#which left me in a very awkward position of Um What Did You Want My Advice For Specifically

[bogkeep]

idk why there's so much discussion around the ~*morality of traumadumping*~ when it's a VERY solvable social conundrum. all you need to do is ask something like "hey is it ok if i talk about this thing? it's kind of heavy" and respect the answer

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[chrissdollie]

”what would you do if jess proposed?”

a/n: WARNING: i wrote this late and it’s mostly dialogue. also it’s not really a romantic jess x reader it’s a very causal thing. but i promise i’ll edit it soon to make it cuter. wc: 2.6k

paul anka barked at the door where a knock was heard. you and your mom lorelai were sitting on the couch watching a movie. “just a minute!” she yelled, picking up paul and handing him over to you where you held him in your lap, petting him slowly. you looked over your shoulder to the front door, wondering who it was.

lorelai opened the door to reveal rory’s current boyfriend of three years, logan. “oh hey!” she greeted. “hey.” logan replied blandly.

“oh, you just missed rory. she’s on her way back to school.” rory had left back to yale after visiting at home to study for her finals.

“i know, im actually here to see you and y/n.” his voice shook slightly. he seemed nervous, which was weird because from the few times you met him, he was a very confident and down to earth guy. “oh, okay. come on in.” she invited.

“thank you.” logan stepped inside and walked over to where you were sitting in the living room. “do you want, um, any food or drink? we ordered way too many fries.” lorelai asked, inviting him to sit on the couch. you smiled and muttered a small “hello” to which he nodded back and sat down next to you.

“no thanks, i’m all good.” you moved over slightly so lorelai could squeeze in next to the two of you. “um, so how was your trip?” you asked kindly, trying to rid of the awkwardness.

“oh, it was really great. actually that’s what i wanted to talk about.” he folded his hands as he manspread. you raised your brow so only lorelai could see. she looked at you and then back to logan.

“oh, god. i know nothing about that world. uh, apple, ibm, microsoft, im out.” she joked, making logan chuckle. his face then turned serious again. “well, i’ve been offered a position with an emerging internet company.” he informed before pausing.

“wow, that’s great!” you congratulated, grinning. “yeah, congrats.” lorelai agreed. “thanks, it’s pretty similar to what i was doing in new york, but actually, they’re willing to make me a full partner i’ll be getting in on the ground floor.”

you had no idea what the ‘ground floor’ was, but you nodded and continued to smile like you did know. lorelai seemed at a small loss for words too. so she settled with “that’s exciting!”

“it is. it’s gonna be a lot of long hours and an incredible amount of work building the company, but i really feel this ‘venture has a bright future. i mean, these are serious people.” he grinned softly.

“and you’re a serious guy.” lorelai complimented, her eyes softening. a serious guy? you weren’t totally sure about that, but you stayed quiet. “look, you don’t have to convince me. i voiced my concerns, and you told me your plans. we had pie. i’m cool.” she sweetly told him.

“thank you. i appreciate that. that means a lot to me.” he thanked. this was getting weird. you wanted to know the reason that he came here. god, would he just hurry up already??

“you’re welcome.” lorelai hummed back, her face falling to a frown. logan cleared his throat. “so, the thing is.. well, as the you guys can imagine, i’m pretty excited about all this.” 

“yeah, of course, i mean it’s really cool.” you spoke. “but it-it does mean a move to san francisco. palo alto, actually.” he dropped the bomb. he’s moving. poor rory, she was going to be devastated! your mom’s face fell into an ‘O’ shape and your face saddened at the thought of him breaking up with rory.

rory was your best friend (besides from your mom, of course) and she loved logan deeply. you would hate to see her get hurt, but it has to happen. it’s not like she can move with him. oh. 

“that’s big. that’s funny, rory didn’t mention it. did she say anything to you?” lorelai questioned turning the spotlight to you for a minute. “nope, not a thing.”

“well, i haven’t told her yet.” he said, voice shaking slightly again. “and you’re here because you want us to tell her for you?” lorelai asked, trying to get the point across. logan chuckled again.

“no, no, i’m gonna tell her. i just, um, i wanted to talk to you guys first about it.” he took a deep breath while looking at the floor before speaking. “look. i love rory. she means the world to me and i want her to come with me to california.” oh no. now he’s dropped the bomb.

you saw lorelai close her eyes and take a breath before opening her eyes again. “oh.” was all she had to say. you shook your head. “but, not just as my girlfriend.” he said deeply. “which is why i’m here. i’m here to ask for your blessings. to ask rory to marry me.”

