the dark. But it’s there. And if you’re strong enough, it might just work.
You wince as another presence weaves itself through the fabric of your thoughts. No, Charles shouts in your mind. It’s too dangerous. 
You shake him off, forcing up your mental shields. Logan recognizes that look on your face. He can tell you’re up to something. He has always been able to read you like a book. 
“Don’t you dare put yourself in danger,” he mutters under his breath so only you can hear him. “We are all walking out of here, and you’re no exception.”
You close your eyes. “When I tell you to get down, you get down.”
“Absolutely not!” His nostrils flare. The government agents cock their guns. 
“Lo, get down.”
“Fuck no!”
You can feel it coming—feel their fingers bracing their triggers. Pulling. Pulling. Pulling. Everything is silent for a moment. You can hear everything. Nothing. There’s a squirrel running up a tree just a few feet away. A cold breeze sweeps through your legs. Peace. 
It never lasts long, does it?
“NOW!”
BANG! The shots ring out, echoing against the branches, the sound shaking the trees. 
With half your focus, you shove Logan to the ground, and with the other, you stop each and every bullet pointed in your direction. You stop the agents too, freezing them in their places. Dense, heavy sweat builds upon your brow. You’re trembling, your hands stretched out towards Logan and the agents, but you’re still in control. You can hold on a bit longer.  
You swallow harshly, forcing the bullets to rain down to the ground. With the twist of your hand, you remove the magazines from each of the guns and unload them, the ammunition falling to the ground, too. With the agents still under your control, you bend their wrists just enough so that they sprain; just enough so that they can’t fight back. 
And then comes that sudden, familiar shift in your body and in your mind. You’re weakening, losing control, struggling to breathe. You growl in agony, your head ready burst from the pressure of hanging on too long—but you have to finish this. You have to save your friends. 
You have to save Logan. 
With one final push of your hand, you send the government agents flying deep into the forest, screaming in pain at the sheer force it takes. You fall to your knees, down on the ground next to Logan. You try to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly. You cough, choking on your own breath and saliva as the taste of metal burns at the back of your throat. You swallow it all down. One more second of that, or a few more agents to fend off, and you might not have made it. You might have died trying. 
You regain some of your energy after a few moments on the ground. It’s not until you try to stand that you notice Logan’s hand on your back. He tries to help you up, but you shake him off. 
“I’m fine,” you protest, dusting off your uniform. 
“Fine?” Fuck. He’s angry. “You call that fine? You almost died!”
You turn to face him. He wants anger? Oh, you can show him what anger fucking looks like. “We would be dead if I didn’t do that! I did what I had to do!”
He prowls toward you. His claws are still out. “Are you fucking crazy?” He’s backing you into a tree now. “Tell me, what the fuck was that? What did you think you were doing?” He retracts his claws as he pins his hands into the tree, right next to your head. The bark scratches into the rips in your uniform. 
You condescendingly poke his chest with your pointer figure. If he’s going to treat you like a child, you’re going to do the same to him. “Saving your ass, that’s what!” You shout back. 
“This is not the time or place for you two to have it out.” Scott’s grating voice fills your ears. He is the last person’s opinion you’d like to hear right now.
You and Logan snap your heads to face him. “Shut the fuck up, Scott!” You spit in unison. He throws his hands up and backs away. 
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Logan practically growls. 
You shake your head, your nostrils flaring. “I was protecting you!” You shout. “And I did! It worked!”
The rest of the team starts to board the jet, but Logan shows no sign of budging. Storm crosses her arms as she stands in front of the ramp. “Logan, let’s go.” 
He doesn’t move an inch, still caging you in. “I’ve got the bike. I’ll take her with me.”
“My bike!” Scott calls from just inside the ship. Logan shoots him a death stare. Even you roll your eyes at the comment. 
“Logan,” Charles chides from next to Storm, his voice a warning. 
You tilt your head past Logan to see Charles. “It’s fine. I’ll go with him. We’ll meet you guys at the mansion.” 
Charles nods. You swear you can see a faint smirk spread across his face, but he’s turning around and wheeling himself up the ramp before you can truly make out his expression. 
The ramp shuts behind him, and the jet powers up to leave. “So how are we settling this, hm?” You ask, cockily. Logan works his jaw, staring down at you with a fury you’re not quite sure you’ve seen before. “What would you like to do, bub?” You smirk. “What, you gonna tell me we’re supposed to be a team or something? Thought that wasn’t your style.” You know you’re being harsh, using his own words against him, ripping into him, but you don’t care. The jet takes off, but neither you nor Logan pay it any mind. 
His tongue swipes his bottom lip, and you can’t help but watch. You try to ignore how much you like the sight of it. Of him. 
“Never,” he seethes, not wavering an inch. “Never do anything like that again.”
“Why?” Is all you ask, knowing full well you’re poking the bear. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done.”
He ignores you and presses on. “I swear to God, if anything ever happens to you, I will punch a fucking hole in the goddamn universe so big that…” He trails off, his eyes searching your face. There’s a shift in his expression. “So fucking big that…” But he still doesn’t finish the sentence. His eyes are glossed over, like he’s holding back tears. 
You’re suddenly embarrassed. You can’t keep his stare, his eyes locked on you. You look down at the leaf-covered ground, and you realize just how dirty you are. Blood on your hands, under your nails, caked into your skin. You’re finally understanding the gravity of the moment—of what could have been if your plan didn’t work. 
“It was the only way,” you pause, feeling tears sting behind your sinuses, burning as they reach your eyes. “Only way I saw it ending without you d-dying.” You have to choke the words out. “C-couldn’t lose you,” you mutter, hoping he can’t hear you. 
“And what?” He says, not backing down. “You think you’re the only one with something to lose?”
“N-no,” you stutter softly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just—”
“I’d rather die than live in a world without you.” He says finally. He pushes himself off the tree and away from you. He turns, walking towards wherever he parked the bike. 
You look at his back in disbelief. “W-what?” “You fucking heard me,” he shouts, not bothering to stop and wait for you or to elaborate further. You push your back off the tree and follow him through the forest. 
“Slow down!” You call out, still not quite fully recovered from using your powers. But he keeps pressing forward. “Logan!” You call again. “Please, I—” You stumble a bit, almost falling over, but you catch yourself just in time. You reach out to a tree for support, gripping a low branch tightly in your hand. You suck in deep, shaky breaths as you let your eyes fall closed. 
Logan shouts your name in the near distance, his voice filled with panic. His footsteps crunch the leaves of the forest floor. You can tell he’s sprinting with every twig that cracks beneath his boots. “Fuck, are you okay?” He’s next to you now, his arms enveloping you, reaching around your waist to offer you support. 
You can feel your tears bubbling to the surface, threatening to burst. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, opening your eyes to look up at him. “I just didn’t see any other way.”
“I know.” His voice is gentler now, calmer. He helps you straighten up, taking a tentative step and watching as you take one too. He walks slowly, making sure not to rush you, keeping an eye on your every move. “I’m sorry too,” he says. “What you do…you just scare me sometimes.”
You hope he doesn’t see the tear that slips out the corner of your eye and down your cheek. “I scare myself. I still can’t control my powers. I know I’m a monster.” You can see the bike in the distance, so you take another step, but Logan stops. “I just feel so inside out sometimes, like I can’t be comfortable in my own head never mind my own skin.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice is steady now, firm. His grip around your waist tightens, keeping you in place. “You’re not a monster. You’re beautiful—” He cuts himself off. “What you can do, is beautiful.”
“Then what is it that scares you?” You need to know. 
“You’re just so selfless. What you did back there…” He pauses. “You knew you could die. I saw it in the way you were standing. The way you looked at me. It was reckless.”
He searches your face, your eyes, your lips for an answer. “You’re no better,” you huff out. Logan smirks, guiding you towards the bike yet again. “It’s just what you do when you care about someone.”
“I know.” His lips are pressed against the shell of your ear. “I know,” he repeats. 
He helps you onto the back of the bike, holding your hips as you straddle the seat. His hands linger longer than they should. He squeezes softly before letting go and walking to the front. He straddles the bike himself, grabbing the key from his jacket pocket and turning it into the ignition. The bike springs to life. 
“Hang on, alright?” He calls out over the roar of the engine. You nod against his back, slipping your arms under his jacket and around his waist. He kicks the stand up, and the bike rumbles underneath you as he presses on the gas. You tighten your hold on him as the bike jolts forward. 
You rest your head on his back, letting yourself fold over him completely. He’s warm and solid underneath you. You shut your eyes, too tired to watch the tires speed across the black pavement. Aside from the engine, the tires against the street below, and the wind, there’s no sound. No one around. It’s just you and Logan. Alone. 
You feel him breathe in deeply. “Don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t make it.”  You can feel the words reverberate in his back. “I mean it.”
“But I did,” you say, lifting your head so that you can speak against his ear. “I’m right here.” He hums in affirmation, and you rest your head on his back again. You hesitantly reach your hands under his shirt this time, arms wrapping around him as tight as possible. You know this is pushing the boundaries of your “friendship,” but he doesn’t stop you—doesn’t push you away. He just hums again. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, and shut your eyes. 
“Good.”
The ride back to the mansion isn’t terribly long, and you wish it could’ve been longer. Logan drives the bike into the garage, taking the keys out of the ignition and kicking out the stand. You lift your head, and before you can even think of getting up on your own, Logan is wrapping his arms around your body and lifting you off the seat. 
You let him hold you there for a moment. You try to tell yourself that this is just a hug between friends, that this whole situation is what happens when you care about someone too much. But it’s hard to lie to yourself when you feel so impossibly strongly about someone. 
He drops his arms from your body and silently takes your hand in his. He guides you to the door that leads to the mansion, keeping you close. 
It’s dark once you step inside. Everyone must have gone to bed. It likely took you and Logan five times as long as the jet to get back to the mansion. Quiet fills the halls. There’s not a stir, not a creak, not a step. You can sense that everyone is asleep, or at least in their rooms. 
“Lo?” You whisper. He squeezes your hand. A surge of confidence racks through you. “Can you stay with me?” You’re not quite sure what you mean by that—what you expect him to do if he stays. All you’re certain of is that you don’t want him to leave. 
He nods, leading you up the stairs. “Won’t go anywhere, sweetheart.” He guides you down the hall towards his room. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?” 
He opens the door and guides you in, shutting it carefully behind him. He lets go of your hand, the sudden emptiness making your palm feel cold. How do people become so important, so quickly? How can someone letting go of your hand hurt so bad when they’re still just a few feet away? You’re not sure, but you know this feeling is dangerous. 
He’s rummaging through his drawers for a few seconds before he pulls out a t-shirt and places it on the dresser in front of him. He grabs another set of clothes, closes the drawer, and carries them over to you. He extends the shirt out to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. That’s what he is right now: soft. You’re not used to this side of him. 
You take the shirt from him, smiling back. “You should shower. You can use mine.” His head tilts towards the bathroom on the other side of his room. You nod and pad over, opening the door, turning on the lights, and closing the door behind you. 
You keep moving, undressing and turning the water on. It doesn’t take long for the water to heat up, the steam fogging every inch and surface of the room. You step inside the shower, letting the water run down your body. Your eyes fall closed while your mind searches for some kind of peace. You try to recall what Charles often told you: Calm your mind. But it isn’t working this time. Your mind is racing. 
You envision Logan’s angry, fearful face; his concern and panic. Charles’s call that it would be too dangerous echoes and reverberates. You see yourself dead on the ground, Logan holding your lifeless body in his arms. Even worse, you find yourself imagining that it didn’t work at all—that you couldn’t save the team, never mind yourself. This time it’s Logan’s body you see, on the ground, dead. Just like that, your whole world can slip out of your hands and turn to nothing. 
Choked sobs escape your throat as you let yourself fall to your knees. There’s a piercing, splitting pain somewhere deep inside your head. These visions, these feelings, this pain—it’s physical and mental. And it’s too much. It’s not the first time you’ve had visions like these after a fight or a mission, but it is the worst episode yet. 
There’s a knock on the door, followed by Logan calling your name. You try to answer, but your voice is caught in your throat. Logan knocks harder, but you still can’t speak. “I’m coming in!” The door swings open and his eyes widen as he sees your crumpled form on the shower floor, face stained red with tears. 
He shoves the shower door open, practically cracking the glass in the process. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how naked you are, but it’s clear Logan isn’t. His gaze is trained on your face. “I-it happens, sometimes,” you stutter, reassuring him that this is normal. “A-after missions.”
Logan’s shoulders relax, his eyes softening with understanding. “I know what you mean.” His hands come up to your arms, rubbing gently. “Let me help you.” He gestures with his head toward the shower. You nod and watch as Logan takes his shirt off. He stands to take off his jeans, and you look away, taking the moment to force yourself to stand. You hear him step into the shower and slide the door shut behind him. 
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, swallowing harshly. 
Logan stands behind you, less than a foot away. The shower is just big enough for the two of you. “Nothing to be sorry for. Just let me take care of you.” 
“Okay,” you whisper. You hear him shuffle a bit, squeeze a bottle, and shuffle a bit more. 
“Can I touch you?” He asks. 
“Y-yeah,” you answer. You wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating. But before you can think about it too much, his hands come up to your wet hair. He massages shampoo into your scalp, his fingertips scrubbing ever so gently. You feel your shoulders settle—your body relax. No one has ever done anything like this for you before. 
You watch as the dirt trickles down your body to the drain. After a few moments of massaging, Logan nudges you forward a bit, and you take the hint to step under the water fully. You close your eyes as he scrubs the shampoo from your hair. 
When he’s done, he removes his hands from your hair and slides them down to your neck, and then to your shoulders. You step away from the water, almost bumping into his chest in the process. 
“’M’sorry,” you mumble. 
“No more apologizing, darlin’.” His hands come off your shoulders. You feel lost without the contact. You listen as the bottle pops open again, and Logan quickly scrubs the shampoo into his own hair. You instinctively step forward to let him rinse, and he does.
You take a deep breath, trying to concentrate and calm down now that his hands aren’t on you. But it doesn’t last long. He opens another bottle, pouring more liquid into his hands. 
He rests his hands on your shoulders again. You can feel the body wash run down your arms. “Can I…” Logan trails off, his hands firm, unmoving until you give the word. 
“Mhm,” you hum. His hands start to work the soap into your arms, up to your neck, your collarbone, stopping just above your chest. “Logan,” you murmur, letting yourself lean into him. You feel his heart beating against your back. His breath fans over your shoulder.
You can tell he’s losing his composure, the way he slouches around you, inviting you in. This isn’t something friends do. You two aren’t friends. This is something more. 
And he knows. 
“There’s no coming back from this,” he whispers, his lips at your temple. “If we do this.”
You push back further into him. “Who says I’d want to go back?”
Your back is suddenly met with the cold shower wall, your chest flush with Logan’s. His lips press into yours, swallowing your moans as his hands come up to your breasts, pinching your nipples lightly. He moves down your body quickly, leaving a trail of kisses down your jawline, your neck, the center of your chest, your stomach, stopping just above your clit. 
“Relax,” he soothes, his thumbs brushing your hips. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands before pressing a kiss to your clit. You shudder at the feeling, whispering his name and throwing your head back. 
He licks a long stripe up your cunt, landing on your clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking roughly. He laps at you hungrily, like a man starved. One of his hands resting on your hip comes down in between your thighs, experimentally sliding through your folds, teasing your entrance. 
It feels so good, but you want him—need him—closer. He inserts two fingers, gently pumping in and out, flicking your clit with his tongue at the same time. 
“Logan,” you whine. You look down at him, his head buried in your cunt. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with lust. You’re already close. But it’s not enough “Need you, now. Want you here.”
“I’m here,” he mumbles against your core. You’re shaking, melting underneath him. 
“N-need you,” you beg again. “Please.” 
He sucks on your clit one last time before removing his fingers from your cunt and standing up to meet you.
His hands rest on either side of your head. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice wavers just a bit, a slight tremble shaking the usual steadiness of his words. He looks down to your lips and back up to your eyes—his jaw working, as if he’s searching for a sign that you’ve changed your mind—that you don’t want him anymore. 
But you’ll always want him. You always have. 
“Y-yes,” You stutter. He wraps one hand around the back of your neck and uses the other to hoist one of your legs around his waist. His hard cock rubs against your stomach as he moves to line up with your entrance. 
“Wanted you this whole time, pretty girl.” He thrusts into you, sinking down to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, pulling you into him, his free hand grabbing your ass and picking you up so that both legs wrap around his waist. 
He uses the wall as leverage, fucking you into the tiles at your back. Once he’s sure you’re stable against him, his hand leaves your ass and comes in between your bodies, searching for your clit. He begins to stroke, drawing perfect circles there, while his cock hits that sweet spot inside you. 
It’s perfect, everything about this moment is perfect. It all feels so good. You moan his name, his hips rutting into you over and over again.
“Doing so good for me,” he husks, biting the skin just under your jaw, licking the spot where your pulse point is, peppering kisses there. You wonder if he does it because it’s a reminder that you’re still here, still alive, still breathing. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.” 
His words work to coax you off the edge, each swipe of his fingers and thrust of his cock bringing you closer to your orgasm. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his name—him—the only thing in your normally noisy mind. This is what peace is. This is the calm you’ve been searching for your whole life: it’s him. 
You can feel his pace growing faster, his cock pushing deeper, stretching you out as he plunges into you. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, kissing your pulse point again. “So fucking beautiful.” 
Your walls flutter around him, your clit becoming overstimulated and sensitive as he flicks roughly. You’re so close. “Lo—” but you can’t find the words. 
“That’s it, pretty girl,” he mumbles, his forehead pressing to yours. “Want you to look at me when you come. Can you do that for me?” 
You moan a yes as he buries his cock deep inside you, before pulling out and pumping back in again. 
You can feel your eyes growing heavy, but you keep them open, watching Logan as he pulls your orgasm from you. “That’s it. I’ve got you.” His words, the bass of his voice, him, it all sends you over the edge. He works you through it, still circling your clit, his pace growing sloppier as he chases his own orgasm. 
You wrap your legs tighter around his waist. He knows what you want. “Inside,” you whisper. 
“Oh f-fuck,” he moans, coming inside you, filling you up. 
His thrusts begin to slow, his hand leaving that space between your bodies. You feel like air, weightless, drunk off the way he makes you feel. He carefully slips out of you, but he doesn’t put you back down on the ground. He simply readjusts, picking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the shower. 
He sets you down on the bathmat and crosses the tiled floor to the towel rack, where two towels conveniently hang. He wraps one towel around his waist as he strides over to you. He starts to dry you off, rubbing you gently, kissing each spot he dries as he goes. He’s worshipping you, taking care of you. No one has ever taken care of you like this. 
Once he’s finished, he wraps you up in the towel, and picks you up again. He carries you back into his room, resting you gently on the already turned-down bed. He crawls in after you, discarding his towel in the process. You toss your towel to the side, too. You nestle in under the covers, and Logan does the same. 
He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You can feel that peace again, that calm from before, when he was buried inside of you. It was him. It was always him. Your mind is quiet, no longer all loud and inside out. 
“I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, his legs tangling with yours. 
You bury your face into his chest. “Don’t let go.” But you know you don’t need to ask. 
His mind is already made up. 
“Never will.” 
3K notes · View notes
mariasont · 21 days ago
Text
A Pen For Your Thoughts - A.H.
Tumblr media
a/n: hi besties, this literally took my five hundred years but i love it so it was worth it <3 i just love these two soo much
masterlist
Tumblr media
summary: 5 times hotch found himself unexpectedly drawn to bimbo!assistant!reader before they were together and 1 time when they finally were
pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader
warnings: just a whole bunch of fluff, fem!reader, aaron being a straight up simp, pining, 5 and 1
wc: 7.3k
Tumblr media
Aaron Hotchner's steps slowed before he realized why.
The first flicker came in the form of a colorful blur in his peripheral vision. He might have ignored it—probably should have—but the movement tugged at his attention like a reflex. Without thinking, he glanced over his shoulder.
Big mistake.
You were seated in one of the stiff, fabric-covered chairs that lined the hallway outside HR, and he felt as though someone had hit pause on his mind. Your legs, crossed at the knee, seemed endless, every line perfectly sculpted. Your hair spilled over your shoulders in perfect waves that looked effortless but undoubtedly weren't, and your lips--gods, your lips--pulled at his focus like gravity.
It wasn't unusual to see someone unfamiliar on this floor, and most strangers barely recognized. But it was unusual to see someone who looked like they'd stepped out of a magazine shoot—as if the universe had dropped someone out of a dream into the most mundane place imaginable.
Aaron had seen beautiful women before--countless ones, in fact, across years of cases and courtrooms and the occasional social outing. But you? You looked like you had walked out of another world completely (one completely out of his league), all shimmer and gloss. The kind of stunning that made it hard to look away--or to think clearly.
Aaron knew he should have kept walking. He didn't have time to for this, whatever this was. But then you shifted, the smooth, unhurried motion of uncrossing your legs pulling his gaze like a thread he couldn't snap. His eyes betrayed him, flicking back to you before he could reel himself in. He hated that he looked, hated the lack of control in the moment—but most of all, he hated how much he wanted to look again.