“chris, hi.” lorelai picked up the phone. you were standing next to her because rory was talking to some DAR ladies. you excused yourself and followed your mom away from the two women you were talking to. you saw chris standing outside and that was your cue to leave them alone and walked towards your boyfriend who’d finally arrived

“hi, honey!” you greeted. jess smiled and kissed your cheek. “hi, i’m sorry for being late. work was right up my as.. hello emily.” he greeted your grandmother who came up to you two. “hello, jess. hi, y/n.” she smiled at you before kissing your cheek.

your grandfather richard came over and quickly greeted you before turning to emily.

“emily, i think now is a good time.” he mumbled. “oh, excuse us.” emily and richard walked to the front of the room next to the grand piano. emily tapped a glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention. richard straightened his shoulders and held a piece of paper.

“ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen. first, let me thank you for coming to celebrate my granddaughter rory’s graduation.” he spoke clearly. emily walked up next to him and pinched his arm. “ouch!” he winced. “oh i-i do beg your pardon. celebrating our granddaughter rory’s graduation.” he corrected himself, making you and rory giggle quietly standing next to each other. you also waved quickly to your dad before turning back to richard.

“i can’t let him take all the credit, have you seen her? can you blame me?” emily joked, making the crowd laugh. you and rory gave each other a look almost to say ‘she’s been drinking.’ 

“so, when my wife and i sat down to write our toast,” he continued. “we ran into something of a problem. all of our words sounded too mundane, too insignificant to mark such an auspicious occasion, as rory’s graduation from yale. so, instead.. maestro.” richard turned to the pianist.

rory’s head turned slightly and furrowed her eyebrows. you were just as confused as she was. “please excuse us. we are not singers.” emily somewhat nervously apologized. “never let them see you sweat, dear.” richard soothed. 

lorelai turned to her daughters, raising a brow causing you three to chuckle. your grandparents raised their papers in front of them and stood tall. richard began the song as the pianist played a joyful tune.

you’re the top

you have graduated

you’re the top

your grandparents are elated

newspaper editor, phi beta kappa WOW!

you’re a relegation, a huge sensation

you should take a bow

you are done

no more school for you

there is nothing now that you can’t do

you’ll make us proud, we’ll sing it loud

it’s true cause now rory, you’re a bulldog through and through!

you clapped loudly, laughing with your sister. the crowd applauded and “aww”’ed at the sweet song. logan yelled out a “yeah!” before rory ran up to her grandparents and gave them both a hug. “oh, thank you, thank you. wow!” she smiled.

“we meant every word in that song.” emily cooed. “we certainly did. even the ones we sang off key.” richard agreed. rory thanked them again before expressing her love and appreciation for them. you loved that rory went to college, even if you didn’t. she had begged you to go with her so she wouldn’t be alone, but this experience had given her a new pov of the world.

chris’ phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. “oh, it’s the babysitter calling to see if g.g can watch an hour of television.” he said aloud. “i don’t think she’s ready for ‘the pussycat dolls yet’.” you teased, causing chris and lorelai to grin. “i’ll be right back.”

but before he could leave to answer the phone, logan stopped him. “actually, would you mind waiting?” he jumped quickly. chris’ head turned up to look at logan for a second before nodding. “sure.”

“thanks. trust me, you’ll want to stick around for this.” he dismissed himself and walked to rory. “okay.” he replied shortly. your face fell and you could see lorelai’s did too. “is he gonna..” chris pointed towards him. you’re assuming your mom told chris about logan wanting to propose.

“not here. not now.” lorelai shook her head in disbelief. you really hoped he wouldn’t do that to rory. especially in front of everybody. what if she says no? truth be told, you didn’t want rory to get married and leave to san francisco! she was only 22 and you wanted her to stay with you and your mom for a little while longer.

she can’t just up and leave. she won’t. she’s been away at college while you’ve been working and things will finally get to go back to normal after her graduation. you mentally shake of these thoughts and focus on the present.

“if i could, i’d also like to say a few words about my girlfriend of the past three years.” logan began. you had also told jess after you’d found out logan wanted to propose. but he still looked appalled. rory was like a little sister to him, you knew. 

logan turned to look rory in her big blue eyes. “you amaze me, rory gilmore, every day, everything that you do, everything that you are. this past year, i realized that i don’t know a lot more than i thought i knew if that makes sense. i’m sorry, i’m a little bit nervous. didn’t think i’d be.” he chuckled shyly. 