There seemed to be nothing accidental about you. From the way there was not a single hair out of place, to the unbroken line of your posture, it all felt... intentional, like you'd been crafted with care by someone who didn't believe in flaws.
Aaron felt a twist of discomfort in his chest, something about you left him off-balance, and he didn't like it.
When your eyes lifted to meet his, Aaron felt the shift immediately. The tightness in his chest changed, became something warmer, something less familiar and far more dangerous. 
Your gaze was steady, curious, and completely unaware of the way it held him in place. He wasn’t used to being the one caught—being the one struggling to pull himself free from a moment that had stretched too long—but here he was, unable to look away.
Somewhere in the background, computers hummed and printers sputtered out pages, but none of it mattered. The world around him felt muted, stripped down to only you. You tilted your head slightly, that faint curve of your lips threatening to pull a smile from him in return—something he hadn’t done in a place like this for longer than he cared to remember.
Aaron blinked, hard, tearing his gaze away finally like a man breaking free from a spell. He resumed his stride with sharpness he didn't necessarily feel. Focus, he told himself, jaw tightening as though the word alone could erase the lingering pull in his chest. 
He had far more pressing matters to deal with than... whatever that had been. He told himself it didn’t matter, even as a faint ache settled somewhere deep in his ribcage at the lie.
But as he passed you, a faint, unexpected sound followed him.
"Excuse me--uh, sir?"
He turned slowly, his gaze landing on you a few feet away. You stood there with a pen in your hand, arm outstretched, as though you were offering him the world's most valuable artifact.
Seeing you up close was worse—or maybe better, he wasn’t sure. The graceful slope of your jaw, the delicate shape of your lips, and the faint light in your eyes that seemed almost too perfect—it was too much. He thought, briefly, about stepping back, as though more space could dull the effect you had on him.
"You dropped this," you said brightly, like you were genuinely pleased to hand it back to him.
Your smile was brilliant, almost too much in its sincerity, and it caught Aaron off guard. It clashed so completely with the hard lines of his own expression—the squared shoulders, the set jaw, the seriousness he wore like a second skin.
He frowned slightly, glancing at what was in your hands: a pen.
"That's not mine."
"Oh." Your expression faltered, but only for a second. Then you shrugged, your smile back in place. "Well, it was on the floor, and you were walking by, so... I figured it had to be yours."
"It's not," he repeated, his tone more clipped than he intended.
He didn't mean to be rude, really he didn't, but the interaction felt dangerous—like stepping to close to the edge of a cliff and daring to look down. If he let himself give you even an inch, he knew he’d risk losing his footing completely.
"Right." You nodded, not in the least bit deterred. "But, I mean, it could've been. You look like the kind of guy who always has a pen. You sure you don't want it? Just in case?"
You twirled it once between your fingers before holding it out again.
For a second, he almost walked away. It would've been the logical thing to do—move on, let the moment slip into irrelevance. But something about the way you stood there, head tilted like you were sizing him up, your lips twitching with barely-contained amusement, made him pause. The whole exchange was absurd, and yet, he couldn't quite bring himself to end it.
With a resigned sigh, he reached out and took the pen. His fingers brushed against yours for the briefest second, a fleeting touch that felt entirely too noticeable.
"Thanks," he murmured, his voice rough, as though the single word had taken more effort than it should have.
"No problem! Good pens always find good people. Or, like, maybe the other way around?"
You laughed softly, the sound light and unselfconscious, like you hadn't just made one of the most absurd statements he'd ever heard.
"Anyway, it's yours now. Fate or whatever."
Hotch blinked, unsure whether to laugh, respond, or simply walk away. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."
Before he could decide what to do next, you gave a quick, cheerful wave, the motion fluid and natural, as though it required no thought at all. Turning on your heel, you moved back to your seat with an easy stride, settling in as though nothing had happened. Your legs crossed neatly as you opened the glittery notebook, your attention shifting back to it without hesitation, leaving him standing there like a man caught in the middle of something he didn’t understand.
Aaron forced himself to resume walking, the pen clutched in his hand as though he might actually use it. He had a drawer full of pens—good ones, expensive ones, and this one wasn't even his. Still, as he rounded the corner to his office, he felt his grip tighten on this particular one.
Aaron shut the door behind him with more force than necessary, the sound reverberating in the otherwise quiet office. The pen—your pen—landed on his desk with a clatter far louder than it had any right to be.
He stood there for a moment, his hands braced against the edge of his desk, his breath coming heavier than he wanted to admit. Unusual.
Sliding into his chair, he opened the first file and scanned its contents, letting the familiar details of a case seep into his mind. A triple homicide in Phoenix. Victims were a family of four—father, mother, two children. The youngest, a boy, survived. Age seven.
He wrote a note in the margin, flipped the page, and tried to ignore the memory of your voice.
His fingers tightened around the pen he'd grabbed from his desk—not the one you'd handed him, which still sat untouched where he'd tossed it earlier. He stared at the file, his handwriting blurring slightly, jagged and uneven in a way that irritated him.
Victimology. Unsub profile. Possible geographic location. He moved carefully through the pages, his mind grasping onto the structured familiarity like it was all he had left.
By the time he reached the third file, he felt a flicker of relief. Routine. Structure. This was his element.
And then his mind betrayed him.
The memory of pink heels, a short skirt, and soft lips that he wouldn't mind—
Aaron scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering a curse under his breath. This wasn't like him—he was better than this. Or at least, he liked to think he was. He didn't get distracted. Not by anyone.
Certainly not by a bright-eyed woman who looked like she'd stepped out of some sparkly alternate reality.
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as though it somehow might clear the intrusive thought. Gripping the file tighter, he buried himself back in the details, his jaw clenched with the effort of willing himself to focus.
An hour slipped by, then another. He busied himself in his tasks, methodically combing through reports and notes until the details blurred together in a haze of ink and paper.
Just as his mind began to clear, a sharp knock at the door cut through his concentration, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts.
"Come in," he called, setting down his pen and leaning back in his chair, already bracing himself for whatever new interruption was about to derail his morning.
The woman he recognized as the head of HR stepped inside. She carried a folder under her arm, expression brisk as ever, and Aaron felt the slightest prickle of irritation at the disruption.
"Agent Hotchner, I wanted to introduce you to your new assistant," she said without preamble, gesturing toward the door.
His brows knit together. "My assistant?"
"Yes, we finalized the selection process this morning," she said, stepping aside. "I thought it would be best for you to meet her in person."
Aaron's stomach dropped. He'd completely forgotten about the interviews for the assistant position—Strauss had been pushing him for weeks to fill the role, but it had fallen so far down his priority list he hadn't given it a second thought.
And now, as you stepped into his office, notebook in hand and that same bright smile lighting up your face, Aaron felt the sharp pang of realization: he was doomed.
"Hi again!" you chirped, offering a little wave. "Guess I'll be seeing a lot more of you!"
He blinked, trying to keep his reaction in check, though disbelief and a hint of dread churned just beneath the surface. You were his assistant? This had to be some sort of test—Strauss’s latest ploy to see if he could remain composed under the most absurd circumstances. Or perhaps the bureau had finally decided that sending someone like you—someone who looked like you—was the surest way to undermine him, to make him throw in the towel.
He wasn't sure the motive, but he was sure he did not like it.
The HR representative gave a curt nod. "She'll be handling your schedule, communications, and general support tasks. Her credentials are impressive, and I think you'll find her capable and efficient."
Aaron forced a polite smile. "I'm sure."
His voice was even, but internally he was so certain that you could never be of help, that he'd never be able to focus again with you around 24/7.
You beamed, seemingly oblivious to his hesitation, which he couldn't figure out if he preferred or not.
The HR representative cleared her throat. "I'll leave you to it, then. She's officially on the clock as of this morning."
With that, she left, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Aaron. By himself. With you. The gods hated him. That was the only logical explanation.
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
You tilted your head, studying him with a curious smile. "So, what's first on the agenda, boss?"
Aaron let out a measured breath, his thoughts already spiraling into contingency plans. Logically, he couldn’t fault your qualifications—your resume likely backed the bureau’s decision, and they didn’t make careless hires. But logic couldn’t compete with instinct, and instinct told him that having you around wasn’t plausible. Not for him.
"We'll start with familiarizing you with the basics," he said, his tone clipped but professional. "My schedule, ongoing cases, and departmental protocols. After that, I'll assign tasks as needed."
Despite his words, he was already combing through ways he could reverse the situation. Could he request a reassignment? Shift your duties elsewhere?
You nodded enthusiastically, flipping open your notebook. "Got it! Basics first. This is gonna be great—I can feel it."
He pressed his lips into a thin line, glancing at the pen still sitting on the corner of his desk. The one you'd given him.
--
The filing cabinet gleamed mockingly at Aaron Hotchner from across the office. Or maybe it was the glitter that gleamed. Yes, definitely the glitter.
He squinted at it, half-hoping that prolonged focus might transform it back into his carefully maintained filing system. No such luck. Pink and purple labels seemed to mock him from the distance, each one emblazoned in a font that could only be described as aggressively cheerful. Post-it notes stuck out at sharp angles like rogue confetti, and—God help him—there was definitely a smiley face in the corner of one drawer.
Aaron crossed his arms, his jaw clenching as he drew in a slow breath through his nose. He wasn't a man prone to dramatics, but at that moment, the cabinet might as well have had a neon sign reading crazy flashing above it.
 He'd been meticulous about keeping things orderly since day one at the BAU. His filing system had been straightforward, functional, and--most importantly--serious. And now it looked...
Well, it looked like you had gotten involved.
You had been his assistant for just over three weeks now--twenty-four days, to be exact. Not that he was counting. Aaron still wasn't sure if the role suited you--or if you were bending the role to suit yourself.
He had no intention of snapping, no matter how tempting it was to question your sanity, but with a final glance at the glittery atrocity in his filing cabinet, he rose from his desk. 
"Is there a reason," he said, voice calm albeit clipped, "why my filing system looks like it's been vandalized by a kindergarten art class?"
You popped your head up from the other side of the office, face brightening instantly. In true form, you didn't look even slightly apologetic. Instead, you grinned, holding up a stack of color-coded sticky notes like you'd just won an award.
"Oh, you noticed!"
"It's hard not to," Aaron replied dryly, gesturing toward the cabinet that now sparkled like a disco ball under the overhead lights. "What exactly am I looking at?"
You practically skipped over to him, the soft swish of your skirt catching his attention for just a second too long.
"It's called innovation. I color-coded everything—pink for cold cases, blue for active ones, purple for solved. Oh, and the glitter? That's to, you know, boost morale."
Aaron schooled his expression. "Love isn't the word I'd use."
Aaron stared at you, then at the glittery disaster. "Morale."
"Yep! Morale," you said, nodding. "It's proven that bright colors make people happier and more productive. Or... at least, I think I read that somewhere."
Aaron opened his mouth, then closed it again, momentarily at a loss. He'd been managing this filing system for years without so much as a single misplaced folder. Efficient. Logical. And now, his cabinets looked like they'd been hit by a craft store tornado.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. "Let me get this straight. You reorganized my filing system—without asking—and added glitter. For morale."
"And to make your life easier," you said with a grin. "You're welcome."
Aaron opened his mouth, but you weren't done.
"Also," you added, holding up a small floral notebook, "I wrote a guide for the system! Just in case anyone gets confused."
He blinked, unsure where to even begin.
'You added a guide?"
You nodded enthusiastically, twirling a pen with a little gem on the end between your fingers. "Uh-huh! You never know—someone might need it. I made it super clear, though, so even Derek can figure it out."
"You're saying Morgan needs help with file tabs?"
"Well," you said with a grin, "he's very action-oriented. This system's a little more... delicate."
Aaron stared at you, his expression giving nothing away. "Right. Delicate."
"It's perfect, isn't it?" you said, oblivious to his tone as you turned back to the cabinet and pulled out a folder. "See? You need a case file—bam! There it is. No digging, no hunting. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy."
He wanted to be irritated. Really, he did. But to his growing dismay, the system actually worked.
"It's... functional," he admitted reluctantly.
Your eyes widened, and you pressed a hand to your chest as if he'd just handed you the world's most heartfelt compliment. "Hotch! That's, like, the nicest thing you've ever said to me!"
"I wouldn't go that far," he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.
You gasped dramatically, leaning against the cabinet with a grin. "I'll take it! Oh, this is the best day ever. I can't wait to tell Garcia. She's gonna lose her mind."
Aaron sighed, running a hand down his face. "Please don't."
"No promises!"
He shook his head, turning sharply toward his desk, as if reclaiming his focus were as simple as shifting direction. His hand moved automatically, landing squarely on the case file he’d been working on earlier. No fumbling. No sorting.
Aaron glanced at the filing cabinet again.
It was efficient. He hated that it was efficient.
And you—standing there with your floral tape and sparkly folders, looking so impossibly pleased with yourself—made it impossible for him to argue. He didn’t have the heart for it.
--
From his desk, Aaron glanced toward you. You were seated at your usual your spot, head bent over a stack of case files, highlighting passages with a bright pink marker. You were bathed in a warm light, and for once, you weren't humming under your breath or tapping your nails on the desk.
Aaron leaned back in his chair, watching as you quietly worked. Your hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing your face, and your usual heels had been kicked off, leaving you in a pair of fluffy socks with little bows at the ankles. On the corner of your desk sat your water bottle, the words Sparkle Like You Mean It emblazoned across the side in bold script.
Aaron frowned slightly, returning his gaze to the papers in front of him, though his focus remained divided. You'd stayed late before, of course, but always with your usual energy--talking a mile a minute, asking endless questions, or filling the silence with offhanded comments. But this quieter version of you felt unfamiliar, and though Aaron knew he shouldn't, he found himself wondering why.
He cleared his throat. "You didn't have to stay this late."
You glanced up, startled, as if you'd forgotten he was there. Then you smiled, soft and easy. "It's not big deal. Besides, it's not like I have anything better to do."
Aaron raised a brow. "No plans to color-code your closet or reorganize your pantry?"
Your smile widened just a little, but the teasing edge he expected wasn't there. 
"Already did that last weekend," you said lightly, returning to your files. "I figured this was a better use of my time." Better use of your time. The words seemed to hang in the air, unexpected and uncharacteristically serious.
He watched as you flipped to another page, carefully highlighting a section and jotting a note in the margin. Pink folders were stacked neatly beside you, each labeled in your unmistakable handwriting--looping, bubbly, with tiny hearts dotting every "i". The sight should have annoyed him. Should have.
Aaron wasn't sure how long he watched you before you looked up again, catching his gaze.
"What?" you asked, tilting your head, a faint smile playing at your lips.
"Nothing," he said, clearing his throat and looking back down at his file.
Silence settled between you again, the kind of quiet that felt heavy but not unpleasant. He could hear the faint swish of your marker against the page, the creak of his chair, and the soft sound of your breathing. And, without meaning to, Aaron found himself listening more closely than he should have.
The clock on the wall ticked past midnight by the time Aaron closed the last of his files. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion beginning to set in. When he glanced up, he noticed you stifling a yawn, your shoulders slumping slightly as you stretched your arms over your head.
"You should go home," he said, his voice softer than usual.
You blinked, as if surprised by his tone, then shook your head. "Not yet. I'm almost done."
Aaron frowned. "You've done more than enough for one night. I'll finish the rest."
"No way," you said, a spark of your usual energy creeping back into your voice. "I said I'd help, and I'm gonna help. I mean, unless you're saying you don't trust me with this, boss?"
The corner of Aaron's mouth twitched. "That's not what I said."
"Good," you replied, sitting a little straighter and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
He sighed, standing and crossing the room to your desk. As he approached, he noticed how quickly you shifted, as though trying to regain your usual poise.
"At least let me walk you to your car when you're done," he said, his tone low but firm.
You glanced up at him, and for a moment, something soft flickered in your expression. Then you smiled, teasing but lighter than usual. "What, are you afraid I'm going to trip over my own two feet in the parking lot?"
He regarded you for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, with a faint twitch of his lips, he replied, "It's not entirely out of the question."
You laughed, pushing your chair back as you gathered your things. "Well, I guess it's good to have an FBI escort. You never know when the sidewalks might strike."
He stepped aside, letting you pass, and followed as you made your way into the hall. You cradled the papers to your chest, your ponytail swaying gently with each step. A strange, nameless feeling pressed at the edges of his mind.
"You know," you said as you pressed the elevator button, glancing at him with a grin, "I think you're starting to like me, Boss Man."
He raised an eyebrow. "Starting to?"
You laughed, the corners of your eyes crinkling as your grin widened. "Oh, so it’s official then. We’re besties."
Aaron waited until the elevator doors opened, stepping inside before glancing at you. With a small smirk, he said, "If that’s what you want to call it."
--
Aaron's pen stilled in his hand, the soft scratch of it against paper replaced by the voices rising behind him. He didn't react immediately—he rarely did. Years of leadership had taught him the value of restraint.
But then he heard it.
"Damn," one officer muttered, the smirk practically audible in his voice. "If that's what the FBI's hiring, sign me up."
His colleague snorted. "She might not know how to handle evidence, but she's definitely handling that skirt."
Aaron's shoulders stiffened. His eyes stayed on the profile in front of him, even as the words began to blur. His fingers curled tightly around the pen, the slight tremor in his grip betraying the simmer of irritation he fought to contain. Normally, he could ignore the noise, let it slide off his back, but the sound of their laughter grated against him, making his jaw clench.
"Wonder if her job description includes anything extra," another voice chimed in.
"Bet the boss has her bending over files all day. Lucky bastard."
Aaron's head lifted slightly, his sharp gaze flicking to you. You were still focused on the corkboard, entirely oblivious to the attention you were drawing. Your fingers tugged at a pinned map, your heels lifting off the ground as you reached higher, and the hem of your skirt crept up just enough to draw another low whistle from one of the men.
Aaron set his pen down carefully, his fingers flexing against the table.
"If she reaches any further, I'm gonna owe her dinner," one of them added, his laugh rumbling through the room.
Aaron's chest tightened, heat rising uncomfortably in his veins. He could feel the pulse in his temple, his irritation mounting with each word.
"I don't doubt she's great at after-hours work."
Aaron didn't hesitate, stepping forward with quiet, calculated purpose. The officers’ laughter sputtered and died as they registered his approach, their bodies stiffening in response. 
He stopped just close enough to unsettle, positioning himself squarely in their line of sight. His broad shoulders blocked their view of you entirely, his gaze cold and unflinching—a silent warning that left no room for misinterpretation.
He stood there for a beat too long, letting the tension grow. The officers shifted awkwardly under the weight of his stare.
"Hotch?"
Aaron turned, his expression easing as his eyes met yours. You stood by the corkboard, one hand absently adjusting a pin, your head tilted in question.
"Everything okay?" you asked, your brows knitting slightly.
"Fine," he said, his tone smoothing out as he addressed you. "Are you finished?"
You glanced at the board, tilting your head before stepping back to inspect your work. "Almost. Just need to add one more report. Be right back."
You gave him a quick smile before heading toward the other side of the room, your heels clicking softly against the floor. Aaron's gaze followed you briefly before returning to the officers in front of him.
They shifted awkwardly under his unrelenting stare, their earlier smugness dissolving into unease.
Aaron's voice was quiet, almost too quiet. "If you have time to make inappropriate comments, I assume your reports are finished and flawless."
One of the officers opened his mouth, but Aaron held up a hand, silencing him before a single word could escape.
"I don't tolerate disrespect on my team. If you feel the need to revisit what professionalism looks like, I'm sure your supervisor will be happy to help."
"Yes, sir," the first man mumbled, his face burning.
"Understood," the second added quickly.
Aaron stood there for a moment longer, his jaw tight as he exhaled slowly. With a sharp pivot, he returned to the table, his expression composed once more as he resumed his place at the head of the team.
A few minutes later, you appeared beside him again, balancing another stack of papers. His gaze flicked to you almost instinctively, his expression softening before he even realized it. The shift was subtle, natural—something he didn’t let himself dwell on.
--
The knock at Aaron's door was sharp, urgent, and loud enough to pull him from the lull he was trying to fight against by pouring water into the coffee maker.
He crossed the room in three long strides, his body reacting on instinct before his thoughts could catch up. A million scenarios flashed through his mind, each one worse than the last—someone hurt, an emergency. By the time he reached the door, his hand on the knob, his breath felt tight.
What he didn't expect was you.
You stood in the hallway, frozen in place, your hand still half-raised from knocking. Your sweatshirt hung loosely off one shoulder, the hem unevenly bunched, and your sock-covered feet shuffled against the carpet like you were contemplating bolting. But it wasn't just your disheveled appearance that hit him like a freight train.
It was your eyes.
Tears hovered on your lashes, catching the hallway light like fragile drops of glass, ready to fall at any moment. Your lips parted, trembling slightly as though forming words that never came.
Your lips parted as if to speak, but no words came, and the sight of you--glassy eyes, unshed tears bubbling as if they were waiting for permission to fall--hit him like a gut punch. The look in your eyes—raw and exposed, holding back a flood of emotions—struck him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs.
For a moment, all Aaron could do was stare. His mind raced, scanning your face for clues, cataloging your every movement like a case profile.
Aaron had spent the entire day watching you more closely than he cared to admit. He hadn't said anything—hadn't wanted to overwhelm you—but this had been your first real exposure to the kind of cases the BAU handled. You’d tried to bury your discomfort under a sunny smile, but he’d seen it anyway—the way you avoided looking at the crime scene photos, the nervous energy in your hands when someone mentioned the unsub.
He'd seen it all, and now, standing in front of you, the weight of his worry hit him full force.
"Are you okay?" His voice was sharper than he intended, but he couldn't stop the questions from spilling out. "Are you hurt? Did something happen?"
Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. You shook your head quickly, your hands twisting in the hem of your sweatshirt. 
"No—I'm fine," you said, though your trembling voice and red-rimmed eyes told a different story. "I just—I couldn't sleep."
Aaron’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping over you once more, lingering on your tear-streaked eyes and the way your shoulders curled inward, as though shielding yourself from an invisible blow. His mind raced, unwilling to accept your answer at face value.
He opened the door wider, stepping aside. 
"Come in," he said firmly, his voice low but steady.
You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, your movements slow and uncertain. 
The door clicked shut behind you as Aaron turned, his focus still trained on you. You stood frozen in the center of the room, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your sweatshirt. Tears clung stubbornly to your lashes, and for one heart-stopping moment, Aaron forgot how to breathe.
"What's going on?" he asked, his tone softer now but no less serious.
You glanced at him, your lip trembling as you struggled to find the words. Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice cracking as you spoke. "I can't stop thinking about the unsub. About what he did. I just... It's like.... it's haunting me."
Aaron stayed rooted in place, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides as he forced himself to speak evenly. 
"It's hard to turn it off," he said. "Especially the first time. I know."
"All those people," you continued, your gaze dropping to the floor. "And he didn't care. Not even a little. He just—he just did it, like it didn't even matter. How can someone be like that? How can someone be so... empty?"
Aaron stayed quiet for a moment, watching as your gaze stayed fixed on the floor. He recognized that look—the hollow kind of disbelief that came with trying to reconcile the worst parts of humanity. He'd seen it in new agents, in victims, even in himself. And now he saw it in you.
"People like him don't think the way we do," he said finally, his voice calm but firm. "You can't make sense of it because it doesn't make sense. You're not supposed to understand someone like that."
You looked up at him, your brows knitting together as you searched his face. 
"But why?" you asked, your voice cracking again. "Why would someone want to hurt people like that? Just for... for no reason?"
Aaron exhaled softly, his hands resting on his hips as he glanced away for a moment. It wasn't an easy answer—not one he could sum up in a way that would make this any less awful for you.
"People like him don't think the way we do," he said, choosing his words carefully. "To him, it's not about right or wrong. It's about control. Power. That's all he understands. It's not something you can rationalize."
Your arms tightened around yourself, and you looked away, your teeth worrying your bottom lip. 
"I just keep thinking about everything they went through—all those people. Like, I can't stop picturing it, and it's just... it's too much." You exhaled shakily, your voice trembling. "I know this is your world, but it's... it's really awful."
Aaron stepped closer. 
"It's your first case," he said. "And it's normal to feel overwhelmed by it. This kind of work—it takes a toll. On everyone."
You let out a shaky laugh, swiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "Do you ever get used to it?"
Aaron paused, considering the question. 
"You learn how to handle it," he said finally. "You focus on what you can control. On what you can do to stop it."
Your nod was faint, tentative, and the tension in your shoulders didn’t ease, not completely.  He’d pieced others back together before, often without a second thought, but with you, the need to protect and steady you felt far more personal.
"You should try to get some sleep."
"I don't want to go back to my room," you said suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.
He froze, his back to you as he processed what you'd just said. When he turned, you were staring at him, wide-eyed and wringing your hands.
"Not in your bed!" you added hastily, gesturing toward the spare bed in the corner of the room. "I mean—not with you. Just, like, over there. In the other bed. So I'm not alone. You know, because... nightmares."
You pressed your lips together as you continued. "Don't worry, I'm not making some grand declaration of love or trying to seduce you or anything. Promise."
Aaron's lips twitched faintly, but the humor didn't quite reach his eyes. He took in the way your breathing hitched, your hands still at your sides, fingers clenching and unclenching as if searching for something to hold onto. He could see it—how hard you were trying to smooth over the cracks, trying to make the moment lighter than it was.
He hesitated, his thoughts swirling. Having you in the room—spare bed or not—introduced complexities he wasn’t ready to address. His gaze flicked to the empty bed and then back to you, taking in the way you shifted nervously under his silence.
Aaron raised a brow, his tone wry but gentle. "Well, I guess I'll have to cancel the champagne and roses."
Your laugh came quickly, a little more genuine this time. "Okay, now you're just mocking me."
His expression softened, and he gestured toward the spare bed. "Stay as long as you need. It's fine."
"Thanks, boss," you said, standing and moving toward the spare bed. "Promise I won't snore—or, if I do, I'll deny it forever."
Aaron didn't answer right away. He followed you to the bedside, crouching down until you were eye level.
"If you need anything," he said, his voice low, "wake me up. Understood?"
Your smile wavered for a second before you nodded. "Okay."
He stayed there for a beat longer, his gaze searching yours, before standing. When he finally stepped back, you had already drawn the blanket around yourself. Without a second thought, he leaned down and adjusted the corner over your shoulder, his hand lingering for the briefest moment before he straightened.
As he settled into his own bed, he glanced over at you one last time, taking in the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you drifted closer to sleep.
It wasn't in his nature to dwell—not on things he couldn't change. But as he stared at the ceiling, the image of your tearful expression stayed with him. He'd seen it coming, the way this case had worn on you, and he'd worried all day about how it would hit you when things finally went quiet.
Aaron exhaled softly, rolling onto his back as he closed his eyes. This job didn't leave room for many absolutes, but he was certain of one thing: he'd make sure you never felt that way again.
--
Aaron sat at the far end of the table, his customary spot for team dinners, where he could watch over everyone without drawing much attention to himself. Usually, his gaze moved easily from one teammate to the next, but tonight, it kept circling back to you.
You were seated next to him, close enough that he could catch the faintest hint of your perfume, something light and sweet that lingered every time you shifted in your chair. The warm lighting of the restaurant cast a soft glow on your skin, highlighting the curve of your jaw when you laughed, the way your lips curved upward with such natural ease that it felt like a magnet for his attention.
He'd spent much of the evening trying to appear unaffected, keeping his gaze on the table or his plate or even his wine glass when he felt himself watching you for too long. But you weren't making it easy.
"Hotch, you have to try this," you said, holding out your fork, a small piece of bruschetta balanced precariously on the edge. "It's amazing."
"I'm fine," he replied automatically, though his lips twitched slightly as he glanced at you.
You rolled your eyes, leaning just a fraction closer. "You're always fine. Live a little—this is life-changing bruschetta."
The team chuckled softly, but Aaron barely noticed. 
He sighed quietly, relenting, and took the offered bite. The warmth of your fingers brushed his when you handed him the fork, and he swallowed quickly. The bruschetta tasted fine—probably great, even—but the flavor barely registered.
"Well?" you prompted, your head tilting slightly as you watched him expectantly.
"It's good," he said, his voice even, though he felt anything but.
You grinned, satisfied, and turned back to your plate, your shoulder brushing his in the process. The touch lingered for a second too long—or maybe it didn't, but it still sent a wave of heat up his spine.
Aaron reached for his water glass, more to ground himself than anything else, and found your hand there first. Your fingers bumped his as you pulled back, your eyes darting to his with a flicker of apology that melted into something softer.
"Sorry," you murmured lightly, though the smile curving your lips made it clear you were anything but.
He shook his head slightly, his chest tightening in a way he couldn't fully explain. How had this happened? How had you, so unapologetically bright and warm, managed to work your way into his life so seamlessly that he now couldn't imagine it without you?
Across the table, Emily made a comment about the case, and you chimed in, your voice as animated as ever. Aaron listened, though his attention strayed to the way you gestured when you spoke, the soft movement of your hands, the way your lips curved when you made a point.
"This place is so cute," you said brightly, glancing around at the rustic décor. "I mean, it's no Olive Garden, but still, it's got charm."
Across the table, Derek snorted, folding his arms. "Olive Garden? That's your gold standard for Italian food?"
You gave him an incredulous look. "Are you saying unlimited breadsticks and salad aren't the peak of dining luxury?"
Emily raised her glass with a smirk. "I feel like we're learning a lot about you tonight."
A laugh bubbled out of you when Emily made a dry joke, and Aaron couldn't help but feel the corners of his own mouth lift in response. He glanced away quickly, hoping no one noticed, but when his eyes drifted back to you, you were already looking at him.
Your smile softened, your gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than it should have. Aaron cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as his hand brushed against yours under the table.
The light pressure of your fingers against his was brief but intentional, and Aaron's chest tightened as he realized how quickly he was starting to crave these small moments—moments that, not long ago, he would have never allowed himself to have.
You didn't pull away immediately, your fingertips grazing his before the noise of the team pulled you back to the conversation. It was subtle, so subtle that the others might have missed it entirely, but JJ didn't. She raised a brow, her gaze flicking between the two of you.
"So," JJ said, her tone casual but edged with curiosity. "How long has this been going on?"
Your hand froze mid-reach for the butter, and you glanced at her with wide eyes. "What's been going on?"
Spencer Reid tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied you and Aaron. "You and Hotch."
Your eyes darted to Aaron, who had straightened slightly in his seat. He didn't look uncomfortable, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—something softer than his usual stoicism.
"Depends," you said, flashing a teasing smile. "How long do you think it's been?"
Derek leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he chuckled. "Oh, you're good. Deflecting like a pro."
"It's not deflecting," you said, feigning offense. "It's a legitimate question."
Aaron sighed quietly, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "It's been a few months."
The table fell silent for a moment.
"A few months?" Emily repeated, her brow arching. "And you didn't think to mention it?"
"It's not like we were hiding it," you said quickly, glancing at Aaron. "Right?"
"We just weren't announcing it."
"Well, it's about damn time," Derek said, breaking the silence with a wide grin. "Seriously, Hotch. I was starting to think you didn't have it in you."
Aaron gave him a look, though the faint twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement. "It's not up for discussion, Morgan."
"Noted," Derek said, his grin unrelenting.
You leaned closer to Aaron, your shoulder brushing his as you lowered your voice. "Think we'll ever live this down?"
"Doubtful."
The conversation shifted, the focus moving to Spencer's latest trivia tangent and JJ's plans for an upcoming weekend with her family. But as the night wore on, Aaron found himself more at ease than he'd expected.
At one point, you leaned over to steal a bite of his pasta, and he let you, his lips twitching into a faint smile when you made a show of how much better his dish was than yours.
By the end of the evening, as the team trickled out of the restaurant one by one, Aaron found himself standing beside you near the entrance, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back.
"That wasn't so bad," you said, tilting your head up to look at him.
"No," he agreed, his voice quiet. "It wasn't."
You smiled, leaning slightly into his touch. "See? Told you they'd be fine with it."
He huffed softly, shaking his head. "I think Morgan's already planning his next round of questions."
"Probably," you admitted with a laugh. "But, hey, it's progress. You smiled twice tonight."
His lips twitched slightly, though he shook his head in mock exasperation. "Twice, huh? You're keeping count now?"
"Absolutely," you teased, leaning a little closer. "I'm very goal-oriented, you know. Almost got a smile out of you with my pen trick, too, but you were a little too busy that day."
Aaron frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. "Pen trick?"
"Oh, come on, Hotch," you said, rolling your eyes with a grin. "That was my totally genius plan to get you to notice me. Thought maybe you'd smile, maybe even flirt back, but no—you shut me down with the whole, that's not mine. Absolutely brutal."
His frown deepened as he stared at you, trying to process your words. "You planned that?"
"Obviously," you replied. "I saw you walking by all serious and handsome, and I thought, why not? Of course, I didn't realize I was interviewing to be your assistant. That kind of killed the whole plan."
He tilted his head, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "Killed it how?"
"Well," you said, giving him an exaggerated shrug, "if I'd known you were the guy in charge, I would've worn something with more cleavage. Really sell it, you know?"
Aaron stared at you for a moment, then leaned in slightly, his voice low and dry. "There's still time to test that theory."
You gasped, swatting at him as your laughter bubbled up. "Aaron Hotchner, are you flirting with me?"
"I don't know," he replied smoothly, his lips twitching into an almost-smile. "Did it work?"
You looped your arm through his, your grin softening into something fonder. "A little late for flirting now, boss. You've already got me."
"Good to know."
Tumblr media
taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack
join my taglist here!
975 notes · View notes
levandright · 3 months ago
Text
𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆
their favorite way to show their love for you is through — giftsꜝꜝ
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
if you enjoyed reading this consider leaving a like or reblog ᐢ..ᐢ
pairing ⋆ ot7 enhypen x gn! reader ʬʬ content / warning(s) ⋆ extra extra soft fluff, established relationship, non-idol au, just enha spoiling you with gifts <3 ꕀ word count : 1,637 ʬʬ go back to the start? ・ archive ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : i wrote the whole thing with good thing by nct 127 on repeat and i think it did something to my brain. after making this i now want someone to gift like the boys do- cause the hell man :(( i envy their relationship its so cute T-T (i literally wrote this) thx for proofreading and editing this again twin <3 (gotta make sure twin gets their recognition)
Tumblr media
𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 - plushies
you come home to find a familiar pink gift bag sitting on your bed, decorated with little hearts and a note in heesung’s handwriting: “a little something for your collection—hope they make you smile! - hee”
excitedly, you peek inside, immediately spotting the cute sanrio tags and soft pastel colors. you pull out not one, but three adorable plushies—my melody, cinnamoroll, and hello kitty, each one perfectly cuddly and looking up at you with their iconic smiles.
just as you’re hugging my melody close, heesung steps into the room, a shy grin on his face as he watches your reaction. “i couldn’t decide on one,” he admits, scratching his head. “so i figured… why not get them all?”
you can’t stop smiling as you place the plushies carefully among the others on your shelf, each one finding its perfect spot. “they’re perfect,” you say, turning to give him a grateful hug. “you know me so well.”
he chuckles, returning the hug. “i love seeing your face light up every time. besides your collection wouldn’t be complete without the whole sanrio squad, right?”
with a laugh, you look back at the shelf, feeling warm inside. thanks to heesung your little plushie family just got a lot bigger.
𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 - clothes
you’re scrolling through your phone when you get a text from jay: “check your doorstep!”
curious, you open the door to find a large shopping bag sitting outside. you bring it inside, already knowing who it’s from. as you pull out one dress after another—soft fabrics in different colors, some with delicate lace, others with simple elegance—you can’t help but laugh, imagining jay going through the store and picking each one out.
a moment later, he shows up at your door, grinning like he’s just won a prize. “so, what do you think? i couldn’t decide on just one, so i got you…options,” he says with a wink.
“options?” you tease, holding up a deep blue dress. “jay, you bought out the whole store!”
he shrugs, unbothered. “i just wanted you to have the best. besides, i know you have that event coming up, and i wanted you to feel amazing.”
you shake your head, touched. “you’re too much, you know that?”
he grins, gently nudging you toward the mirror. “go try one on, just to see how perfect you look.”
with a smile, you head to change, grateful for his thoughtfulness and the joy he finds in seeing you happy.
𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 - perfume
you’re sitting on your bed, flipping through a magazine, when you hear a light knock on your door. “hey, can I come in?” jake’s familliar voice calls out from the other side.
“sure!” you reply, setting the magazine aside. as he steps in, you notice he’s holding a beautifully wrapped box, the corners tied with a silky ribbon.
“what’s this?” you asked curiously.
jake grins, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “open it and see!”
you carefully unwrap the box, revealing a stunning bottle of your favorite perfume, the one you always rave about. the familiar shape of the bottle brings an instant smile to your face. “jake! you remembered!”
“of course i did! i always remember,” he says, pride evident in his voice. “i figured it was time to restock your collection. i know how much you love this scent.”
you get up and give him a warm hug, breathing in the comforting mix of his cologne and the fresh scent of the perfume. “you always know how to make me happy. thank you!”
he chuckles, pulling back to look at you. “i just want to make sure you never run out. you wear it so well.”
you shake your head in delight, placing the perfume on your vanity. “i’ll always think of you when I wear it,” you say, feeling grateful for his thoughtful gesture.
𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 - chocolate
you’re at your desk, sorting through some papers, when you notice a familiar small box tucked beside your things. smiling, you pick it up and read the note stuck on top: “just because. - sunghoon.”
opening it, you’re greeted by the rich aroma of chocolate—a collection of your favorite flavors. dark, milk, hazelnut-filled, and even a few fruit-infused truffles.
it’s the third time this week sunghoon has surprised you with chocolate, each box seemingly chosen with extra care.
later, as you’re enjoying a piece, sunghoon walks in, catching you mid-bite.
“caught you!” he teases, grinning as he leans against the doorframe. “how’s today’s selection of sweets?”
you laugh, holding up the chocolate box. “perfect as always. i still don’t know how you manage to get these here without me noticing.”
he shrugs, looking pleased. “i have my ways,” he says, pretending to be mysterious. then, with a softer smile, he adds, “i just like knowing that you’re never without a little something sweet.”
you smile, feeling warmth spread through you. “well, thanks to you my lovely boyfriend, i’ve never been happier—or more stocked on chocolate.”
𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 - jewelry
one quiet afternoon, sunoo shows up at your door with a mysterious grin and a small, velvet box in his hand.
“what’s that?” you ask, your curiosity piqued as he invites himself in and settles onto the couch beside you.
he just smiles, handing you the box without a word. inside, nestled against the satin, is a delicate silver bracelet, adorned with a tiny charm shaped like a star. your eyes widen in surprise as you look up at him. “sunoo, it’s beautiful! you didn’t have to…”
but he’s already lifting his wrist to show you a matching bracelet around his own. “it’s not just for you,” he says, looking at you with a gentle smile. “it’s for us. i found these and thought it would be a nice reminder… something we can both wear.”
a warm blush creeps onto your cheeks as you turn the bracelet over in your hand. “it’s perfect. thank you, sunoo.”
he beams, taking the bracelet from you and gently fastening it around your wrist. “now, every time you see it, you’ll know we’re connected—even if we’re not together.”
you reach out, holding his hand, and squeeze it. “i love it, really. but i love you more.”
he laughs, giving your hand a playful squeeze back. “good, because that’s the part of the gift i’m hoping you’ll keep forever.”
you both sit there, admiring your matching bracelets, feeling closer than ever as the sunlight filters through the room, casting a gentle glow over both of you.
𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 - flowers
the soft chime of the doorbell echoes through the house, pulling you from your cozy spot on the couch. you rise, curious about who could be at the door. as you open it, a burst of color greets you: jungwon stands there with a bright bouquet of flowers in hand, a broad smile stretching across his face.
“surprise!” he exclaims, presenting the bouquet like a trophy. the flowers are vibrant, a mix of sunflowers, daisies, and wildflowers, their sweet scent filling the air.
your eyes widen, and a smile blooms on your face. “oh, jungwon! they’re beautiful!” you reach out to take them, feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm radiate towards you.
“i thought you could use a little brightness today,” he says, stepping inside. “i know you’ve been busy with work and school, so i wanted to remind you that you’re doing an amazing job.”
you feel a swell of gratitude as you breathe in the flowers’ fresh scent. “you always know how to make my day better,” you reply, feeling the weight of your stress start to lift.
“i just love seeing that smile on your face,” he says, his voice sincere. “you deserve to be reminded how wonderful you are.”
as you arrange the flowers in a vase, jungwon leans against the counter, watching you with a soft smile. “every time you look at them, i want you to remember that you’re loved, no matter how tough things get.”
you glance back at him, your heart warming at his words. “thank you, jungwon . this really means a lot to me.”
he steps closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “you know i’ll always be here for you, right? just like these flowers, i’ll always try to bring a little color into your life.”
you lean into him, feeling the comfort of his embrace. “i’m so lucky to have you.”
he kisses your temple gently, and you close your eyes, savoring the moment. with jungwon by your side and flowers brightening the room, you know that no matter what challenges come your way, you’ll face them with a smile.
𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 - sunglasses
riki practically skips over to you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face and his hands hidden behind his back. you give him a curious look, and he finally reveals what he’s holding: two pairs of sunglasses, both sleek and stylish with tinted lenses.
“tada~ matching sunglasses,” he announces proudly, handing you one of the pairs. “i figured it was time to make you as cool as me.”
you laugh, slipping them on. “so, does this mean i get honorary 'riki’s fashion sidekick' status now?”
he nods, adjusting his own sunglasses as he strikes a dramatic pose. “absolutely. now we can both look this good,” he teases, winking at you from behind the lenses.
the two of you step out into the sunlight, instantly feeling like the coolest duo around. you both take turns posing, doing mock runway walks and playfully pointing at each other like you’re celebrities. riki laughs every time you strike a ridiculous pose, clutching his sides with giggles.
eventually, you both settle down, leaning against a wall, still wearing the shades and smiling widely at each other. “i think we should make this our thing,” riki says, nudging you. “matching sunglasses, everywhere we go.”
you nod, grinning. “agreed. it’s our official look.”