“what i’m trying to say is that.” he sighed softly before taking a quick breath. “i don’t know a lot. but i know that i love you. and i want to be with you.. forever.” he sighed again and pulled out a velvet blue box from his pocket. rory’s eyes widened and she realized what was happening. you wish you knew what was going on in her head.

the crowd began to murmur. your eyes widened in anticipation. emily’s mouth was wide open with joy while richard’s happy face contorted to an serious one. “rory gilmore.” he opened the box, still looking at her. “will you marry me?”

that’s it. the question was asked and out in the open. it was silent for a few moments. “um..” she muttered and turned to you and lorelai for a moment. she looked back and struggled to find words. “um, wow.” she chuckled breathily. “i- wow..” 

“is there a yes in between those ‘wows’?” logan asked eagerly. the crowd laughed lightly. “um, im just, im so.. surprised. i-i just, um, would, um..” she ran her fingers through her hair quickly before grabbing his hand. “w-will you come talk to me outside?”

“sure.” he walked as she led them outside. “yeah, okay,” she stumbled quickly out the door. emily ran to the pianist. “play something now.” she demanded before looking out the window.

“my poor girl.” you pouted as jess wrapped an arm around your shoulders. emily walked over to where you and lorelai were standing. “well i don’t know what to do! should i continue to stagger the hors d’oeuvres or just tell the kitchen staff to send everything out?” she cried.

lorelai shrugged. “i don’t know.” she mumbled. “why didn’t she just say yes?” emily threw her arms down like a child, clearly upset. your eye twitched for a moment. “i’m not sure she wants to marry him, grandma.” you tried to make her understand. but who are you kidding, this is emily gilmore.

“that’s ridiculous, he’s a huntzberger. an offer like this doesn’t come around every day.” emily whined. “it’s a marriage proposal, not a sale on linens.” lorelai folded her arms as richard approached, handing a drink to his wife. “clearly, rory was caught off guard, all of us were.” your phone rang as richard spoke.

you pulled your cellphone out of your pocket and answered. “i’m sure she just needs a moment to get her bearings-“ you cut your grandfather off to speak. “hi, ror.”

you motioned for lorelai to follow you, removing jess’ arm from you quickly. “did she say yes?” emily called out as you and lorelai exited the house. “we’ll be right back.” lorelai told chris and jess.

you two found rory and your eyes widened. “is that a carriage?” you laughed. “wow, how romantic!” you cheesed jokingly. “get in, now please!” rory pleaded. lorelai went in first, rory followed second, and you last.

the horses began to walk and rory turned to you. “i just kept saying ‘i don’t know, i’ll have to think about it’ and it was awful! and he was obviously disappointed and upset.” she began ranting. “well that was kinda on him. imagine if you said no in front of all those people!” you thought.

the girls agreed silently. “you know, he made all these plans about the house we’d live in and the avocado tree in our backyard.” she continued. “you do like guacamole.” lorelai threw in. “i-i just had to explain to him how it if the blue this is. like super out of the blue! the deepest, darkest, naviest blue. and why are you so calm by the way?”

“we knew. he came by the house to ask for our permission.” you told her. “we were dying to tell you!” you whined. lorelai jumped in after you. “and she almost did, but i threatened her to no more sleeping in on weekdays.” she said. “you sleep in on weekdays.” “that’s not the point.”

“anyways, what do you think i should do?” rory asked desperately. “oh, honey, i think it’s your decision.” lorelai put simply. rory pushed her head forward waiting for more. “you have no opinion?” she questioned in disbelief. “only you know what you want.” she briefly answered. 

“hm, okay. what about you, curly? what would you do if jess proposed?” rory asked. “well, moe, i would definitely wait a few days before answering. id really think about it first. id make a photo collage of what our wedding would look like and then show you, then make a pros and cons list, and then answer once i’m fully confident.” you finished. 

“that was actually a very good answer, dude, nice.” lorelai spoke in her surfer-bro voice and fist bumped you. “i love him. i do. i’m like a circus freak with all the hands. i’m all over the place!”

“you’ll get through this. just mull over it for now.” you gave her a big hug. rory grinned sweetly and hugged back. “group hug!” lorelai cheered, leaning in. “if you get married, can i be the flower girl?” lorelai asked in a high pitched voice. “no. paul anka will be the flower girl.”