Tumblr media
perm taglist. @honeychocos @kozumesphone @manaah02 (open)
wyll taglist. @lilly-cherry7 (comment or ask to be added)
©levandright
694 notes · View notes
erwinsvow · 9 months ago
Text
introducing... bitchy reader!
Tumblr media
rafe never pays attention to sarah’s friends. new yet similar faces seem to make the rounds through tannyhill every week; the place was a revolving door. the occasional familiar girl would say hi to him, which would of course be ignored since he doesn’t care enough to say hi back.
so naturally, you become the exception to his little rule.
you and sarah are on opposite sides of the counter, flicking through magazines and taking sips from overpriced iced coffees, when he overhears a conversation that makes him stop and listen.
“-and he’s not like topper, like, at all. he’s really nice and actually talks to me instead of at me-”
“wow,” he hears you say, dragging out the syllables and sarcasm dripping from your voice. “such standards you have. no, really.”
“shut up. he’s totally sweet-” sarah says, but you interrupt her.
“he’s, like, totally a dirty pogue.” that catches his attention—not just the fact that there’s something going on between his sister and some pogue, but the way you say the sentence, how the words sound coming from your mouth. 
you nearly sound like rafe.
“that is so rude-”
“what? i’m just being honest. i’d be a bad friend if i didn’t tell you the truth.”
“what truth?” his sister questions.
“that you’re settling for some pogue boy because you’re bored of top. i get it. if i was dating him i’d be bored enough to fuck a pogue too.”
rafe cringes at the topic even though your word choice makes him laugh—topper is boring, though he doesn’t think he’s heard anyone else bring it up until now. he steps back into the doorway, watching the two of you. the crass words are coming from you, dressed in a sunny yellow dress and tapping pretty pink nails against the counter. 
“hey! i’m not bored-”
“you mean, you like hearing about his boat and golf every single day?”
“he has other hobbies! like-”
“like what?” you pause, watching sarah’s expression before giving her a pointed look—a look that says told you so. “who are you really trying to convince right now?” you flip through another magazine, finding something that must have caught your eye. you lift it to show sarah—some pinked striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers on the pages. “don’t i totally need this?”
“shut up.”
“that’s what someone says when they know the other person’s right,” you say with a mocking smile, setting down the magazine. he’s watching the whole thing—you’re funnier than he would have thought. “and if you change your mind just go to country club. top’s dime a dozen there.” the two of you start laughing. 
“i’m not gonna change my mind-”
“that’s what you said when you started dating topper,” you say it deadpan, and rafe holds back a laugh.
“-because he’s really nice. he’s a good guy.”
“ugh, sarah. making out with a dirty pogue at a bonfire is one thing. you’re talking like you’re in love. get a grip.”
“what? what’s so wrong with that?” sarah asks, taking a sip of her drink.
“because you can’t be in love with someone you have to hide your valuables around.” that’s when he decides to walk in—sarah sputtering on her drink while you roll your eyes.
“and what’re you girls talkin’ about?” rafe asks, and two sets of eyes turn to look at him. you look at him a little confused—in all the years you’ve known sarah and times you’ve been at tannyhill, rafe’s never once spoken to you.
“i don’t think it’s any of your business-” his sister says, and then he rolls his eyes. you interrupt right away.
“sarah, it’s okay.” you turn to rafe, looking right at him and leaning in a little like you’re gonna tell in something. “it’s really not any of your business.”
blank face, trying to be annoyed but not actually feeling annoyed, he stares back at you. his sister laughs stupidly, heading into the living room. she leaves you alone with rafe in the kitchen, but as you grab your drink and try to follow sarah, rafe says something.
“y’know i heard that shit you were sayin’. you’re funny, kid.” you turn back to look at rafe.
“thanks. i wasn’t joking.”
“yeah. good. at least one of my sister’s friends has ‘er head screwed straight.” you laugh, but the look on your face says you didn’t think it was funny.
“are you trying to compliment me? by insulting all my other friends?” he wasn’t expected that retort.
“no. no, i-”
“maybe if your friend wasn’t such a shit boyfriend, sarah wouldn’t be talking to some pogue. but hey, what do i know?”
“hey, kid, i-”
“don’t call me that.” you roll your eyes, walking to the living room without even glancing back at rafe. he calls out after you again.
“so have you?” you pause, turning again.
“have i what?” “made out with some pogue at the bonfire.” he shrugs. “that’s what you said to sarah, isn’t it?”
“again, how is that any of your business?” you ask, cocking your head at him.
“that’s not an answer.”
“i don’t owe you an answer. but for the record, no, i haven’t. i actually have standards.” he doesn’t miss the remark and what it says about his sister.
“good,” rafe says, looking at you. his eyes rake over your body before he can stop it—your short hem, the jewelry dangling on your wrists and neck, the heels even though you hadn’t gone anywhere.
“shut up. weirdo.” you walk to the living room where sarah’s waiting for you.
rafe’s gonna have a hard time staying away from you.
Tumblr media
953 notes · View notes
fairyysoup · 1 year ago
Text
his hands
Tumblr media
pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.
cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men
a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up
ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
Tumblr media
Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore. 
“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?” 
The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with. 
The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.
You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.
“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”
Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.
“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”
“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.
“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.” 
“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?” 
You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.
“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”
“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”
“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.
“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”
“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.” 
You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”
“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind. 
You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.
It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open. 
Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.
You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.
You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.
After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it. 
“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter. 
You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?
Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.” 
You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look. 
“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.
“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”
You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.
Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens. 
“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”
“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies. 
Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”
“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.
“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”
“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again. 
“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”
“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible. 
“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”
You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”
Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”
“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.” 
“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?” 
“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit. 
“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.
You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.
He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.
After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.” 
You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head. 
“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.
“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance. 
“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”
“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat. 
Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors. 
“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.
“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”
His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror. 
Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it. 
Cocky bastard.  
“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.
Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?” 
“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”
“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”
A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places. 
“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation. 
Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”
“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”
“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”
“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.  
“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.
“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for. 
“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”
“Tell me where to sign.”
He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time. 
“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back. 
You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.
“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?” 
You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?” 
“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”
“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”
“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?” 
“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right. 
Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!
Tumblr media
By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.
You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.
False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.
You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.
You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you���d probably be going insane by then.
“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”
You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”
What the fuck did you just say?
Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”
You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”
When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.
There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.
This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.
“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”
“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”
“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”
His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander. 
Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all. 
“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.
Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.
You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”
“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.” 
“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”
“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”
The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.
“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”
“No way.”
“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.” 
“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.
“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.” 
“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”
He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”
A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”
“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.” 
You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”
Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?” 
“Yeah, not too flashy.” 
“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.” 
“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”
Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.
Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.
You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.
“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.
You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up. 
When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.
Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”
Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–
Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”
“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.
Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–
“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you. 
You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven. 
You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room. 
“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.
“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”
“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.” 
“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck. 
“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh. 
“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.
He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.
Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?” 
Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.” 
“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.” 
He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”
Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.
When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.
Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you. 
“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat. 
His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more. 
There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”
He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”
You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.
Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck. 
Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather. 
“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”
He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.
“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already. 
“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”
You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.
“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.” 
“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same. 
“Good girl.” 
Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume. 
“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.
“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling. 
Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”
You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”
Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.” 
Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.
Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours. 
“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said. 
“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.” 
Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger. 
Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes. 
“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”
You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs. 
“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”
Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.
You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him. 
“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down. 
“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”
“Eddie, we’re naked.” 
“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”
“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it. 
“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”
2K notes · View notes
smartkookiee · 4 months ago
Text
How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! || Ch.1 — jjk.
Tumblr media
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀° ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, flirting, drinking, nothing crazy happens in this chapter tbh, idiots, have fun (I’m so excited to see what everyone says, thank you to everyone for all the love on the teaser post!) ❥word-count: 9.4k ❥Series Masterlist ❥|| Next chapter fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°
Day 0
“Y/N, can I see you in my office?” Yoongi’s voice cut through the ambient buzz of the office as he appeared at your cubicle. You blinked up at him, his request causing a ripple of curiosity among your surrounding coworkers, though no one dared to show it openly.
You hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing your mind. Was I in trouble? Did he hate my last research project? Your mind raced through the possibilities. Yoongi had praised your work just last week, but what if he’d changed his mind? The thought of him taking back his compliments made your stomach twist. With a sigh, you saved your work and rose to follow him. The walk to his office felt unnervingly like being summoned to the principal’s office in high school.
Though your colleagues barely glanced in your direction, the nerves still had your palms sweating. You tried to wipe them discreetly on your pants as you stepped inside his office.
Yoongi moved behind his desk with casual ease, sinking into his chair as though he hadn’t just rattled your nerves with his sudden appearance. You stood awkwardly for a moment until he waved you toward the chair in front of his desk.
“You can relax, Y/N. You’re not in trouble.” He said, his tone gentle but amused. It was clear he could feel the tension radiating off you.
“I know, I know. I’m just a worrywart. You know that.” You laughed softly, though it came out more anxious than you’d intended. “So… why did you want to see me?”
Yoongi leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the desk as he watched you. “I’ve have an assignment for you. Something better than your usual research work.”
You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as he began rifling through the disorganized pile of files and papers littering his desk. You’d been at Composure for a while, mostly doing background research for other writers’ articles. But you’d been hoping for an opportunity to step out of the shadows, to prove yourself as more than just a behind-the-scenes contributor. Maybe this is it?
When Yoongi finally found what he was looking for, he pulled out an old magazine and dropped it in front of you with a soft thud. You glanced down at the cover, your eyes widening as you saw the issue was from 2003.
“How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days.” Yoongi said, leaning back in his chair with a knowing glint in his eyes.
You picked up the magazine and began flipping through it, skimming the pages until you found the article. A sense of familiarity washed over you—this was one of those interesting pieces people still whispered about around the office. “I’m confused.”
“This piece was a massive hit when it came out.” He explained, lacing his fingers together as he leaned back. “Lana, one of the higher-ups, was the editor at the time this particular piece came out. She brought it up recently, said she thinks it’s time for something like this to make a comeback.”
“You want me to do this?” You asked, still reeling from the audacity of the concept. You skimmed through the details, noting the original author, Andy. She had gone to extreme lengths to sabotage a relationship for the sake of the article. You couldn’t help but cringe at some of the tactics she’d employed.
“Not exactly.” Yoongi replied with a small chuckle. “The feedback back then was that the whole experiment felt a bit too unrealistic. Readers loved it and it was a funny read, but many thought they don’t do things this intense. Lana’s idea was to take the same concept, but… stretch it out.”
“Stretch it out?” You echoed, still trying to wrap your head around the idea.
“Yeah. Ten days is too quick for something like this. We want to make it feel more genuine. Instead of a mad dash to drive the guy away, we want to see what happens over a longer period. A month, maybe two. Let the tension build naturally.”
You leaned back in your chair, letting the idea swirl around in your head. It was ambitious, maybe even a bit reckless, but there was no denying it would be a challenge.. “So… you want me to date someone and—what? Subtly sabotage it over time?”
“Exactly. Actually date but do all the classic early relationship mistakes.” Yoongi explained, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the concept. “It’s an experiment in human behavior, relationships, and how much people are willing to overlook.”
“So like talking about something personal way too fast, or inviting yourself into their life way too quickly and then write about it?” You prattled on a bit, it was picking at the ideas in your brain in the right way.
Yoongi smiled, clearly pleased with your interest. “I brought this to you because you have more than proven yourself here. You’ve been doing excellent research, and I want to see how you handle something of this scale. Especially because this would be a feature piece.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the compliment, but there was still a question gnawing at you. “I’m glad you are trusting me with something like this, especially with such a high-profile piece. But… I have to ask, sir—why do you think I’m the right person for this?”
Yoongi leaned forward slightly, his expression more thoughtful. “Because I want to challenge you. I like your research and I like how you write, you understand the people who read our columns on a deeper level. I think you have more in you. I want to see if you can handle something outside of your comfort zone.” His voice softened, but the weight of his words wasn’t lost on you. “And after something like this, I’d be more than happy to move you on to bigger and better pieces.”
The subtle hint of a promotion sent a jolt of excitement through you. “Really?”
“Really.” Yoongi confirmed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
It was all you could do to keep the excitement from bubbling over. An actual writing assignment, something that could elevate your standing in the magazine, was exactly what you had been waiting for.
“I don’t even know what to say other than thank you.” 
You fidget with the magazine in your hands, resisting the urge to curl the edges. Your mind raced, trying to think of what a realistic timeline for the piece could look like—something ambitious, but doable.
“How about… How to Lose a Guy in Thirty Days ? A longer timeline, more idealistic. A month in is usually when new relationships start to fall apart. It’s after the initial getting-to-know-someone phase.” You suggest, throwing the idea out there, hoping Yoongi would take the bait.
“Thirty days, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You sure you’re up for it?”
“Yes, sir.” You nod, your confidence building as you think about the possibilities.
“Good.” Yoongi replies, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look. “Let’s start on Monday, after we get through this print run. That gives you a few days to find the poor guy.”
“Right. Thank you, Mr. Min.” You stand up, your heart racing as you try to play it cool. But as soon as you exit his office, you can barely contain your excitement.
“Oh my god, oh my god.” You mutter under your breath as you rush to your desk. Your fingers fly across the keyboard as you start jotting down notes, pulling out sticky notes and scribbling ideas, trying to organize your thoughts.
Ronnie, sitting in the neighboring cubicle, leans back to peer around the divider, noticing your frenzied state. She rolls her chair into your space, sliding up next to you with a curious look.
“What’s got you in such a hurry?” She asks, raising an eyebrow as she watches you type furiously. A laugh escapes her when she sees the pen stuck in your mouth and the growing pile of sticky notes attached to the old magazine.
“I gob a columb.” You mumble through the pen, barely pausing your typing.
Ronnie plucks the pen from your mouth. “Try that again.”
“I’m writing my first column.” You repeat, finally turning to face her, your excitement breaking through.
“No way!” Ronnie stands, her voice a little too loud, drawing a few glances from nearby desks. She sits back down and grabs your shoulders. “That’s so awesome! Your first column! What’s it going to be about?”
You hand her the magazine, pointing to the title. “This.”
“How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, flipping through the article. “You’re seriously going to do this?”
“Well, not exactly the same.” You say with a grin, watching as she reads through the outlandish tactics in the original piece. “Just similar.”
Ronnie’s eyes widen as she reaches some of the more extreme parts of the article. “Okay, this is crazy, all the things this girl did to this guy. Oh my god.” She rocked in disbelief, continuing the read through. “Awe, ends bittersweet though.” 
“It’s going to be How to Lose A Guy in Thirty Days this time.” 
“A month?” She laughs and shakes her head, you give her a confused look. 
“What? I can do this!” You bump her shoulder. 
“Do what?” Namjoon strolls into your cubical looking between the both of you.
“Kid got her first column.” Ronnie sings she has a proud grin on her face. You spin around to look at Namjoon. 
His face lights up at the news, “That’s so awesome! Congrats!” He rubs your hair messing it up, you bat his hands away smoothing out your hair. 
“Thanks Joon.” 
“What’s it on?” Namjoon leans against your desk along side Ronnie. 
Ronnie hands him the magazine flipped open to the article. He takes it and examines it for a moment, he reads along and his eyes widen at times. You continue scribbling down some thoughts while he does this. Namjoon was a silent reader but would always share his full thoughts when he was done. 
“Woah, this is wild.” Namjoon flips back to the beginning of the article, like he had to read it over again. 
“I know the original one is a little insane but we are doing it differently this time.” You explain, Namjoon had concern written all over his face reading through the article again. 
“Quote, ‘after five days I decided to go ahead and take things to the next level between us. I completely redecorate his apartment with pink attire and stuffed animals everywhere.” Namjoon reads the section out loud. “She only knew him for five days?” 
You nod, “I don’t know how she was so brave to do all of that. Luckily Yoongi said I don’t have to be as extreme as this. Just more casually clingy and needy, do small things that most people think are normal but seem to send guys running before anything serious can begin.” 
“Yeah, I definitely hope you don’t end up ‘photoshopping your baby pictures together.’” Ronnie adds with a grin.
You laugh, shaking your head. “God, no. I’d sooner die of embarrassment. I don’t have the energy for that level of crazy.”
Namjoon leans back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in slight  concern. “So, what is the plan then? You’ve got something in mind, right?”
You sigh dramatically. “Not sure yet. I’ve got until Monday to find a guy and come up with some sort of idea of how I want to do this.”
“Oh, can we help?” Ronnie’s eyes light up as she bounces in her chair, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Help find the guy?”
“Obviously, and with the torture.” She adds, looking way too enthusiastic.
“I’m not torturing him.” You chuckle, “just… irritating him a little. You know, for research purposes.”
“Uh-huh.” Namjoon’s teasing grin softens as he looks at you, a hint of doubt creeping in. “But are you really sure you can do this, like… casually?”
You blink at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, come on.” Namjoon says with a snort, gesturing vaguely at you. “You wear your heart in a pink, sparkly basket for everyone to see. Are you sure you won’t fall for the poor guy instead?”
“I don’t do that! And I will not!” You protest, but Namjoon and Ronnie exchange a look that screams they definitely think you do.
“I’ve never seen you not get your hopes up after a date or two.” Ronnie says, shrugging sympathetically.
“Well, this time will be different.” You say, folding your arms defiantly. “It’s just business. I have to get the guy to break up with me anyway.”
They weren’t wrong, though, and you know it. You’ve always been one of those people who swoon at love songs and daydream about movie-perfect endings. You were the exact type of person this article was written for in the first place. You did get attached too quickly and were getting hurt too often. But this? This was just an assignment. A game. You wouldn’t get hurt if you knew it had to end from the start.
“You’ll see.” You add with more confidence, determined to prove them wrong.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Ronnie teases, rolling her chair back toward her desk. It was well past time for her to get to her own work. 
Namjoon shakes his head with a chuckle. “Good luck to this guy, I guess.” He mutters, though there’s warmth in his voice. He’s seen you get your hopes up too many times to believe you could really keep things casual.
But this time, you were determined. No expectations. No daydreaming. It was all just work.
Across town, though, someone else was perfectly content with his easygoing, no-strings-attached lifestyle. Jungkook, waking up in someone else’s bed was just another morning for him. He opened his eyes but was blinded by the morning light. He rolled over and looked around, he had no idea where he was. Memories of last night vaguely coming back to the front of his mind. 
He looks over to see a sleeping girl in the same bed. He stands from the bed and manages to find his phone. Seeing the time. 
“Shit.” He rushes to find his scattered items and puts his clothes back on. Tip toeing his way around the room and manages to get out the front door without a fuss. 
Getting out of the building, Jungkook blinked as the morning sun hit him square in the face. He rubbed his eyes, still groggy from a less-than-restful sleep. Scanning the unfamiliar streets, he had no idea what neighborhood he was in, but that was par for the course these days. He pulled out his phone and called for an Uber, slipping his sunglasses on as he waited.
Another late night, another random bed. This wasn’t exactly new territory, but he couldn’t help feeling off. Normally, Thursdays were a quiet night in, but when Jimin and Taehyung wanted to go out, Jungkook wasn’t about to turn them down. And, as always, the night had ended the way it usually did for him—blurry and chaotic.
By the time Jungkook made it to the office, it was later than he would normally prefer to arrive. Slipping through the doors, he did his best to avoid attention although Hoseok’s keen eyes were already tracking him. Jungkook tried to get settled quietly, but it was pointless. Hoseok’s desk, conveniently right next to his, made stealth impossible.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” Hoseok sang, swiveling in his chair to grin at Jungkook. He tapped a few keys on his keyboard, then gave Jungkook an exaggerated once-over. “Did you lose a bet, or is that last night’s shirt?”
Jungkook smirked as he slid into his seat. “Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but in yesterday’s clothes. What’d you do? Roll straight from the bar to your desk?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, clicking away on his mouse as he pulled up their latest coding project.
“Pretty much.” Jungkook admitted, booting up his own computer. “I’ll head home at lunch and change. No one cares what I wear to debug.”
Hoseok shook his head with a laugh. “You’re gonna blind the clients with your wrinkled t-shirts one of these days.”
“Fair enough.” Jungkook chuckled, typing in his password. “But I’m still better at the code reviews, so they can’t complain too much.”
Hoseok conceded with a nod, leaning back in his chair. “Rough night?”
Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “You could say that. Taehyung and Jimin were relentless. Didn’t stop until the bar kicked us out.”
“Ah, classic.” Hoseok said with a grin. “They never know when to quit.”
Jungkook smirked, though he felt the exhaustion settling in his bones. “They’ve got energy for days, man. But, hey, what about tonight? You in?”
Hoseok hesitated, glancing at the lines of code on his screen before looking back at Jungkook. “Again? You don’t look like you’re dying to go out tonight.”
Jungkook chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, I’m wrecked, but you know I’m down. Someone’s gotta keep Taehyung from getting us banned from another bar.”
Hoseok shook his head, clearly amused. “I dunno, man. I might actually take it easy tonight. Jimin’s been texting like he’s planning another big one, and I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to babysit.”
“You? Too tired to party?” Jungkook teased, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you just complaining last week that we only go out when you’re drowning in deadlines?”
“I didn’t say I’m backing out.” Hoseok defended, though his reluctance was obvious. “I’m just... thinking about it.”