[carryonafi]

where did the party go. (2)

a/n: good lord carryonafi nation FINALLY!! part 2 of where did the party go is here and now i’m working on new projects! the end of the school year is kicking my ass at the moment, but there’s cool things planned and requests will be out soon :) enjoy! and tell me if you’d like a part 3 of this universe where we do some sweet stories from the past. 🤍

content warnings: sexual innuendos, heavy drinking, smoking, mentions of declining mental health

words: 2.0k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

background: Your relationship with Ashton has been public ever since the beginning, starting in 2013 and continuing to flow and experience the life of 5 Seconds of Summer all the way until the band went on a break at the end of 2016. During those years, you took on the struggles that Ashton and the rest of the band faced which left them all having you as a permanent resident in their life. However, your relationship becomes rocky when Ashton refuses to communicate until the very moment he can’t take it anymore. His impulsive decision leads to you moving out, yet still being in his life because of the others and their friendship with you.

—

After parties were a staple, this was where your relationship with Ashton began, found itself strained, healed… it was an environment that was home to a lot of major events in your still young lives. It had been about 5 years since the first event you had ever gone to, an album release party hosted by a different band which got you into the public position you wore proudly. Ashton never once doubted your abilities to handle the spotlight, you didn’t mind the cameras flashing or the way members of the crowds would desperately call out your name or his. It just came naturally.

It felt like home to be wanted, to be needed by some people. The way those boys relied on you to give them their reality away from their occupations made you feel important, but Ashton clicked with you. His need was different from the others, but you needed him in the same way.

Things started to get rough when the band went on break, but even before… Ashton was slipping and it felt like communication hadn’t been valued enough. One encounter months after your breakup stayed engraved in your mind, the most vulnerable you had ever seen that man. His tears meant everything, even if he was wasted and didn’t realize half of what he was thinking fell from his lips— those tears were real. The way his shaking hands slipped through your fingertips at a desperate attempt to keep you close to him, his bloodshot eyes and wild hair… it shook you just thinking about it.

The nomination for your single sort of fell through, but in this moment nothing else mattered. Finding the drummer was your top priority and not a single disruption would ruin this for you.

The music gently shook the atmosphere, the venue filled with laughter and conversation, some dramatic, bitchy, grateful, maybe elated. These had to have been the most confusing places with everyone’s mixed emotions and different reactions to the winners and performances. Bodies were spread out, yet a tiny bit cramped due to the limited space they had for celebration. After parties were nice for this reason too, it wasn’t like your usual event thrown together and way overpacked with drunk individuals and enough alcohol to poison an entire tolerant frat house.

Finally, you pushed your way up towards the bar and was met with a familiar, inhumanely tall figure. You knew who this was immediately.

“Hey, Luke?” You called, gently tapping on the man’s shoulder.

Luke turned around, a smile lingering on his face until he made eye contact with you. “Shit, hey Y/N!” He beamed, hooking his arm around your shoulders to give you a bit of an awkward hug. You laughed anxiously, blinking to adjust to the dim lights and meet Luke’s gaze. “Good to see you!”

“Good to see you too…” You hesitated. “Do you know where Ashton is?” It seemed his face mirrored yours, curious and full of a need for answers.

“Um… yeah, I think he stepped out into the hallway? Not sure which one though, pretty sure it was over in that direction somewhere.” Luke hummed, making sure you were watching where his finger was pointing to dressed up with a chunky silver ring.

“I’ll find him, thanks Luke.” You nodded, his expression still matching yours as you both smiled at each other and he wished you good luck. Then you were set off on your mission again, weaving in and out of cliques to make sure you didn’t bump into anyone. Apology after apology, cringy glances and excuses to make your way through these people who were definitely way more important than you were.

You spotted a glass door to the main hallway of the venue, might as well try your luck… you pushed it open and was immediately met with still silence. Once the door closed, everything was muffled. You sighed with relief, closing your eyes and standing in the warm entryway light.

“Overwhelmed?” You heard a voice, opening your eyes again and looking to your left to see Ashton leaning against the wall. His tie was loose, top button of his shirt undone with his blazer strewn across the bench next to him. Would it be terrible to admit how quickly you started blushing?

“Uh… sorta.” You hesitated again, blinking innocently at him. “No, I wasn’t. I was looking for you.”

Ashton was expecting you to give a different answer rather than just being “overwhelmed”, but that wasn’t the one he was thinking of. There was visible confusion in his eyes, gently twisting his expression and deepening the subtle frown lines. “You were?” He furrowed his eyebrows, pushing his hair back in a way that told you he had product in it and couldn’t run his fingers through it like normal.