“Thinking about it, my ass. You’ll be there. I’ll text Jimin, tell him to go easy on the plans.” Jungkook turned back to his monitor, his fingers flying over the keys as he opened the project files for their current assignment.
Hoseok chuckled. “Yeah, alright. But if I show up and Taehyung’s dancing on tables again, I’m leaving early.”
“Deal.” Jungkook said with a grin.
 Then Hoseok’s smirk deepened, and he shot a glance at Jungkook. “By the way, has she called you yet?”
Jungkook frowned, glancing sideways. “Who?”
“Channel. She’s been texting me . Again.” Hoseok’s grin turned into a mock look of annoyance. “Seriously, bro, how is she still hitting me up to ask about you? You need to fix that.”
Jungkook groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I made it clear we’re done.”
“Well, apparently she didn’t get the memo. She asked me yesterday if you were ‘okay,’ like I’m your personal messenger or something.”
Jungkook sighed, his fingers stilling on his keyboard. “I haven’t heard from her in weeks. She’s probably fishing for info, trying to get back in touch. She wanted something serious, and I was always upfront about keeping it casual.”
Hoseok raised an eyebrow. “And she didn’t take that well?”
“She acted like she understood, but... yeah, not really. I broke it off before things got messy.” Jungkook sighed. “Now she’s bugging you instead.”
“Lucky me.” Hoseok muttered. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. But seriously, dude, she’s asking me if you’re, like, in a dark place or something. I think she’s hoping for a window to swoop back in.”
Jungkook groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Tell her I’ve joined a monastery.”
Hoseok laughed. “Sure, I’ll let her know you’ve taken a vow of silence and reflection.”
The rest of the morning flew by in a blur of coding and testing modules. By the time lunch rolled around, Jungkook had managed to convince Jimin to keep the plans for the night low-key—just a few drinks at a bar they liked. Hoseok seemed more on board with the promise of a relaxed evening, and Jungkook was glad. As much as he loved the chaos, even he was feeling the need for something calmer.
When they arrived at the bar that evening, it was more crowded than they’d expected. The hum of conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses filled the air, and the warmth of bodies packed in tight hit them as they wove their way through the crowd.
“So much for a quiet night.” Hoseok muttered, dodging a couple who were clearly several drinks in.
Jungkook grinned, nudging him. “Come on, it’s Friday. What did you expect?”
“Less people and more chairs.” Hoseok replied, though the grin on his face said he wasn’t too upset about it.
Jungkook laughed, scanning the bar for a spot to settle in. Despite his earlier exhaustion, he could feel the pull of another night out with his friends, the familiar buzz of energy creeping in. There was something about the chaos of it all that he couldn’t resist.
“Over here!” Jimin’s voice cut through the noise, his arm waving above the sea of people as he flagged them down. He and Taehyung had already secured a table in the corner.
Jungkook and Hoseok exchanged a glance before making their way over, dodging elbows and weaving past groups of friends clustered around the bar. As they reached the table and took their seats, Hoseok let out a deep sigh.
“Jesus, there are so many people here tonight.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should have stayed home.”
Jimin smirked, leaning back in his chair with his drink in hand. “Aww, come on. It’s been forever since we’ve been out together.”
Jungkook chuckled, patting Hoseok on the shoulder. “It was definitely a struggle convincing him to come tonight.”
Hoseok held up his hands in surrender, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Hey, I was promised a chill night with some drinks. That’s my kind of Friday night.”
Before anyone could say more, Taehyung appeared at the table, balancing a tray of drinks with ease. “Here you go, gentlemen.” He said, passing them around with a flourish.
A round of thank-yous followed as each of the guys took their drinks. Jungkook took a long sip, letting the cool, bitter taste of his beer settle on his tongue as he leaned back in his chair, finally starting to relax.
“So,” Taehyung said after a moment, turning to Jungkook with a curious smile, “where did you disappear last night, man?”
Jungkook barely had time to respond before Jimin interjected, his tone teasing. “Where do you think he ran off to?” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows in fake suspicion.
The grin on his face made it clear he was referring to Jungkook’s extracurricular activities.
Taehyung snickered, shaking his head. “Oh, I see. Anything to tell? Did you find the love of your life?” His voice was full of amusement as he took another sip of his drink.
Hoseok snorted, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, right.”
Jungkook narrowed his eyes playfully, tipping his head in Hoseok’s direction. “Hey, you never know.”
“Sure.” Hoseok said with a laugh, bumping Jungkook’s shoulder. “I’m sure she felt some kind of deep connection.”
Jimin waved a hand in Hoseok’s direction, dismissing him with a grin. “Leave him alone.”
But Hoseok wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. He shrugged, glancing around the table. “I mean, as long as I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him be serious with someone.”
Jungkook felt the familiar twist in his gut at the comment but didn’t let it show. It wasn’t that he didn’t want something serious—it just hadn’t happened in years. He took another sip of his beer, trying to brush off the remark. He had become somewhat comfortable in his solace and easy hook ups. Last thing he had to something serious was what he had with Channel, and that wasn’t even hardly serious.
Broke it off because she changed her mind about what she was wanting from him, Jungkook just really didn’t see a future with her and had always made his feelings about their relationship clear. He really came off looking like a dick but he didn’t want to drag her along. He didn’t want to drag anyone along. 
“I can be serious when I want to be.” Jungkook took another sip of his beer. 
“Yeah for like a day.” Taehyung teases. 
“Not even, more like an afternoon.” Jimin jumps on him with a laugh. 
“Try thirty minutes!” Hoseok adds on to the end before Jungkook waves them all of. 
“Thirty minutes?” He raised an eyebrow, “Give me more credit than that.”
“Fine, thirty-one.” Taehyung added on with another laugh. 
“Whatever,” Jungkook rolls his eyes, “Make your jokes but I don’t see any of you pulling in any serious relationships these days.” Jungkook points the top of his bottle around the group. 
“Hey, I have a date next week I’ll have you know!” Hoseok protests.
“This isn’t about us though, this is about you.” Jimin sits back in his chair. 
“What about me?”
“You’re not a relationship guy.” Taehyung sipped his beer. 
“I’m comfortable by myself.” Jungkook crossed his arms. 
“Nothing wrong with it, I just doubt you could ever be serious with someone.” Jimin shrugs. 
“I’d be a better boyfriend than you .” Jungkook kicks Jimin's leg under the table. 
“Yeah maybe when you’re fifty and decide it’s time to settle down.” Taehyung gives Jungkook a smirk. 
“No way, I bet I could be a better boyfriend than all three of you.” Jungkook was getting too serious and Jimin and Taehyug smelt a challenge in the air. 
“Wanna bet on it?” Jimin cocks his head to the side. It wasn’t unlike the three of them to make bets and they were always stupid.
“Aren’t we a little too old for bets?” Hoseok looks between the guys but he could already tell once Jimin raised the question, Jungkook was already locked into the idea. 
“What are you thinking?” Jungkook leans his elbows on the table. 
“I will bet a hundred dollars, that you couldn’t keep a girlfriend for more than two weeks.” Jimin states and Jungkook almost feels insulted. 
“Come on, I can do better than that.” Jungkook goats Jimin, Jimin looks at Taehyung. 
“I’ll buy in. 200 bucks.” Tahyung jumps on it. 
“You guys are morons.” Hoseok shakes his head, Jungkook was up for the challenge but two weeks was insulting. 
“No, I can keep a partner around for way longer than two weeks. Come on.”
“Okay, how about a month. We’ll make it 300 bucks if you can stay with the same girl for one month.” Jimin jumps on it, between him and Taehyung they would only be out one fifty each. 
“But we get to pick who it is.” Taehyung quickly tacts on that little stipulation. 
“What? No fair.” Jungkook pouts. 
“ Totally fair. Hobi weigh in on this.” Jimin nods his head to Hoseok who was hoping to stay invisible but it seems he has been brought on as the referee. 
“I guess it makes sense, if you pick the girl it makes it too easy for you to win.” Hoseok logics it out but this definitely wasn’t starting to feel fair.
“Ugh fine.” Jungkook groaned, Jimin had extended his hand for a shake, Jungkook took it and they shook on the deal. 
“Again, idiots.” Hoseok knew this was probably going to crash and burn and Jungkook would be out three hundred bucks. Jungkook was feeling very confident though and perhaps a little too competitive. He felt sure he could sucker these two out of three hundred bucks. As well as get to hang out with a pretty girl for a while. Putting on all of his best charm. 
“So when do we start?” Jungkook looks between them. 
“How about right now?” Jimin taps his glass.
While that played out, across the same bar, you were sitting at a booth with your friends.
Catching Jin up on your new promotion at work and your upcoming column to be. The bar was buzzing with life, the noise blending into a background hum as you spoke, but you could feel the excitement rising between you all.
“No way.” Jin’s face lit up as he scanned the photos of the old magazine article on your phone. You had snapped a few pictures to give him the full story, and now he was reading it with wide eyes, barely containing his amusement.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” Ronnie took a long sip of her cocktail, her expression still skeptical. She shook her head as if she still couldn’t wrap her mind around what you were planning. “I mean, I seriously can’t believe you’re going to go through with this.”
“Look,” You began defensively, though a smile tugged at your lips, “I know it’s a little out there, but Yoongi really thinks I can do this. He has his full faith in me.”
It was true. Despite the fact that this assignment would push you far outside of your comfort zone, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement and determination. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you were confident you could handle it.
Jin, still holding your phone, read aloud with a dramatic flair: “ A friend of mine made a good point that I shouldn’t allow him to have a boys’ night, so I decided to get a key from his landlord to interrupt their game night! ” He glanced up with an incredulous look. “She really got a key from his landlord? That’s insane!”
You snatched your phone back, eyes wide. “Okay, I’m not doing that!” You exclaimed, shaking your head. “I’m just going to be clingy, needy. I’m not breaking into anyone’s house!”
“Good for her, honestly.” Namjoon chimed in, cracking open a peanut from the bowl in front of him. “The guy she picked probably deserved it.”
Ronnie nudged him with her elbow. “Didn’t you read the end? She ended up falling in love with him! Realized she was wrong and that he didn’t deserve all that treatment.” Ronnie leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Classic.”
“Of course, she did.” Jin chuckled, taking another sip of his beer. His eyes flicked back to you, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “That’s totally going to be you.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I will not.”
“Please,” Jin said, laughing. “you’re such a gooey romantic. You fall in love so easily.”
Namjoon and Ronnie exchanged knowing glances, both trying—and failing—not to laugh. They knew better than anyone how quickly you could get swept up in a whirlwind of emotions. It wasn’t that you were naive, just hopelessly, undeniably romantic. And they were somewhat concerned about how this whole assignment might play out.
“Look, this is a professional column.” You said, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s not like I’m actually looking for anything serious. I just have to scare him off. That’s it.”
“Either that or he will be on bended knee by the end of it.” Namjoon teased. 
“Very funny. That’s why I have you guys here though, help me pick someone.” You really did want some help on this part. If you got help picking the guy then maybe you could pick someone who it would be easy to let go of.
“How so?” Ronnie tilted her head at your request.
“Well knowing my luck I would accidentally pick a guy who is totally perfect for me and I really won’t be able to go through with it. If you guys pick then you could objectively find someone who is someone I would never go for.” You clap your hands together, hoping your explanation is enough. 
“Oh I’m so in.” Jin rests his chin on his hands. “Plus this bar is packed, we could easily find someone tonight.”
“Well we won’t find him sitting here. Let’s go fish.” Ronnie stands from her seat offering a hand to you, Jin following close behind. The three of you taking a turn about the bar, making observations at some of the different groups that were here. 
“Let’s see.” Ronnie taps her lips with her pointer finger and glances about the room as the three of you search from person to person. “Okay, guy at the bar. Sweater, cheesy and obviously cheap silver necklace.”
You and Jin both take a glance over to him, he seemed to be here alone. Looked nice enough, maybe a good choice. He seemed like a jock type, looked like he was trying with his looks a little too hard. You were considering it before Jin shook his head. 
“Not him, hes rubbed his ring finger like four times.” Jin points, just at that moment the guy does it again, “He’s either married or just got divorced and looking for another wife. Next!” 
“Touche.” You agree and the three of you glance around again. “Okay, how about that guy?”
You point to a small group of guys who seemed way deep into a game of pool. One of the guys sinks a cool shot into one of the pockets and he and another guy cheer too loudly, you were far away and you could still hear them. He looked like he was about to break his pool stick from excitement. 
“Nevermind. Way too intense.” It would have been a good choice but you would probably end up dumping him before you could get any work done. 
The three of you run through a few more guys as you walk around, all three of you seemed to find some reason to veto them again and again. Some were too close to your type and some were just too annoying for you to be able to stand them long enough to keep this ruse up. 
“God slim pickings tonight.” You were getting exhausted. You were considering heading back to Namjoon at the table and conceding for the night. Maybe sleep it off and try again at another bar tomorrow. 
“We can do this.” Ronnie cheers trying to keep your spirits high. “This guy is here, I just know it.” She had had more to drink at this point, she's a pretty energetic drunk. 
“I agree. No throwing in the towel yet.” Jin scans the room again, you guys had moved to many different spots and more people had moved in and out of the bar at this point. 
Jin looked around from guy to guy. Jin came this bar a lot so he had a general sense of the people who were new and the people who frequented here often. He wasn’t sure himself who would work for this, they had to be the perfect combination of nice enough to stick it out but still a playboy or asshole enough that you wouldn’t fall for them. Someone who maybe deserved a little bit of torture. Someone who needed a little due karma. 
He waited for a moment, maybe all three of you just needed to let the guy reveal himself. Before Jin thought it was hopeless was just when he got exactly what he asked for. 
Jungkook was making his way over to the bar.
“Bingo.” Jin whispered. Jungkook had left the table with his friends, the booth was tucked away in the corner so it was no wonder he didn't notice them before. “That’s the guy.” 
“Who?” You ask and then Jin points his finger, tracking Jungkook to the end of the bar. You watched him order from the bartender and then casually wait for a moment. 
“He’s perfect.” Jin was confident. 
“He’s cute?” Ronnie nods, Jin rolling his eyes at her. “What am I wrong?” 
He was very cute you thought, he sported this leather jacket and dark jean look. Large boots, it wasn’t your usually clean cut look that you enjoyed but you understood the appeal of it. 
“Okay why him?” You ask looking at Jin. 
“I’ve seen him here a lot. Always comes with a group of friends, but he never leaves alone. Never the same girl twice. I thought he stopped coming around, but nope. Looks like he’s still at it. His name’s something like Jungkook.” Jin places both hands on your shoulders, looking you dead in the eye. “Total Casanova. Leaves behind a trail of broken hearts.”
Ronnie raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that make it harder to keep him around for thirty days?” 
“Not necessarily,” You say, the wheels turning in your head. “I just need him to dump me within thirty days. He doesn’t have to stick around for all thirty.”
“Longest I saw him entertain a girl for was maybe two weeks? That’s exactly what you need.” Jin shakes your shoulders and you laugh at the movement, almost dizzy after your two drinks. 
A playboy type who can’t commit for more than two weeks. It was exactly what you needed, and lucky for you you wouldn’t need to feel bad about maybe annoying him too much. You needed him to dump you no matter what. Could be fun after all, messing with a guy who is a fuckboy that Jin has seen around could be almost a perfect karma for this guy. 
“Perfect.” You say with a sly smile as you watch him walk back to his group balancing a few drinks in his arms along the way. 
Jungkook managed to set the drinks down gently, “Here you go boys.”
He passed the drinks outs but Jimin and Taehyung were deliberating about something. Jungkook looked between them and looked to Hobi for confirmation. Hoseok wasn’t totally sure what their hushed conversation was about. 
“I don’t know, seems like he could make that work too well.” Jungkook could barely make out the sentence coming from Tae. 
“No it has to be someone like that.” Jimin adds on and then they both seem to come to some silent agreement. Both sitting up straight in their spots. 
“What are you two whispering about?” Jungkook breaks the silence and they both have big grins on their faces, Taehyung is looking over the back of the booth to the bar. 
“Okay, we have made a decision.” Jimin puts on an announcer voice, holding his glass like a microphone.
“You picked someone? Already?” Jungkook was surprised they had come to an agreement on this so quickly. 
Taehyung looks back to Jungkook and nods, “Over there, short maroon dress. Waiting at the bar. Has a tall guy and another girl, dark hair and black dress with her.” Taehyung points and Jungkook looks. 
It takes him a moment, but then he spots you, mid-laugh about something with your friends. A small smile tugs at his lips—you were undeniably cute. There’s something polished about the way you’ve styled yourself, striking a balance between playful and sophisticated. To Jungkook, though, you scream commitment. Your look isn’t meant to turn heads; it’s just confident. It’s a stark contrast to the more overtly flirty, bold style he usually goes for. That makes him curious—why would Jimin and Taehyung pick someone who seems so... relationship-minded?
“Her really?” He looked back at both of them. “Do you want to just hand me the three hundred dollars now?”
“I know you think it will be easy, but that is the type of girl who wants marriage . I think her need for a commitment is going to send you running.” Jimin rubs his hands together evilly. 
Jungkook looks back to you again, thinking. Jungkook felt like he could very well be committed, he could do it probably better than most people. He just hasn’t wanted to or hasn’t had the time too.
“I will be Mr. Marriage Material from here on out.” Jungkook downs the rest of his beer, “Be ready to put your money where your mouth is.” 
Jungkook stands up and leaves the table, they watch him go to work. Taehyung was now nervous and Hoseok was not even sure what he was watching anymore. Also confused by Jimin's choice. 
“Okay, I gotta say he has a point.” Hoseok leans back to Jimin. 
“Yeah now I’m kind of nervous.” Taehyung rubbed his neck, watching Jungkook who was waiting for an opportunity to maybe get a chance encounter with you. The two friends hovering around you weren’t making it easy. 
“Trust me. I’ve seen that girl here before.” Jimin smiles. 
“Do you know her?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow to him, now even more curious. 
“Not at all, but I tried hitting on her once. Very sweet, turned me down though. Seriously, the moment I walked up she read me like an open book.” This was earlier this year and Jimin didn’t care, he had some personal things going on and did it on a whim. You immediately saw through his tactics and called him out on it. 
“What did she do?” Taehyung became nervous. 
“I tried hitting her with a line, and she just looked at me and laughed. Honestly, I might’ve been offended if she hadn’t been so sweet about it. She even apologized! Said she could tell I wasn’t serious. Sent me on my way before I could even react. I swear, I was a little dizzy afterward.”
“Oh wow.” Hoseok is putting the pieces together now. “Okay, I see, so she is going to see through Jungkook right away.”
“Exactly.” Jimin raises his glass, “If he gives off even a whiff of insincerity. She won’t give him the time of day. She very clearly wants someone who is into the long term relationship game and Jungkook… never will be.”
“So you’re not concerned, not even a little bit?” Taehyung asks one more time. 
“Not even slightly.” Jimin clinked his glass against Taehyungs.
“So how is this going to work?” Ronnie looks between you and Jin.
“I’m not sure. What else do you know about him?” You look to Jin for advice on this. You came here sometimes but you weren’t as much of a frequent flier as Jin. 
“Hmm, unfortunately I usually see him hit on girls who are… obviously here for something casual.” He gestures towards another girl at the bar, she was dressed very differently than you were. More revealing, nothing wrong with that but it was starkly different to your look. 
“So maybe it's a lost cause?” You frown.
“Absolutely not.” Ronnie protested waving her hand back and forth.
“Just means you might have to be the bold one. Instead of him coming to you, you go after him.” Jin nodded and rubbed his chin. 
You stifled a laugh, “Yeah right.” Not like you couldn’t approach someone but it was still nerve racking. “I can’t do that.” 
“It’ll be so easy. Look he’s already coming over to the bar.” Ronnie nodded her head in his direction very subtly. You take a look from the corner of your eye and it was true. You turned your head pretending to see something else but catching a glance at him standing at the end of the bar, waiting. 
Jungkook sees you look his direction and pretends to be occupied with something else.
“Okay well if this is going to work, shew.” You wave your hands for the both of them to head back to the table, you take an empty spot in front of the bar. 
“Do you really think she can go up to him?” Ronnie nudged Jin, both of them push their way back to the table where Namjoon had been waiting. 
“Definitely. Well… normally I’d say no but she’s so determined I think she can pull it off.” Jin looks back at you ordering another drink. 
Once they both make it back to the table Namjoon takes notice, “Did she find someone?” 
“Yes, he’s so cute.” Ronnie gushes. 
“Too bad she has to get rid of him.” Jin shrugs as they all take their places and watch you from afar. 
“I know.” Ronnie sighs.
“So what’s the plan?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow. 
“She’s working up the courage to go up to him. I’ve seen the guy around before and he’s not really into her type. So she has to be bold.” Jin explains again, he looks over to Jungkook. 
Jin takes notice that Jungkook has already noticed you. He finds it odd for a moment before he sees Jungkook start to move. 
“Unless…” Jin starts. 
“Oh looks like he’s making a move.” Hoseok gestures over to Jungkook. He pushes himself off the end of the bar to start moving to you but gets cut off by a group moving close to the bar. 
“Let the games begin.” Jimin raises his glass. “We might make our money tonight.” 
“Cross our fingers.” Taehyung chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. 