“Yeah, I was. I found Luke, he told me you’d be here, so…” Your breath caught in your throat, looking back at the door you came in through before taking a step out of the way and closer to Ashton. Tension was thick, but it eased once you saw the smile tugging at his lips. Score.

“He’s not too great at keeping his mouth shut, is he?” He looked at you expectantly, making your heart pound even faster.

“Guess not. He never was really.” You shared a grin of your own.

“Remember when we’d want some alone time?” Ashton said softly, straightening his tie again and keeping his eyes glued to your loving face. “I could never really tell him where we were going, next thing you know the whole crew would be with us in the dressing room.” The fondness of the statement made the both of you crack a smile now, it was hard during those years to actually enjoy some quiet time… maybe that’s another buffer in your development as partners. As people.

“Sorry you had to drag me everywhere you went all the time.” You giggled, Ashton instantly shook his head without a second to spare.

“Don’t be.” He waved a hand dismissively at you. “You got me through a lot, you got us through a lot. At the time you were so… normal. A real human being, without a camera, a microphone… you had a life before publicity. We didn’t.” Ashton explained, reaching out for your quivering hand. You had no idea you were shaking until this point, your nerves got the best of you.

“But—“

“That gave me no excuse to treat you the way that I did.” Ashton cut you off, and honestly, you weren’t mad about it because he had just finished your sentence for you. His thumb grazing your knuckles made your stomach turn, unable to hold back the urge to squeeze his hand in return.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. So fucking sorry.” Ashton shook his head, the sincerity in his half-lidded hazel eyes making your own eyes well up. “You shouldn’t have put up with me for that long, but, fuck… would you believe me if I told you I wanted to give you everything?”

“Just— please, stop. For just a second.” You pleaded, looking down at the floor. Without an argument, Ashton shut up. He took a deep breath, still holding your hand and tilting his head to try and look into your eyes.

“I was never angry at you, you know that? I didn’t mind that you needed space, I would have given it to you.” Another explanation to which he listened more intently than ever before, like you were teaching him the meaning of life right before his eyes. “It was your responsibility to know that, instead of leaving me feeling like… well, other reasons.” You mumbled, the implication clear of what you thought the end of your relationship was.

“I see.” Ashton hummed in understanding, feeling relief wash over him once you looked him in the eyes again. There was a bit of silence, making you hesitate to speak again. Thank god Ashton did for you. “Are you alright? Like, in general.”

You nodded, the hasty beating of your heart had come to a calm pattern now that the initial anxiety had washed away. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?” Ashton replied the same way, nodding silently which brought a sentimental smile to your face.

“Missed you so much.” He admitted quietly, his voice breaking in a way that had the nerves in your palms tingling with empathy.

“Missed you too… saw you just got done with tour.” You matched his tone of voice, waiting to see if this game of imitating each other would end or if it was simply subconscious.

“Yeah, it was alright.” Ashton scoffed playfully, he loved performing. “Alright” was definitely an understatement for any show he played. However his sarcasm made you laugh again, god was it contagious… he couldn’t help himself from joining in.

There was something a bit different in your laughter, your voice cracked and faltered until a tear was slipping down your cheek and making a trail in its wake. Ashton’s hand slipped around your shoulders pulling you close as you squeezed your eyes shut to avoid letting anymore tears ruin your makeup.

“I… I don’t know why, I just—“

“Shh,” Ashton interrupted you once more, rubbing your shoulder as his lips pressed to your hair. “Don’t need to explain, s’okay.” He muttered, holding you in silence for a few moments letting you take control of your emotions.

“You smell like a fuckin’ gallon of hairspray.” Ashton teased, looking down as you pulled away and left a gentle smack to his chest. The white dress shirt he was wearing now stained with your makeup.

“Not my fault.” You scrunched up your nose, another beat going by as you noticed your makeup on his shirt. “Sorry about… that.”

“Oh, heavens— it’s terrible.” Ashton grinned, shaking his head as he tilted your chin with his pointer finger and his thumb. “It’s okay, it’s just a shirt.” He teased.

A sense of contentment washed over you, smiles adorned both of your faces as Ashton pulled away to grab his jacket from the bench.

“I appreciate you. Really— a lot.” You spoke a little more clearer than you have been, catching Ashton’s attention as you both headed back towards the door.

“I’m glad, um,” Ashton started to put his jacket on, stopping in front of the door to the party. “I’m gonna be in town for a while, would you..“ His hesitance made you smile, egging him on to finish his sentence. “Would you want to get coffee tomorrow?”

“That’s it?” You laughed, expecting a much more intense request than that. Ashton’s cheeks went pink, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’d like that.” A gentle response to soothe Ashton’s nerves just as he did yours.

“Okay.” He breathed, his lips curling into somewhat of an amused smirk. There was some pride in knowing he could still make you feel the way he did years ago, the wit and humor was still there, feelings weren’t too rough… Ashton was at peace once again. He opened the door for you, comically bowing and gesturing for you to walk in before him. Your own smile never faded, entering the venue once again with Ashton trailing behind you like the last year and a half never happened.

Another pass of relief and contentment, the two of you found Luke and the others fairly quickly just by the sound of Luke’s high pitched laugh. Glances were shared between the group, but not a single word was mentioned about how there wasn’t a thick black cloud of negative energy hanging above the two of you. It felt normal again. Normal amidst died down chaos and a place with these guys where you could be content.

Inevitably, fan accounts and press were screaming over your reunion with your ex-boyfriend the next morning. Coffee that day turned into a writing session, a writing session turned into a long night spent talking about what you had missed in each other's life and how intense everything had been up until this point.

[livredebelle]

Twelve.

MY BREATH HITCHED IN MY THROAT.

The slight contact that his finger had made with my cheekbone caused my skin to burn like mad. What was happening to me? No, to begin with, why had I cried? 

"I'm not crying." Embarrassed, I hastily turned my head away from him. Gah, this was so humiliating; I couldn't bear to look at his face now.

"Hmm..." was all he said. Maybe he was trying to save me of my dignity. I was glad. 

"Um... what happened to Maria? Where did she go?" I tried to change the subject. 

"She said she had something to take care of, so she left. She said she'll text you later and to get home safe. Which you will, because I'm a safe driver, if I do say so myself."

Did I detect a hint of a smile in his tone? "Huh, that's a big assumption. What makes you think I'm gonna take that? My apartment isn't far from here, so I can walk, thank you very much."

"Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"This is just how it is. How many times are you going to make me repeat myself?"

We stopped there. Good. I was unwilling to get into another conflict with him. I was so drained enough as it is, and my anxiety attack had barely subsided. 

"Wait," I said, realizing. I turned back to face him. "Who paid the bill?" 

Heath cocked his head to the side. "I did, but no worries. I wanted to treat you and your friend as a... way of making amends and to celebrate the making of a new friendship."

"Who does that? You're insane." I shook my head. "Too damn positive. I honestly don't know what to do with you." 

"You could just obey," he suggested with a dark smile, but I gave him a death stare, and he chuckled. "Fine. It won't be easy, but that's alright with me. Besides, nothing would be fun if you obtained it too easily."

"I don't like how you said that. It makes me feel like I'm some kind of prize to be won--which I'm not, old man."

"Hey--cut it out already. I'm only three years older, remember?"

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. Fine, I'll take you up on your offer for a ride, but not because it's what I want. I just want to go home sooner so I can rest and get ready for the upcoming semester. I still have to buy books and such..."

"If that's the case, would you like to stop by the bookstore on the way? We can also go next time if you're too tired. I have a TA code I can use to get discounts on the school's bookstore items." 

"Wow. Must be nice to be privileged like that. Maybe next time; I feel like I'm going to drop dead any minute now."

"All right. Get in the car, and I'll take you home."

As he held his car door open for me, I overheard some passersby--an old couple--comment, "My, how refreshing and nice to see that some youngsters are still keeping romance alive in this era." I blushed and quickly scrambled in. Jeez, how embarrassing. I heard Heath chuckle under his breath. 

The second car ride with Heath was no less awkward than the first. While he was driving, I kept stealing sideway glances at him. No matter how long and hard I scrutinized his gaze, I couldn't seem to figure him out. What was his game? And why was he trying so hard to become friends wtih me? The only conclusion I could reach was that he was a peculiar (if not a little mentally deluded) person. Either way, his personality type, in addition to his general mysterious vibe, made me extremely cautious. 

Finally, we reached my apartment complex. As I climbed out of his Audi, I stammered awkwardly, "Um... thanks for today and for lunch. I'll pay you back the next time I run into you. See you." I hastily scrambled away before he could say anything further, but I thought I heard a chuckle behind me as I closed the car door.