“If he doesn’t blow smoke out of his ass you guys might be in for a long month.” Hoseok tilts his head watching Jungkook try to maneuver his way over to you. You were just barely getting a drink from the bartender. 
From their end of the bar, your friends could see it happening in real time—Jungkook making his way toward you, not without some difficulty from the proximity of other people. They couldn’t help but laugh at his struggle. 
“God, he’s like a moth to a flame.” Jin chuckled, crossing his arms. “Poor guy doesn’t even know what's going to happen.”
“Doubt it.” Ronnie added, leaning forward. “Y/N’s got this in the bag. He won’t know what hit him.”
Meanwhile, you weren’t so convinced that Jungkook was actually coming for you . After all, the girl beside you fit the typical type he seemed to gravitate toward��flirty, dressed to kill, and definitely giving him the look. Still, you had a plan brewing in your mind. If he wasn’t going to make the first move, you’d force his hand.
With a slight pivot on your heel right as he came up, you forced your shoulder into his chest. Just enough to stumble.
“Oh my god.” You gasp, steadying your drink that had split on your hand, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t spill on you did I?” 
Jungkook’s initial reaction was a mix of surprise and awkward laughter. “Hey, no problem,” He said, chuckling. “Just missed the splash zone.”
“I swear I have two left feet these days.” You tuck some of your hair behind your ear. Faking your embarrassment, setting your drink down and getting a napkin.
“Well it’s a good thing I have two right feet.” Jungkook easing the tension and you laugh under your breath. 
“You always this quick to recover?” You tilted your head, offering him your hand—the one free of any cocktail spillage. “I’m Y/N.”
“Jungkook.” He took your hand with a grin, his gaze flickering over you like he was sizing up a challenge. He didn’t let go right away.
Now that he was closer, you could really take him in. He was infuriatingly attractive—the type you’d usually avoid for your own good. The type who knew he had an edge and knew how to use it. 
Now that Jungkook could get a closer look at you, he just thought that you were pretty. Pretty hair, eyes, lips. All of you was just pretty and sweet. Could see that pink glowing heart of yours on your sleeve. 
“What brings you here?” He leaned an arm against the bar, his stance casual yet deliberate, like he was marking his territory. His gaze pinned you down, leaving you no room to escape.
“Just out with friends, a celebration of sorts.” You turn and point to them, the three of them suddenly acting like their drinks were so interesting to look at. 
“What’s the occasion?” He didn’t even glance at them; his focus was still fully on you. The intense eye contact actually makes you nervous.
“My promotion.” Smiling like it was the full truth. Or rather, the promotion standing right in front of you.
He nodded, flashing a grin. “Congrats. Big deal?”
“Very big.” You rested your hand on the bar near his, just brushing the surface between you. “What about you? Out celebrating something too?”
“Just out with friends.” Jungkook gestured back to his own group at the other end of the bar. You followed his gaze, recognizing one of the guys, though you couldn’t place from where.
“I should let you get back to them.” You teased lightly, leaning ever so slightly away from him.
He tilted his head with a grin, clearly not interested in letting you go that easily. “Why rush? I wasn’t planning to be gone long, but then I got the wind knocked out of me.”
You smirked, feeling the heat of his gaze on you as you playfully patted your shoulder. “Just practicing for my football career.”
“Not a football fan but I’d watch those games.” Jungkook was going to make some form of physical contact, which is what he would have done by now but he held back. He could tell that’s not something you would appreciate. “Let me buy you another one. Since you lost half of the that one because of me.”
“That’s very sweet.” You wanted to test the limits you had with him here, would he chase you? “But I should get back. My friends may think I ran off.” 
“So soon?” He tilted his head at your sudden retreat. 
“You seem nice.” You start and lean close, “I think I’m just looking for something… more serious.” 
“Who's to say I’m not serious?” He gives you a puzzled expression. Jungkook had done so good with women lately that it felt strange to see such a sudden retraction.
You tilted your head, a teasing smile playing at your lips. “I’ve seen you around. I know your type.”
A lie. Considering you hadn’t seen him before tonight, you wanted to see if he would bite.
“So you’ve noticed me?” He stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek. 
“I’m just saying I know your type.”
“What if I am serious? You’d be running away before you could find out.” He flirted, a boyish grin on his face that dripped confidence. He was actually nervous, and the three hundred dollar bill hanging over his head was adding some pressure.
You giggled, leaning back slightly as you took a slow sip of your drink, eyes locked on his over the rim. “You don’t strike me to be serious about much of anything.”
His gaze flicked to your lips before returning to your eyes, his voice softer now, “What if I want to prove you wrong?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Prove me wrong? You barely know me.”
He smirked, stepping a little closer, just enough to make the air between you crackle with tension. “Isn’t that half the fun? Getting to know someone new?”
“What makes you think I want to get to know you?”
“Call it intuition.”
Any other time, a guy like this coming up to you would have meant an immediate shut down from you. They were never serious, and they only ever wanted to hook up and never speak again. Tonight though Jungkook needed to be the bug caught in your web.
You pretended to mull it over, tapping the rim of your glass with your finger. “Hmm... cute line.”
“Not a line.” He shot back, more serious now. “But seriously, let me buy you a new drink?”
You were about to decline, but his eyes held yours, that quiet confidence making you hesitate just a second too long.
“Fine.” You said, sighing like you were giving in, but the small smirk tugging at your lips told him otherwise. “But you’re still going to have to work for it.”
“I plan to.” Jungkook leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping. “Let me get your number. I’ll take you out, show you what I mean by serious.” 
You fake contemplation and act like you really needed time to think about it, sucker . You tap the rim of your glass for a moment before you reach your free hand out to him, gesturing for his phone. Jungkook takes the silent victory and pulls his phone out, opening it for you. With a few quick taps and your contact information solidified in his phone.
The deed had been done.
“Don’t disappoint me.” You said, handing it back, your tone playful but carrying an edge of warning.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He replied, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Have a goodnight Jungkook.” Turning on your heel leaving him there and just letting him watch you go. You b-line straight back to your table.
Jungkook was feeling good and felt like this was going to be a breeze of a month. He had to make sure that first date went well first. He would put on his best boyfriend face forward, it’s not that he couldn’t do it like everyone thought. It’s just been a long time since he last had the chance too. 
He made his way back over to his own table, he put on a fake sad face as he took his seat back next to Taehyung. 
“Strike out did you?” Hoseok patted him on the shoulder in comfort. 
“Yeah… struck off the first day of the month.” Jungkook raised his phone, revealing your phone number. Jungkook, a smug grin on his face. 
“I’m surprised.” Jimin sat in quiet contemplation, “But it won’t last.” 
“She’s cute. You guys should have picked more carefully.” Jungkook sighed, looking back into the bar in the direction of your friends and your table. Your back was to him so he couldn’t catch a glimpse of you. 
He then remembered he still owed you a drink.
Across the bar you settled back in with your friends. 
“I caught the whale boys.” You take a small bow and small cheers round around the table. 
“Congratulations.” Namjoon cheers you, hitting his glass with yours. 
Your friends leaned in, eager for the play-by-play of your encounter. You gave them the rundown. Ronnie, the first to break the silence, grinned and raised his glass in admiration.
“That was smooth, Y/N. You had him wrapped around your finger.”
You chuckled, taking a slow sip of your drink. “It’s even better that he thinks he’s in control. There's no way he was actually serious but a fun flirt.”
Jin shook his head, a mixture of amusement and awe on his face. “You’re scary when you’re confident. I’m glad I’m on your side.”
“So what’s the next step in this little experiment of yours?” Ronnie asked, clearly invested in the unfolding drama.
“Well,” You began, swirling your drink in thought, “I wait for him to reach out. Then I’ll play it cool on the first date, get him comfortable.”
“Why play it cool?” Namjoon asked, eyebrows raised.
“Because,” You smirked, “if I’m too much, too fast, he’ll bolt. But if I ease him in, I’ll have time to start slowly being weird.”
Just then, a waitress appeared, sliding a pretty pink drink in front of you. “This one’s from the guy across the bar.” She said, nodding toward Jungkook, who was leaning against the counter, already watching you. “He said you’d know him.”
You couldn’t help but smile at the boldness. Lifting the glass slightly, you gave him a small, acknowledging wave, your friends immediately picking up on the gesture.
“What’s it called?” You asked, eyes still locked on Jungkook.
The waitress grinned. “It’s a Cosmic Encounter .”
“How pretty.” You muttered, a playful smirk forming. You brought the glass to your lips, not breaking eye contact with Jungkook as you took a sip. The sweetness of the drink contrasted sharply with the building tension between the two of you.
If the circumstances were different you may let yourself swoon at the gesture. Picking a cute drink for you. You may try to see if you really could get him to be serious. This was not that though, this was all business and you would have to continue to remind yourself.
Ronnie was the first to speak up again, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I’ll admit, he’s got moves.”
“Just don’t forget this is what he does.” Jin knowing how you are, felt the reminder needed to be put out there. That this is all temporary.
Just as you were about to continue, your phone buzzed softly in your hand. A text. Your eyes drifted down to the screen, and sure enough, it was Jungkook.
Jungkook: Hope you like it… when are you free next?
You couldn’t help the smirk that spread across your lips. “Speak of the devil.”
Namjoon leaned over. “Already? He really wasted no time.”
“Faster than I thought.” You admitted, typing a quick reply. 
:We’ll see, Jungkook. Maybe I’m busy.
The thrill of the chase was intoxicating, and as you sent the message, you could feel the game picking up speed. Both of you were circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike.
You had no doubt, you were going to eat Jungkook alive.
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
❥|| Next chapter
Taglist! : @vashimperial @httpjeonlicious @rinkud @vintagemoonsstuff @marimarvelfan @loomipee @leah-rose03 @irhdifartzamfyaa @smwhrinthehaze @tteokbokibyjk
❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。
587 notes · View notes
baby-yongbok · 11 months ago
Text
Don't Go Insane
Neighbor!Bang Chan x afab!Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
✧Genre - Smut ✧Warnings: Unprotected piv (Wrap it up ya'll) ✧ Masterlist ✧
A/N: I have never ever written a fic in this format but it was the only was for my brain to process the idea😭This is a product of those fucking SINFUL photos that Chan took for Nylon Japan. I'm sorry if it sucks, I'm trying to get back into writing again so I might suck for a bit, sorry! Hope you enjoy! (not proofread)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You weren't expecting to actually like your new neighbor since your previous one was such a dick but when you meet Chan he's more than kind to you. 
He always greets you in the hallway, helping you bring your bags up to your place when you get home from shopping and checks in on you when he hasn't seen you for a couple of days
You find yourself going out around the same time that he would usually get home from his morning workout just so you can talk to him. He's so sweet and charming and hot. Oh so hot. 
He brings you food when he's made too much dinner to fit in his fridge which is code for he wanted an excuse to talk to you and gave you 50% of his meal just to see your face. 
You invite him in to eat the first time that he brings you food and it quickly turns into spending Sunday nights eating together and laughing at his stories. It's your favorite day of the week now. 
You drop by his place to ask if he needs anything from the store every time that you go now. He's memorized the pattern of your knock and jumps to his feet every time he hears it. 
You're in line at the store one day when a magazine catches your eye. Is that…Chan!? You grab it, looking through with wide eyes before buying it and nearly forgetting about the rest of your items. 
You don't tell him that you saw it. He never said what he did for work and yeah he's hot - Oh so hot - but you never thought that this would be his occupation and you defiantly didn't think that this is how you'd find out.
You flip through the magazine all night. Staring at his beautiful chocolate gaze and his perfectly blushed lips. How is he even real?
You may have also stared at his shirtless pics for an hour too long. No one has to know that though.
He brings over a new recipe that he tried this Sunday. Setting up your usual spot on the living room floor when his eyes land on a familiar photo on your side table. It's him. You bought his magazine? He tries to act normal about it but his red ears and blushed cheeks give him away. 
You catch on when he glances at it for a second time and you internally body slam yourself for forgetting to put it away. You both eat quietly, blushing and trying to find the right thing to say next. 
“I'm sorry about that.” You speak first and he glances up quickly, straightening himself up with a shy smile. “It's fine, I'm just embarrassed I guess.” He's shy about being hot?? Why does that make him hotter?
“Are you always the shy type?” Your question was genuine but your tone was suggestive, almost teasing. It creates a shift in his demeanor that makes you shiver. “Not always, no.”
You don't know how it happened. It's all a blur. One second he was talking to you, confident and sweet. He was telling you about the shoot for the magazine when he got to the topic of the shirtless photos. The air around you thickened and the words that started it all slid off your tongue.
“You look so good it could drive me insane.” You chuckled but his eyes darkened in response. 
“Do you want me to?” His eyes are on yours, his gaze is heavy and intense. “What?” You drop your fork, swallowing hard. “Make you go insane?”
That's how you ended up with his lips on yours. He swallowed each and every strangled moan and replaced it with one of his own. His hands explored your body, fast yet cautious. A gentleman.
He pulls you into his lap, one of his large palms gripping your ass over your leggings and the other cupping your cheek to keep you still for him. He pulls you close, chest to chest. He's been waiting to feel you since the moment he first saw you. He feels like he's dreaming and he prays that he never wakes up. 
His breathing picks up when you plant sloppy kisses along his jawline. Mind numbing groans and hisses falling from his lips. “You're gonna make me go insane, fuck.”
His lips feel like heaven against your skin. Soft and all-consuming. He leaves marks along your collar bones, sucking and flicking his tongue over the delicate skin. Your head is spinning as you take him in. This beautiful man that you've been dreaming of for months finally has his hands on you. 
You grind against him, his fingers digging into your hips as he presses up into you. The way that he looks up at you with his lip caught between his teeth is intoxicating. “You're so fucking beautiful.” He smiles at your compliment, blinking a blush away and trying to keep his composure. “Took the words right outta my mouth.”
You pull back, sitting on the shaggy rug and frantically undressing. You're desperate, antsy, absolutely insatiable and Chan isn't too far behind but you could never tell by how composed he looks. How does he have that much self control?
He moves to sit on the couch and watches you as you strip. Taking in every beautiful inch of your body while he makes himself comfortable. You look up at him as he sits, man spreading at the edge of your couch and giving you the perfect view of his aching cock straining against his jeans. 
Fucking sinful
"Crawl to me, baby. Come here." He beckons you with two fingers that you're dying to be acquainted with. The smile on his face while you follow his order is enough to make you explode already.
He leans forward, cupping your face and kissing you with such soft hunger. So much passion and desire. A promise, like his kiss is asking you to be his. You palm him softly over his jeans earning a soft moan from him. "You want it?” He leans back, resting against the back of your sofa, giving you full access to his zipper and button. “Go ahead, take it, princess."
His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he watches you free his cock and his eyes roll back when you fist it confidently. Pumping him at a deliciously slow place. You want to drag this out. You don't ever want this to end. 
He puts his hand over yours once he gets fed up with your teasing. He loves how your hand feels around him but he needs more of you. He taps his leaking cock against your lips and you allow your spit to dribble down his shaft. "Stick that tongue out. There we go, baby. That's my girl. Look at that.”
He holds your hair back as you slide his length into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him. His fingers massage your scalp softly making you hum around him. He's a gentleman, a filthy one. 
He couldn’t wait to switch places with you, falling to his knees so fluidly that you couldn’t help but to groan at the sight of him. His gaze never left yours. His eyes were constantly asking for permission to continue and you eagerly granted it every time.
He ate your pussy like a fucking starved man. Lick and sucking the expanse of your cunt like he’d never see you again. Your moans encouraged him as he lapped at you, he wanted - no, needed - you to cum on his tongue. It’s all that he’s been dreaming of for the last month. 
He made you cum twice and had to hold back the urge to keep going. He’s definitely found his new favorite thing.
Nevermind, kissing you is his favorite thing. The way that you sigh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue and biting his bottom lip drives him wild. 
You’re seeing stars as soon as he slips into you. His strong arms on either side of your head as he hovers, kissing you softly as you adjust to him. “Fuck, you’re a dream come true, ya know that? I’ve dreamt of this, princess.” You can hardly reply once he fills you to the hilt but you try to anyway, moaning out as your vision blurs. “Wanted you so bad, Channie.”
That was enough to break him. He snapped his hips into you, giving you everything that you ever wanted, ever needed, from him. He fucks you deep, speeding up gradually just to hear you moan his name a little louder. He wants to be gentle with you but with a cunt that feels this amazing he can’t help but want to make you fall apart underneath him.
You always imagined being on top when you finally got to be with Chan but it looks like that’ll have to be another day. The way that his cock is splitting you open makes you feel like you might have to call out of work tomorrow. 
“Look at me, babygirl. You liked seeing my pictures, huh? Did you touch this pretty cunt while looking at them?” You nod your head with such urgency that you’re positive that you look absolutely pathetic but Chan thinks that it’s cute, he’s in love with how fucked out you look drooling under him. “All you had to do was ask for the real thing.” He rolls his hips into you and your eyes roll back right after. 
He holds both of your hands as he slows down a bit, he wants to make love to you. Wants to treat you like the precious gem that he knows that you are but your cunt keeps fucking squeezing around him. He curses under his breath as he tries to compose himself but it’s no use. He watches as he disappears inside of you, groaning when he sees just how perfectly your pussy is taking him. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby. You’re too much. Too good.” 
Much to his surprise you cave before he does, chanting his name like a prayer while he rocks into you at the perfect angle. You feel dizzy as you unravel under him, nails digging into his strong arms and your legs wrapping around his waist in a desperate attempt to feel grounded. 
The way that you look cumming on his cock drives him over the edge. He picks up the pace, fucking you through your orgasm while he’s chasing his. The overstimulation draws out your climax causing a new wave of pleasure to hit you harder than the last. “Yeah yeah yeah, oh fuck such a pretty girl cumming on my cock like that, that's it baby.” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying but he doesn’t care he’s so close so so so close.
You forced your eyes open when he pulled out, you needed to watch him stroke himself over the edge and cover your stomach in his cum. You need to take in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his brows furrow while he moans for you. “Oh fuck fuck fuck.”
The giggles that you share after may be Chan’s new favorite part. He cleaned you up and wrapped his arms around you. Pressing kisses to your hair as you both talk about what just happened with smiles on your faces 
“This is a bit backwards but uh, can I take you out? Maybe next weekend?” The butterflies in your stomach go crazy as you blush into his chest, nodding happily and answering with a muffled ‘yes’ that makes Chan chuckle. “Maybe afterward I can fuck the sense back into ya, since I drove you insane tonight.”
2K notes · View notes
traumatrios · 9 months ago
Text
the name of the game
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing… dodge mason x fem!reader
wc… 2.3k
summary… you don’t talk to strangers— but there’s something different about dodge. was it his charm? his looks? or the way you couldn’t get him off of your mind?
warnings… ends in smut, face riding, drinking (not drunk sex), iconic red cowboy boots, brief pain pleasure, dodge is soooo delusional
josie’s notes! um i kinda don’t remember how panic ended for dodge (i finished it a week ago) so take the beginning plot with a grain of salt
otherwise enjoy my lovelies ❤️
Tumblr media
Dodge didn’t have many friends to begin with, but with most of the kids his age out of Cape and attending college, he did feel quite lonely. 
He’s not a stranger to the fact that college wasn’t in the cards for him– he had too many responsibilities. He knew his sister could very much take care of herself, but lazy Sunday’s on the couch next to her was where his heart truly belonged. 
His mother needed help managing the restaurant, because as much as she prided herself for her hardworking motherhood and independence, he saw the breath of relief she had whenever he was there.
He was perfectly fine as a blue collar working adult. What did he need college for anyway? It was too expensive, especially after the necessary but monetarily disappointing ending to Panic. He was too old to apply now.
Dodge took his time off of working at his bar to nurse the foam of a beer from another in a neighboring town. 
Was this really what his future was? He was dangerously nearing a seat in the same boat as the men surrounding him in the ambience of the dive bar: old (21) with a family at home (he was unattached with a sister and a single mother 5 minutes away from his apartment). 
Dodge might as well accept it; this was his destiny.
But the glimmer of fate came to him through a vision he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining from the wild dreams in his head or the material of a Playboy magazine. 
The mechanical bull sitting in the middle of the recreational space of the bar with a pretty girl attached to its saddle.
Dodge couldn’t tell if you were a saddle bronc rider (like himself) or just intensely familiar with your hips. You rode the mechanical bull like it was a kids bicycle with training wheels.
But with how you grinded against the fur of the mechanical bull with the rhythm it was bucking, he landed on the latter.
It was entrancing to look at, he admitted. The winks you sent into the collecting audience only strengthened his hopes of getting one shot at him. 
The mechanics continued to whir and spin you around, pathetic attempts to throw you off of the attraction you were obviously very skilled at riding. Have you been here before? Has he just never noticed you?
How could he never notice you.
Before he knew it, Dodge was leaning against the inflatable rim of the attraction, eyes wide in awe of your performance. One hand gripped the braided rope attached to the nape of the bull’s neck whilst the other waved in the air freely to your girlfriends, who had been screaming your name in the same way Dodge heard it yelled by paparazzi during award shows his sister watched on the weekends through the television.