Once I was safely within the confines of my apartment, I plopped onto my twin-sized bed with a bitter sigh of defeat and weariness. God, what a day. I reached for my cracked iPhone; maybe I could just chill for the rest of the day and browse through some of my favorite comics and manga. As I surfed the web for good recommendations for some horror-themed comics, a text message from an unknown number popped up. Hm, was it spam, or a promo code? I hated leaving notifications unread on my phone due to my OCD personality. Without much thought, I opened and read the text message:

[I received your contact information from your friend over lunch. It was wonderful to formally make your acquaintance today, Rina. I'm sorry, I know you said you don't like it, but I think it really suits you, and it's either that or Miss Everly--take your pick. Just so you know, I'm quite stubborn too. Take care, and I'll see you in the fall.]

I shot up straight in bed. What the fuck. Maria!!!

Frustrated, I ruffled my own hair. Damn it, why did he have my number? It was like the red thread of fate was wrapping around us tighter and tighter--I couldn't see an escape. Also, it seemed I was stuck with being called either 'Rina' or 'Miss Everly,' and I didn't know which I hated more. Gods, I hadn't met anybody who was more stubborn than me. 

Disgruntled, I shot Maria an accusatory text:

[Hey, that's an invasion of privacy. I don't remember giving you permission to give Heath my number.]

She was a slow texter, so I doubted I'd receive a response from her soon. With that thought, I closed my eyes and fell asleep for a quick but much needed recharge nap. 

When I awoke, it was already evening--twilight. I felt better, but I still had a lot of thoughts in my head. In an effort to distract myself, I decided to make myself dinner. I hadn't cooked in a while, but it couldn't be that hard. 

Nearly an hour later, I was more frustrated than ever after having burnt three rounds of simple fried rice. Why was this so difficult? Come to think of it, I couldn't remember a time I had cooked fried rice ever...

I heard a knock on my door and promptly went to open it.

Quinn was standing there, his arms crossed over his chest with a disgusted look on his face. "What is that I smell? Did you kill a cat in there?" 

"Hey, Kona's alive and well, thank you very much. It's just..." I bit my lower lip. "I think I messed up big time on dinner."

"You're telling me! God, that reeks. How did you mess it up that bad?" He was grinning at this point, all teasing.

I huffed in irritation. "I don't need this from you. At least I tried." 

"Wanna go out to eat instead? I was thinking of catching a bite at this hot pot place later. I was in the mood for some soup and Chinese."

I sighed. "Sure, anything sounds better than this. Let me go change really quick. Why don't you come inside and wait in the living room?" 

"Um, could you be a little more timid about inviting a guy into your apartment in broad daylight? Sheesh. I'm a guy, too, you know--you should be more cautious."

In response, I simply rolled my eyes with him. Before I could fully shut the door, Quinn stopped it with his foot, still grinning stupidly as he helped himself inside with a little wink.

Ten minutes later, I was ready in a casual, tight long-sleeved red shirt that I had paired with my favorite boyfriend jeans. My hair was messy, so I had it lightly tied up in a high ponytail. Keys, wallet, iPhone--check. A quick look at my lock screen revealed two messages from Maria, and one from Heath. My heart stopped for a bit. Wait, another one? I quickly swiped down the messages to look:

[Isn't it a little rude to ignore a text message? Either way, I'll wait.]

This guy was seriously nuts. Yet I couldn't deny the strange sense of curiosity I felt towards him. I was the type of girl who couldn't rest until she solved the answer to every puzzle, and to me, Heath was a huge one. Why couldn't I figure him out? 

He was gentle and soft--the opposite of me. His smile could blind me from a mile away, which I found to be hugely annoying. He always smiled as if he were the happiest guy in the world, but it was off-putting because I could tell there was more to his story; his mature gaze gave off a complicated vibe...

I shook my head violently. Wait, what was I thinking about Heath right now for? It must be the college girls' reactions earlier rubbing off on me. No way would I be like those girls; they were like members of his fan club. Besides, texting him back wouldn't be a big deal. It would be just as if I were texting anybody else, so it shouldn't be an issue. Trying not to overthink it, I responded:

[Impatient, are we? Also a little obsessed. Seriously amazed with your stalker skills.]

Once I headed out to the living room, I found Quinn playing with Kona with a piece of yarn. I couldn't lie, that was pretty cute.

"I'm surprised she lets you come close to her. She's a real bitch when it comes to other people."

"Hey, like mother, like daughter, huh? Except Kona's way cuter."