The moderator of the attraction seemed just as impressed as anyone else watching you, even holding the twinge of suspicion some kept in the quirk of their brow. A crowd eventually formed around your performance, whistling and cheering you on as the meat of your calves squeezed the sides of the bull’s stomach.
Dodge thinks he heard a “yee haw!” come from the intoxicated group of guys (no younger than 30) stuffed in a booth attached to the wall facing your ass.
Bright digits flashed on the screen beside the control booth, announcing the new high score of Big Star Bar. 2 minutes and 36 seconds.
As you unmounted the artificial bull, Dodge didn’t pull his eyes away from you like the rest of the crowd did. You weren’t a one hit wonder, he had to know your secrets. What was a girl with hips like yours doing in a random dive bar in Texas?
Dodge wasn’t sure how to approach you, especially after losing you in the crowd of girls in identical cowboy hats and guys in flannel. He was lucky enough to skin his eyes over the bar and spot your sparkling red boots tapping and gliding against the dingy dance floor.
The boy filed through the crowd until the heat in the air turned from heavy to sweaty dance floor heavy. 
Dodge scanned the horseshoe— painted? —on the back of your jean jacket and how it paired with your cowboy boots. It felt like something out of a movie, seeing your outfit.
“This your first rodeo?” he greeted, though from his stance behind your back, he wasn’t surprised by the small jump in your shoulders. But when you turned around, you were just as beautiful up close than you were on that damn bull. Dodge noticed the thick pieces of glitter scattered across your collarbone and how it seemed to match with the other girls in your party.
“Sorry. I don’t talk to strangers,” you shrugged, offering Dodge a friendly smile in apology.
Your gaze didn’t even falter or scan him, just unwaveringly looking him in the eye before you turned around again to chat with your friends. 
“Aren’t those the most fun to talk to though?” Dodge tried, and god did it form a pit in his stomach to feel like one of those guys that pushed for a girl's attention— a bad guy.
This got you to turn back around again.
Truthfully, his looks were hard to deny; especially with that ivory colored cowboy hat on his head. Otherwise, he wore a navy tee with a pair of dark jeans and black boots; the simplest thing ever. 
One hand was stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, the other tapping its digits against the sweaty glass of a bottle of beer. 
“Do you really wanna talk? Grandma taught me that boys like you never want to just talk.” 
Dodge couldn’t fight against that, not confidently at least. He knew he didn’t want to just talk, but he also didn’t know what else he’d want to do. Is this what being in limbo felt like?
You gave Dodge the grace of a second before pointing an eyebrow at him and turning again, only this time walking off with your friends to a different corner of the bar.
Dodge was too stubborn to talk growing up, and in this moment— and only this moment —did he curse himself for doing so.
Tumblr media
In Cape, everyone was a regular. 
It didn’t matter where you went or with whom, you were known better than the alphabet.
When Dodge came into town, he became a regular. In most places, at least.
He knew you weren’t from Cape because you weren’t a regular here. Which is why he was surprised to see the same red heels he’s been dreaming about since the weekend stroll into the establishment he worked in.
You knew what you were doing, of course. You knew about Dodge Mason because Gina knew about Dodge Mason, and she knew about Dodge Mason from her boyfriend Daniel.
That’s how you got here, wasn’t it? But, Dodge didn’t need to know that.
He didn't need to know how your girlfriends teased you for playing hard to get or how you began sweating just from looking into his piercing eyes.
And when those piercing eyes caught the sight of the painted horseshoe on your back, he thought it must be my lucky day.
As you sat at the bar, Dodge couldn’t think of any other way to praise whatever god trailed you in here rather than repeating the same ‘thank you’s in his head.
“Evening, lucky,” he coined the nickname from the symbol. You fought a smile at his wit, instead rolling your tongue along the flesh of your lip. 
“I’m sorry, do I know you sir?”
Dodge chortled at your act, but your face stood unwavering. Your tits looked perfect while pressed against the bar, but Dodge managed to pull his eyes a little higher to see the small tick in your neck signaling your so-called ‘confusion’.
You must’ve not liked his silence, because you picked up the silence with a small sigh and your order.
“May I have a shirley temple with just a dash of lime juice, please?” you batted your eyelashes at the unconvinced boy, being met with the playful roll of his eyes. 
Despite himself, Dodge began to concoct your beverage. You were strange, he thought. Where did you come from? Were you visiting? Would he see you again if nothing came from this conversation? How would he be sure?
He had to make sure this one counted, not like that pathetic excuse of conversation at the bar. The clicking of your nails rippling against the waxed bar behind his back mimicked the ticking clock– he might as well shoot a shot. Perhaps it was an easy target, especially with his luck sprawled against your back. 
“Did your grandma also teach you these manners?” Dodge planted the highball in front of your impatient hands. You took a look at the glass, then him, then to the glass again, where your eyes stayed as you tasted the drink. The sugar spreads across your tongue, satisfying its parched state.
“I still don’t talk to strangers,” you said, but the smirk that played on your face told Dodge something different. Your game wouldn’t fool him, not when you drop it just as limp as that. Did you want him like he wanted you?
You two weren’t strangers, no, he knew you were meant for something more. 
“So you admit to it,” he turned his head from the focus on your drink, only to catch your face hot with guilt. He chuckled to himself at your game.
“We ain’t strangers. This is our second meeting, perhaps fate is sending a message?” God, when did Dodge Mason become so sappy? He was grasping at the ends of a rope he wasn’t sure you were on the other end of.
But then you smiled. You smiled and twirled the skinny black straw around the ice of your drink. “And what message would that be?” you challenged.
Dodge leaned his elbows on the dark oak of the bar. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before his proposal, or rather, ‘the message’. “You should come home with me tonight.” He kept it at that; simple and charming. 
You giggled like a schoolgirl at his confidence. By the looks of it, he had been a lustful young adult, admittedly like you, with maybe a studio apartment. Your mind could only think of one thing he planned to do if you accepted the invitation, and you knew it wasn’t puzzles and lemonade. 
Were you opposed? Not entirely. 
“And what would this night entail? What do I get from entering your home? You gon’ drive me home after?” You matched his stance, leaning forward on the folded elbows you stuck to the waxy countertop. Dodge felt a stream of intimidation flow through his veins at the way you pointed your eyebrow at him.
“Might have to come to find out,” he replied, swiping his tongue over the toothpick that hung from his mouth. You couldn’t restrain your eyes from flickering down to the pair of lips. 
You were sure the sharp metal of his handle left a burning mark when he pushed you against it in the barren hallway of his apartment building. But with the incessant kissing of his lips distracting your mouth– and eventually everything else –it didn’t matter much to you anymore.
Your frame had been stripped of all fabric, laying in addition to his in the ratty hamper dejected in the corner of his room. Soon enough, he was insisting on a third round to cure the burdens of his barren tongue.
“Wanna see how you ride up close, baby,” he reasoned through a hushed tone, kissing the clammy skin of your temple.
How could you refuse? Especially when his hands began to rub those soothing circles into your hips and the tip of his tongue licked the shell of your ear during the whisper.
When he was prodding his tongue into your entrance a few minutes later, you knew it was the right decision to follow him out of the door. With your tits bouncing underneath the warm light thrusting through the ceiling of the sauna he called his room, Dodge took it upon himself to bruise your skin of this (rather heated) interaction through two large grips of his hands on your ass whilst you fucked his face. 
Dodge’s curious tongue soon turned into a hungry one, accompanied by the brief scraping of his teeth against the puffy lips of your pussy. The small bumping of his skull against the wooden headboard spurred him on rather than slowed him down, and you hoped the string of moans and mewls coming from your mouth were enough gratitude to satisfy his desires.
Due to popular demand– a loose request that fell in pieces from Dodge’s dumbstruck position underneath you –you wore his cowboy hat, glaze sticking from your hairline onto the weaved material. Dodge didn’t mind, in fact, he reveled in the thought of that same sweat mixing with his own during a rodeo. Dripping down his face just like how the sudden flood of your sweet juices were coating the stubble on his chin and the point of his nose. 
Dodge lived up to his word the morning after, tapping the ends of his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel to the tune of Bruce Springsteen’s voice singing “Glory Days” from the beaten up radio of Dodge’s Cadillac. Summers' heat wavered through the air of Cape even when Dodge drove past the speed limit on a lonely road. 
When you arrived at the doorstep of your grandmother's house, Dodge didn’t worry about the possibility of seeing you again, only admiring the way you swayed your hips and clicked your heels against the pavement during your strut. The corners of his lips pulled up into something that was not quite a smirk. 
He liked how your game was turning out.
Tumblr media
traumatrios, 2024
divider by @saradika-graphics !
831 notes · View notes
goldenstring6123 · 6 months ago
Note
Hi !!! How r u pooks :3
Ignore this if u haven't played dti but what do you think the L&DS boys' reactions would be to their s/o playing dress to impress and actually raging at it like verbally LMFAO this game seriously has me TWEAKING bro but I can't stop playing it gigi please free my family 💔 (hcs plz)
Thanks for reading O_o
Lnds: Dress to impress chaos
Tumblr media
Warning: no warning! GN!READER, crack-fic (?)
Author's notes: DTI has me on a chokehold as well pookie.
Tumblr media
Zayne:
Tumblr media
Surprisingly, Zayne knows about this because of the children in the pediatric ward. A good number of kids have their tablets with them and play the game; to him, it looked like some regular dress-up game. He didn't think much of it and just warned the children to lessen their screen time.
When he arrived home and was taking his shoes off in the foyer, he could hear you complaining about something. The only coherent sentence he heard was, "The theme is Y-THREE-K, NOT Y-TWO-K!" He wondered what you were talking about and who you were mad at, but when he saw you huddled around the coffee table, fashion magazines sprawled all over, and another gadget displaying fashion catalogs, he knew what was up.
"What are you getting so worked up about?" he asked, sitting next to you and placing down a cup of tea after changing into his clothes. He could see that there were figures walking down the runway.
"I don't get how those ugly layering players win first place!"
He was confused by what you meant. The outfits were suitable, donning the familiar attire of the staff at the hospital, particularly scrubs and white skirts that were too short for the protocol. "What's the theme?"
"A doctor or a nurse," you replied. As the screen turned briefly black, Zayne waited in anticipation. The scene changed, and on the podium was a mermaid with neon green wings and a god-awful dress.
You threw your hands up in frustration and wept on his knees. Zayne was dumbfounded. "I hate this game!" he heard your muffled cries on his knees. He patted your head.
He got used to seeing you so engrossed in the game, but he would never get used to your mood swings: one moment, you're insulting children, and the next moment, you're giggling because you won 1st place.
Zayne bought you a VIP pass because he loved seeing your reaction every time, although he isn't really a fan of spending money on in-game currency. But he loves you too much, so he just keeps that thought to himself.
After seeing you play, he watches the kids play as well, occasionally commenting on their choice of clothing. The nurses were pretty confused by his comments because Zayne never really commented on any outfits, much less in a game.
Tumblr media
Xavier:
Tumblr media
Xavier knows about the game and has tried it once, not getting the premise of it at first. He didn't know how to change patterns or delete the clothes he was wearing, so his first catwalk was a bit of a mess. But here's the thing: Xavier won first place, which made him more confused. He screenshot himself on the podium and sent it to you.
Tumblr media
When you got home from work, excited to play with him, he was pouting while looking at his phone. You wondered why and saw that another player was walking around in the same exact fit as your partner's character. Xavier said that he kept on trying to change his outfit, but that one person kept doing the same thing. You decided to give that player a piece of your mind on behalf of your boyfriend.
When you're at work, Xavier will send you links to fashion hacks he sees on social media. "This looks cute; let's try it later," and he's more updated when Gigi is working on something. The codes—Xavier knows the codes by heart. He knows them more than he knows the date of your birth.
It was thanks to this game that he likes to go shopping with you to get some inspiration. Surprisingly, he can make a coherent outfit with the ones he sees in the malls.
When you both play together, he likes playing duo, and even if your outfits are unfinished or bad, he gives you 5 stars. But for the rest of the players, he forgets to vote more than half of the time—you don't know if it's on purpose or really by accident.
He would occasionally laugh when players fight against one another, especially if you were involved.
He once bought himself the VIP pass, but his outfits still looked too generic for your liking, but you didn't have the heart to complain. Xavier once lost a bet, and now he has to buy you the pass as well.
He once used his work account to comment on some suggestions on Gigi's Twitter, and kids were confused as to why a hunter was commenting on a kids' game. He deleted it soon after, but he amassed a few hundred followers.
Tumblr media
Sylus:
Tumblr media
He felt nothing about the game at first and thought of it as nothing more than your form of entertainment. It keeps you busy and out of harm's way, but he never once thought that it would cause a rift in your relationship (he's exaggerating).
Sylus would grow annoyed at how you weren't picking up his calls when you were clearly at home, so he sent Mephisto. The little snitch took a picture of you being so engrossed in your game and sent it back to his boss. Sylus was half disgruntled and 100% dumbfounded when he found out—he was laughing, but he was annoyed. Luke and Kieran were utterly confused.
At midnight, while you worked your way to being a fashion maven, you didn't notice your man sneaking in through the window. Just as you were about to hit pose 11, Sylus yanked your feet and stole your tablet from you.
"No! Give that back!"
"You're not answering my calls because of…this?" He turned to the tablet, which displayed another player's half-decent outfit for the theme "star."
"What calls?" you turned to your phone. '18 missed calls' and your heart sunk to the floor. Shyly, you turned to him, scratching your head. "Oops?"
He sat down on the edge of your bed. "Why are you so engrossed in a dressing game? Why not dress yourself with all the clothes I gave you?" He nudged to the mountain of paper bags in the corner of your room—branded ones, too.
"Because it's fun?" You took the tablet from him and showed him on screen how your outfit won first place. "See? I like winning—one more round, and let's go on a night ride."
He paused, patiently waiting for a minute while you scrolled around the game lobby. He came to a decision. "No. Screen time is over. You've neglected me for far too long." He yanked the tablet away from you using his evol, then pinned you down to the bed, burying his nose in between your breasts.
Although Sylus claims he's not interested in playing the game with you, he did, in fact, join the game secretly to spy on you. He was mildly infuriated with the little amount of selection of menswear and the ridiculous look on the men's faces, so he still really doesn't understand the hype, but he'll be generous enough to give you a three or four-star once in a while.
Once, he joined your server, and the theme was the bad guy. You dressed up as a white-haired, red-eyed man with over-chiseled cheekbones. A moment later, Sylus bombarded you with a screenshot of the game. "I do not look like that. Delete it."
As much as he says he doesn't like the game, Gigi made an update and added some dark reddish aura in-game, as well as a crow perched on the hand of the model. The bird looked awfully close to Mephisto. You confronted Sylus about this, and he denied having any involvement in it.
Whenever you sleep in Sylus' home, he would wake up to the goddamn beat of the game at 3 am, and out of frustration, he would use his EVOL to get the device away from you and place it on the highest shelf in the room. Then he'd hold you down.
Tumblr media
Rafayel:
Tumblr media
Rafayel introduced you to the game, but after a few times of playing it, it didn't take long for him to get banned for cyberbullying—he wasn't bullying, actually; he was just stating facts, and the other players couldn't take it, and so they reported him. He fights anyone, and he comments a lot in the game, earning him the title of a "yapper."
"You guys don't have taste. How did that thing win first place?" That thing refers to a pretty decent outfit but doesn't match the theme.
"You don't look good either, hun," said the person in first place.
"You don't get to say that when your hair looks like puke, darling." He rage-chattered, saying everything he was typing out loud.
You were cackling beside your boyfriend, witnessing him rage while you were just perched on top of the 3rd place, happy you even got to go up there against all the fashionistas.
"Kids really have the gall to compete and insult adults with taste."
"Raf, you do understand that they're adults as well, right?"
"No, they're not. They're children. This is a kids' game."
You stared at him intently. He stared back, thinking.
"Then I don't need to hold back from insulting them." he placed his hand on the keyboard.
Rafayel's fits are absolutely top-tier. He always wins first place. The layering, the color combination, the form, and the aesthetic are all on point and top-tier. He doesn't reference, and the only time he does is when the theme requires it.
This man doesn't do duos with you because he wants the podium to himself. He once did a duo with you, and it broke his winning streak. You had a small argument about it, but you just gave in, eager to make him lose. Newsflash: You failed miserably.
He secretly joins a farming server every once in a while. Rafayel unknowingly joined the same server as you, and when you asked about it, he denied it, saying only people with bad tastes need to farm for stars. You sent him a screenshot. He didn't talk to you for a day.
He files a lot of complaints and goes on Twitter about how buggy the game is and how bad the texture is. He didn't know that his graphics were on low.
Rafayel is very active in the community and contributes to it during his free time. He uses an alternate account to post suggestions when Gigi opens a post about it. A lot of people actually agree with Rafayel's complaints and suggestions.
Rafayel once freaked out when he accidentally went inside the meat room and told you about it, but when he showed you, it was already catwalk time. You pretended you didn't believe him and tried to pretend to listen when he was searching for that passable wall. You laughed at him and brushed him off, pretending that you didn't believe him.
This began the downward spiral to Lana's lore. He kept on sending you reels about it—and speculations and theories. He even once invited you to that scary horror game, but he quit because it was too creepy and full of 'negative energy.'
Tumblr media
Author footnotes: If I'm taking a break while writing, I would be playing dress to impress and I would be fighting children (i'm not joking, I once made a player and her friends leave the server)
Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost |
550 notes · View notes
wolverigrl · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Party (1)
Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)
A/N: Sooo this part was written right after clubbing, and I may got carried away, which why I divided it into two parts. The next part should be online on Monday or Tuesday! So stay tuned! :)
Warnings: smut (not completely detailed), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), mentions of alcohol, some swearing, mentions of pregnancy
Not proofread!
Enjoy!
Previous Part
---------------------------------------------------
It's happening. I'm officially a year older today. Honestly, I don't even feel the change. Except for maybe the overwhelming sense of everything right now - the music, the laughter, the champagne that seems to be in my hand all the time - and him. Especially him. Hugh.
The night feels like a dream, but it's real - my birthday, my party. I rented this entire club for the occasion, and it's filled to the brim with friends, the people I care about, the ones who've been there through everything. Some are people I used to only see on screens, in magazines, but now they're real, they're here, and they're celebrating me. It's surreal.
The cast of The Greatest Showman showed up early, and I've barely had amoment to myself. Zac and Zendaya are dancing like they don't have a care in the world. Keala's by the bar, harmonizing with the DJ's set like only she can. Everywhere I turn, someone new is pulling me in for a hug, giving me a gift, toasting to me and wishing me all the best.
"Happy birthday, y/n!" Another friend comes up to me - one of the faces I vaguely recognize through the blur of champagne and flashing lights. They hand me a beautifully wrapped gift, and I accept it with a smile, although my mind is elsewhere. I'm grateful, of course, but the attention, the noise, the constant flow of people - it's overwhelming.
But my eyes always drift back to him. Hugh.
I catch a glimpse of him near the bar, his tall, broad frame leaning casually as he sips martini, talking to Ryan. The way the dim lights catch his features - sharp jawline, eyes that sparkle with a mischievous glint - it's like time slows down when I see him. My heart speeds up, a familiar heat spreading through me. It's not the alcohol. It's him.
I can't stop thinking about him, not tonight. There's something about the way he looks, how he moves in that perfectly tailored suit that drives me crazy. Maybe it's because I've had one too many glasses of champagne, or maybe it's just that he's Hugh and he's everything I want right now. I'm feeling it, that hormonal pull that still won't quit. It's like I'm on fire, and he's the only one who can put it out.
Our eyes meet across the room. A slow, easy smile spreads across his lips, and I feel a rush of heat flood through me. God, he's gorgeous. I feel myself gravitating toward him before I even realize what I'm doing weaving through the crowd.
"Enjoying your party, love?" His voice is low when I reach him, the deep itmbre sending shivers down my spine. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear, and I inhale the familiar scent of him - something earthy, masculine, mixed with the faintest hint of martini.
"I would be enjoying it a lot more if you weren't all the way over here." I murmur, my fingers finding the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer.
Hugh laughs softly, his hand sliding around my waist with such ease it feels like second nature.
"Oh, I see. Is the birthday girl feeling a little. neglected?"
"Maybe." I tease, but the truth is, it's not just that. It's everything. I feel wound up, my body buzzing from the alcohol, the excitement, and from him. The way his hand rests so possessively on my waist. The way his eyes darken just a bit when I lean in closer and my chest brushing against his.
He's trying to play it cool, but I know him too well. He feels it too, this spark between us that's been burning hotter as the night goes on. And right now, I can't think of anything but us.
I press my body against his, my lips just grazing his ear as I whisper.
"You know, I've been thinking about you all night."
His grip tightens on my waist, his thumb brushing my hip in a way that makes me bite my lip.
"Oh is that so?" His voice is teasing, but there's an edge to it now, something darker and more primal.
"Mmhmm" I hum, letting my hands drift up his chest, feeling the firmness of his body beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. My fingers toy with his collar, brushing against his skin.
"I can't stop thinking about how good you look in this suit."
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound hat vibrates through my body.
"You're playing with fire, baby."
"Oh I like the burn." I grin.
For a moment, we're just standing here, locked in this invisible dance of tension and desire, the noise of he party fading into the background. My fingers slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and I can feel the way his breath catches in response. He doesn't move, just looks at me with that slow smoldering gaze that makes my knees feel weak.
"Y/n.." he murmurs, his voice a little rough now, like he's barely holding himself back. "We're at your birthday party. You do realize that?"
I grin, pressing my hips against him as I lean up to whisper in his ear, "And what do you wanna do about that?"
His hand grips my waist tighter pulling me even closer, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath against my lips.
"You're trouble, you know that?"
"Only for you, baby."
Before I can say anything else, the music changes, and I feel the beat thrum through my body, pulling me onto the dance floor. Hugh follows, his hands on my hips as we move together.
Dancing with him feels like the most natural thing in the world. Every sway of my hips, every turn, it's like our bodies are in sync, perfectly attuned to each other. I can feel the heat of his hands on my skin, even through the fabric of my dress, and it makes me ache for more.
I turn in his arms, pressing my back against his chest and grinding against him as the music pulses around us. His hands tighten on my hips pulling me back harder against him, and I can feel his breath on my neck, hot and heavy.
"Y/n.." he whispers in my ear, voice strained but playful.
"You're making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."
A wicked smile curves my lips. I glance over my shoulder, giving him a sultry look. "Who said I want you to be a gentleman?"
His eyes darken, the playful glint replaced by something more primal. He presses a kiss to my neck, just below my ear, sending goosebumps down my arms. I turn in his arms, facing him fully, and pull him into another kiss, this one deeper, more intense, oblivious to the crowd dancing around us
He groans softly into the kiss, his hands sliding down my sides and his fingers gripping my hips like he's trying to keep some semblance of control. But I can feel him losing it, just as much as I am. The way his body presses into mine, the heat between us - it's almost unbearable.
The music blurs into the background, and all I can think about is the feel of him behind me. His body moving with mine, the way his hands seem to leave trails of fire on my skin. I look up, our lips just inches apart.
"We should stop.." he murmurs though his grip on me doesn't loosen. If anything, he pulls me closer.
I tilt my head up, brushing my lips against his in the barest of touches, teasing.
"Do you really want to?"
He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his mouth crashes against mine, and I lose myself in the taste of him. My hands are in his hair, tugging him closer, and I can feel the way his body tenses against mine, like he's holding back everything he wants to do.
I know we're still in the middle of the dance floor, but I don't care. Right now, it's just him and me, lost in the heat of the moment. I deepen the kiss, letting my tongue slide against hus, and he groans into my mouth, pulling me even closer, if that's even possible.
After what feels like an eternity, we finally pull away from the dance floor. My head is spinning, but not only from the champagne. I grab his hand, pulling him toward the photobooth in the corner of the club.
"Come on, let's do something fun!" I say with a playful grin, tugging him inside.
He laughs, following me into the cramped space. The curtain closes pehind us, and I waste no time climbing onto his lap, my legs straddling his.
"Smile for the camera!" I say, sticking my tongue out at him just as the first flash goes off.
We make silly faces for the next few shots - sticking our tongues out crossing our eyes - but I can feel the tension building between us again. My body is still humming from the dancing, the closeness, the way his hands feel on my thighs, even through the fabric of my dress.
I lean in for the next shot, kissing his cheek, but it doesn't stop there. The kiss lingers, my lips trailing down to his jaw, his neck, and I can feel the way his breath hitches beneath me.
"Love.." he breathes, his hands sliding up my thighs, gripping them tightly. "You're really trying to drive me crazy tonight, aren't you?"
smile against his skin, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper, "Maybe."
The camera flashes again, but we're not paying attention anymore. My mouth finds his, and the kiss quickly turns heated, desperate. His hands slide up my sides, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I can feel him hard against me, and it only makes me want him more.
I grind against him, and he groans softly, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I know I'II have bruises tomorrow. But I don't care. All I care about is the feel of him beneath me, the way his mouth moves against mine and the way his hands are everywhere at once.
We're lost in each other, so caught in the heat of the moment that I barely register the curtain ripping open. It takes a second for reality to hit, but when it does, it's not subtle.
"Hey! No funny business in there!" a voice teases, giggling as it echoes in the small booth.
I freeze, still straddling Hugh, our lips inches apart, our breathing heavy. I look up and find Chris standing there with his brother Scott, both grinning like they've just caught us in the act - because, well, they pretty much have.
"Really, guys?" I groan, burying my face in Hugh's neck in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Hugh chuckles, his chest vibrating beneath me, still catching his breath.
Chris gives me an exaggerated wink. "What? Thought we'd come join the party. The booth's big enough for four, right?"
"Get out of here, man!" Hugh says with a laugh, shaking his head, though he's still holding onto me like he has no intention of letting go. His hands remain firm on my waist and his body warm beneath mine. Scott leans against the doorway of the booth, grinning. "You know, we're happy for you two, but maybe save the PDA for after the birthday cake?"
I roll my eyes and slide off Hugh's lap, standing up and adjusting my dress, trying not to look too flustered.
"Fine, fine. The booth is yours!"
Hugh stands up behind me, smoothing down his suit and running a hand through his hair. He's got that mischievous glint in his eyes, though one that tells me this is far from over.
"Have fun!" he says, stepping out of the booth, his hand slipping into mine as we head back toward the party. I squeeze his fingers, unable to hide the grin on my face. But as we walk away, I feel the heat between us still simmering beneath the surface. It's like every brush of his hand against mine, every glance he gives me, is charged with electricity. I don't think either of us is done with what we started.
We slip into a quieter area of the club, tucked away from the noise of the party.
There's a small storage room just off the side of the main hallway, dimly lit, the perfect place to catch our breath and maybe finish what we started.
Inside the storage room, it's cramped and cluttered, a stark contrast to the opulent club just outside. The air smells faintly of cleaning products and dust. Shelves ine the walls, stacked with supplies - boxes, extra bottles of liquor, random equipment that looks untouched for months. There's a small, rickety table in the corner, just big enough for me to sit on, though it Iooks like it could collapse at any moment.
Hugh's hands are on me the second the door clicks shut. His lips find mine in a fierce, hungry kiss, and the world around us fades into a blur of heat and need. His fingers grip my tips, pulling me against him, and can feel the hardness of him through his pants, pressing insistently against me, The urgency between us is undeniable, like we've been holding back all night and can't wait another second.
He guides me backward, and stumble slightly as my back hits the edge of the small table, my breath catching. His mouth leaves a scorching trail along my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my collarbone. I shiver, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
"I need you." I whisper, my voice breathy and desperate.
His response is a low growl vibrating against my skin. "God, y/n.. I need you too. I've needed you all night."
With one swift motion, he lifts me onto the table, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The table creaks beneath me, unsteady from our combined weight, but neither of us cares. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, bunching it around my hips.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me." he murmurs against my ear, his voice thick with desire. His nands grip my waist, and his lips brush my neck again, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touches.
"I've been thinking about you.. imagining this.. every second of tonight."
A soft moan escapes my lips as his fingers tease the edge of my panties, and I arch my back, pressing against him. "Hugh please.."
Hugh's mouth crashes back onto mine swallowing my words. He fumbles with his belt, the leather slipping through the loops with a soft hiss, and the sound alone makes my pulse race. I can feel the tension in his body, the way his hands shake slightly with need, and it drives me wild.
He pulls my panties to the side, and I gasp as his fingers slide against me, teasingly testing.
"Fuck. You're so wet." he whispers, his voice hoarse. His fingers dip inside me briefly, making me gasp.
"And all for me?"
"Only for you baby.." I manage to say parely able to form the words through the haze of desire.
I need you, Hugh. Now."
With a groan, he frees himself from his pants, and I feel the hot, hard length of him pressing against my thigh. His fingers dig into my hips as he positions himself at my entrance, and I bite my lip, already rembling with anticipation.
"Tell me what you want." he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "Say it."
"I want you." I breathe, my voice shaking with need.
"I want you to fuck me."
He pushes inside me slowly, inch by inch, and my head falls back as a moan escapes my lips. The sensation of him filling me is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretches me and takes me.
"Fucking hell, y/n." he groans, his forehead pressed against mine as he bottoms out inside me.
"You feel...so fucking good."
The table creaks beneath us, swaying slightly from our movements, but I barely notice. My legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he begins to move slow at first, then harder, faster, until the rhythm of his thrusts matches the beat of the music still thudding through the walls. With every movement, I feel the tension building inside me, winding tighter and tighter until l'm on the verge of breaking. Hugh's hands roam my body, gripping my thighs my hips, sliding up to cup my breasts through my dress. His lips find mine again, his tongue tangling with mine as he thrusts into me with a desperation that mirrors my own.
"You make me feel so good.." I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders.
"Don't stop... please, don't stop.."
His hand slides down to grip my ass pulling me harder against him as he thrusts deeper, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I love you, y/n." he groans, his voice rough with need. "I fucking love you."
"I love you, Hugh." I whisper, my body trembling as I hold onto him for dear life.
"I love you so much."
We're completely lost in each other now, the world around us disappearing as we move together and the table creaking loudly beneath us.
At one point, I hear something fall - a bottle or maybe a box knocked off one of the shelves - but neither of us cares. We're too far gone, too wrapped up in the heat of the moment to think about anything else.
His thrusts become more erratic, harder, faster, and I feel the tension inside me snap.
My climax crashes through me, sending waves of pleasure rippling through every nerve in my body. I cry out, my nails raking down his back as I hold on, riding the wave of ecstasy.
Hugh groans loudly as he follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he thrusts one last time, his release hot and deep inside me. We're both shaking, breathless, our bodies pressed so tightly together it's like we're one.
For at few moments, we - just stay like that, holding each other with our foreheads pressed together as we try to catch our breath. The room is silent now, save for the sound of our breathing, the faint thump of music still vibrating through the walls.
After a long moment, Hugh pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looks at me. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips.
"You're amazing." he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.
I smile, my heart still racing. "So are you."
He kisses me again, but this time slower and sweeter, like he's savoring the moment. Then, with a soft laugh he pulls back and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief.
"Here, love." he says with a grin, his back pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. It's such a gentlemanly gesture, one that makes me laugh softly. He helps me clean up, his touch careful and respectful, and I can't help but feel a rush of affection for him in that moment.
"Always prepared, huh?" I tease, running a hand through his tousled hair, which is still slightly damp with sweat from our heated encounter.
"I like to think so." he replies with a wink, adjusting his pants and redoing his belt.
He then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer while kissing softly my forehead.
"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice soft.
smile, my heart still pounding 'More than okay.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead before slowly puling away and helping me straighten out my dress. We both fumble with our clothes trying to make ourselves look at least somewhat presentable, but I can't stop myself from smoothing his shirt, adjusting his tie, and brushing a hand through his hair.
"You're fussing." He says with a lazy smile while his hands find my waist again. "They're going to know we've been up to something."
"I don't care!" I laugh softly, though I can feel my cheeks flushing. I tug on his shirt collar one last time, making sure everything is back in place.
Then, he looks at me with that familiar softness in his eyes, the intensity from earlier replaced with something deeper. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin, and for a moment, we just stand there in the dim light, staring at each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist.
"What if you were pregnant?"
...
- to be continued -
---------------------------------------------------
@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sylviavf @bethexo07
Next part
257 notes · View notes
subcultureblues · 2 months ago
Text
In The Same Boat
G | Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson + Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham | TW: Period Typical Homophobia | Tags : pre-season 3
My take on “what if Eddie was caught loitering around Scoops A’Hoy trying to sneak a peak, by one Chrissy Cunningham… only to realize she was here for the same reason he was. And that maybe the Freak And The Cheerleader aren’t so different after all.”
———
Eddie drummed his fingertips on the table. Lifted his hand and looked at it with vague distain… Eugh. Sticky. He was sat in the StarCourt Food Court. And has been for kind of a while. His big pretzel and slushie long gone.
He checked his watch slyly. Ok, it’s been like 3 minutes.
He stretched his arms out over the back of the bench and very, oh so casually angled his head back towards Scoops A’Hoy.
He’s just… people watching ok?
Eddie raised an eyebrow as he checked out the sweet, sweet thighs on display as Steve Harrington wiped down one of the tables in the store.
Person watching.
Look, it’s… it’s not… Ok, Eddie doesn’t have any good excuse for this. He’s really only camped out here like this a few times. But summer started recently and StarCourt opened just in time for school to let out. Obviously he had to come check out this effigy to American corporate prosperity for himself. If only to bask in the air conditioning.
But those shorts man. Those shorts…
And now he’s bending down to pick up a napkin? That’s the real money shot. Eddie tilted his head back slightly. Should be on the cover of PlayGirl is where that should be.
Alright that’s long enough. He turned back to look down at the surface of the table. Next time he’s gonna bring a book. Or like a magazine.
Not that there’s gonna be a next time but - Alright, fine! Now that Harrington’s graduated, Eddie no longer has the luxury of leering on him in gym. And Harrington looks good in shorts. Really good. That’s not Eddie’s fault, is it?
God. The guys would laugh their dicks off if they knew he was here, creeping on the King. Eddie’s been telling them since freaking sophomore year, ‘No!, I do not have a crush on Steve stupid Harrington. That would be ridiculous!’
And you wanna know what they always tell Eddie?
‘What? Dude, what are you on about - no one even mentioned Harrington?’
Ok. Slight crush. Tiny crush. Literally barely even registers on the rictor scale of attraction.
Yeeeeeah….. They’d piss themselves laughing if they found out he’d fallen so far.
Eddie just thinks he’s hot. Is that a crime?
Well, ok, it’s not anymore in the state of Indiana.
And if it was - then he’s a criminal in desperate need of rehabilitation.
Ok, it’s probably been long enough. He looked back over the short lind of foliage towards Scoops and Steve’s behind the counter chatting with his co-worker. She looks super familiar. Like, so familiar. Eddie can’t place it but she definitely went to school with them.
God, that stupid asshole is so pretty when he laughs. Like an angel. A stupid asshole angel that Eddie wants to lick ice cream off of.
And looking away now.
He casually scanned the food court, because honestly not trying to look like a stalker when you absolutely are is teeth grindingly boring.
Wait a minute…. The family of four at the table booth in front of him is leaving. And in the booth directly behind them is… Chrissy? Chrissy Cunningham.
She’s got her head turned and she’s gazing through Scoop’s window too. And Eddie has a feeling it’s not ice cream she’s yearning for. Not with that delicate blush…
Ah. He thinks. Must be the ol’ Harrington charm.
Chrissy turned away and her eyes went wide when she saw Eddie looking. He gave her a small nod, they do vaguely know each other after all. They’ve shared a few classes. School talent show and everything.
Annnnnd she immediately whipped her head down, averting her eyes.
Eddie frowned. Figures.
He slunk a little lower in his seat and resumed drumming on the table. He was so focused on not looking at Chrissy he didn’t notice she was standing right next to him until she cleared her throat.
Eddie startled, swearing.
Chrissy Cunningham was now standing at the head of the table, looking down at him. She gave a shy little wave.
“I - hi.”
“Uh. Hi.” He said dubiously.
“Sorry, you caught me off guard there earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Crazy thing is, she really sounds like she means it. Her voice is soft and shy and kind. And she’s nervously fiddling with her hands.
“No, no. I get it.”
“Get uh - ?” She scrunched up her brow, not following.
“Come on. I’m The Freak, yeah? No worries.” He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
Chrissy frowned.
“I - That’s not what I was…”
“Hey, it’s cool. It’s cool, I get it.”
Chrissy only frowns all the harder.
“I think it’s messed up,” she said, quietly. “The way the guys at school talk to you.”
“You mean your boyfriend?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. He’s not trying to be confrontational, it’s just kind of a habit.
“Oh. Me and Jason broke up.”
“Oh.” Eddie said, the corner of his mouth turning down slightly, but not that apologetic. “I’m sorry.” He said anyways.
“Don’t be.” Chrissy said, “I - uh. I broke up with him.”
“Well, then con-gra-dulations for dropping that basketball case.”
Chrissy giggled a little.
“It’s uh, you’re… “
“Eddie.”
“Right. I’m Chriss-“
“-sy Cunningham.” He finished for her again. He gave her a neutral smile. “I know.”
He doesn’t live under a rock.
She smiled back brightly.
Then went ahead and sat down in the seat across from him. Which certainly has him raising an eyebrow.
“Soooo…” he’s not really sure what to talk about, now that she’s not walking away and forgetting he exists. “Uh. Why’d you break up with him?”
Chrissy shrugged, drawing her finger tip on the table.
“Guess I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Realizing stuff about myself. And realizing I didn’t really like the person Jason was. How he and all my other friends treat people who are different. It’s not - it’s not right.”
“Is that what you’re doing here all alone?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. Usually Chrissy’s surrounded by Jason and his back up singers or at least the other girls from the cheerleading squad.
“Yeah…” She said sadly. Then she shook out her ponytail and straightened her shoulders. She put on a smile. “And I’ve been uh - I’ve been trying to make new friends…”
“Ah.” Eddie smiled back, relaxing into his seat.
“What about you? You have all your friends from the club.”
“Hellfire.”
Chrissy nodded though not out of recognition.
Eddie shook his head, waving a hand. “Off busy today.”
“It’s the third time I’ve seen you sitting, right here, all by yourself.” She said, tilting her head.
“Oh, uh, I…”. Eddie blushes. Then his eyes narrow. “Wait, third time you’ve… What were you doing hanging around the food court, huh?”
Chrissy opened her mouth but didn’t say anything at all.
“Realized some stuff about yourself, huh?” He said crossing his arms, nodding at Scoops.
And now Chrissy’s blushing. Eddie grinned ruefully. Couldn’t exactly blame the girl.
“Yeah. You know, I’ve heard no one can resist that Harrington charm…”
Chrissy made a face, corners of her mouth downturned. She looked away. “Uh. Yeah. I… yeah.” She said, nodding anyways.
“Happens to the best of us.” Eddie shrugged. He would know.
“Well, what about you?” Chrissy said, changing the subject.
“What about me what?” Eddie shrugged, maybe purposefully obtuse.
“Every time I’m here I’ve seen you staring too.” She nodded at Scoops too. She looked at Eddie, biting her lip and raising her eyebrows like she’s got him now.
“Well - I… like to keep up to date on their specials.”
“From behind a row of plants.”
Eddie gave a confident nod.
“No… No, I think we’re both in the same banana boat sunday.” She giggled, very gently teasing.
“What.” Eddie sat up, shoulders tensing maybe a little defensively.
“Come on, it’s just a crush.”
“I don’t… “ Eddie shook his head. Looked away clearing his throat. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s pretty…” Chrissy said. Eddie glanced up and Chrissy had her chin in her hand and was staring through the window. Watching the two sailors man their posts against a wave of incoming customers.
“Oh. I, uh - yeah.” Whew. “She is.”
Chrissy had this far, away look on her face. But Eddie was kind of busy wiping the sweat off his neck from that one. He looked down at the floor, raising his eyebrows in a moment of relief.
“I’ve only talked to her a few times…” Chrissy said. Eddie turned back watch her mouth twist up. “She seems really cool. We were all three of us in band together last year.”
Where they? Shit. Eddie doesn’t remember. Band was always right after lunch period and he was running those scales ludicrously, no - impressively high.
“Right. Yup.”
“I used to play flute. The clarinet section was right next to us. Is band where you two met?”
“Me and…“ Shit, shit what was her name shit.
“Robin?” Chrissy said, squinting.
“Right! Yes, me and Robin! Yeah, I totally saw her in band.”
Chrissy pressed her mouth together and tilted her head.
“Super pretty.” He nodded unrelentingly. “And cool.”
“Well. You’ve got good taste…”
“Can’t say the same about you.” Eddie said, maybe a lot self deprecatingly. Chrissy gave him a questioning look.
“I mean, if you broke up with Jason cause you think he’s a dick… Harrington’s not much better.” He sat back against the bench pressing his feet flat to the floor. He crossed his arms again.
Chrissy looked up and squinted, as if trying to recall something.
“I - I dunno. He always seemed… fine. Kind of quiet. Jason only joined the team last year but I remember… I remember him and the rest of the guys used to give Steve a lot of trouble too.”
“Really?”
Chrissy pressed her lips together. “I think it had something to do with Billy Hargrove?”
Eddie nodded understandingly. Yeah, he’d also heard tell that the King had been dethroned. Though, he was far too much an outsider to be privy to the high court’s tittering.
“He’s not a lot like his reputation makes him out to be.” She shrugged a shoulder. Eddie looked back towards Scoops. Towards the beautiful man with his beautiful hair. Eddie kind of preferred to think of his as some meat-headed jock he could jerk off to to forget about him. It’s easier, if he’s unattainable because Eddie thinks he’s insufferable. Rather than because, ya know, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson would never have a chance in hell.
“I dunno. I never talked to him much.” She finished thoughtfully.
“Well…” Because Eddie was thinking now. Oh this could be good. No way was he going into His Majesty’s territory without backup (alone, looking like a loser). And no fucking way Eddie’d bring his friends. (They’d take one look at Steve’s outfit and so would start the teasing that Eddie probably thinks it only makes him hotter - and the worse part is they’d be right).
But. He had company now. It’s a win-win really!
“You feeling peckish?”
193 notes · View notes