I scoffed. "Think that's an insult? Anyways, are we going to eat or not?" 

"We sure are. Let's go."

***

"That really hit the spot," I said happily as we sauntered out of the hot pot restaurant. 

I felt stuffed and, finally, relaxed. As much as I might have wanted to deny it, spending time with Quinn had a positive effect on my mood--I didn't have to overthink much, and keeping a conversation with him felt as effortless as breathing. 

"Do you wanna get some coffee?" he asked, and I nodded. I was always down for a good cup of coffee. Just then, I felt my phone vibrate in my back butt pocket. Curious, but trying not to get ahead of myself, I decided to check my messages. 

It was Maria, and I found myself feeling slightly disappointed that it wasn't who I had predicted. But precisely why should I feel disappointed? It was beyond frustrating.

[Sorry. I thought you guys looked close enough that it was okay. Didn't see the harm. How do you know him, anyway?]

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I didn't really know him, anyway. It was also so odd how quickly Maria and I had went back to acting normal, despite having had such a long hiatus in our friendship. Had she truly forgotten and left her past behind? I honestly couldn't say the same. I wasn't brave enough. 

Bzzz. Another message, this time actually from Heath, effectively distracting me from that train of thought:

[Continue to be amazed. By the way, I think you're right that I'm obsessed--I find myself missing you.]

Christ. What do I even say to that? Also, was he seriously flirting with me? Ugh--the worst. Yet why was my own heart buzzing so loudly within my chest? My hands were getting clammy as well. As cliche as it may sound, I had never felt this way before.

[Pervert. You're an M, aren't you?]

[Maybe you're right about that too. But it's true, I do miss you. Let me see you again--I can't wait until fall. I'll make up for our horrible first encounters.]

What did he mean by that last part? Either way, I wasn't going to dignify that with a response. If I did, he would surely think I was interested too. 

When my phone buzzed again, I expected a follow-up message from Heath due to my silence. Instead, what I saw was an email that made my blood freeze. I quickly opened it. 

It was about my financial aid application, which apparently had encountered some problems. If unresolved, this could affect my decision to go to university in the upcoming fall, which was coming up in about two months. All I could gather from the context of the email was that a merit-based scholarship that had previously been offered was about to be rescinded, and I was to contact the financial aid office at my earliest convenience. 

"Fuck," I groaned loudly. Why wasn't anything going right anymore?

"Hey, what's going on?" The concern was evident in Quinn's eyes. But I didn't want to worry him or burden him with my baggage, so I made up a lousy excuse about family issues and asked apologetically if we could postpone coffee for some other time. He quickly agreed and asked if I wanted to come in to his apartment for a smoke break, but I told him I needed to take care of things first. He nodded, wholeheartedly believing my lie, and gave me a quick peck on the forehead. "Call me," he said before he closed the door to his apartment with a crooked smile. I smiled weakly back--all the while, the inside of my brain was going frantic, and I needed to hurry up into the confines of my own home to properly deal with it. 

Yeah, it was better this way. A part of me felt guilty for having pushed him away, again and again without fail... all because I was terrified of the repercussions that would follow from a friendship that kept growing deeper. All because I was afraid and so sure that history was going to repeat itself, and I could avoid that outcome by isolating myself and cutting myself out from his world. All of this came rushing to me in the form of fragmented thoughts, but I was too distracted to remain focused on that. 

As soon as I trudged into my apartment, I let out a deep sigh and slumped against the wall near the front door. Kona came near me and purred, trying to comfort me. I felt like my heart was becoming more and more shackled up with the chains of my past. In order to move on, I realized, I would need to confront my fears and demons sooner than later, or else I would stagnate and never grow.

Confronting my fears and demons meant confronting my family, namely my mother, eventually. But was I even capable of doing that? 

My phone screen lit up, and my eyes narrowed. I laughed bitterly at the irony. Speak of the devil... I debated not answering the call, then pressed the green button, my lips pressed together and my jaw locked tight from the impending tension.

"Hello, Mother."

[mercy-burning]

Good Little Helper

Pairing: Season 5! Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets assigned to be Spencer’s personal assistant of sorts after he gets shot in the knee. Category: SMUT(18+) Content Warnings: fingering (female receiving), blowjob, praise kink, dirty talk, blink and you’ll miss it cumplay Word Count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: So, remember yesterday when I posted about how I wished new ideas would stop distracting me from everything I’m currently working on? Yeah. This wouldn’t leave me alone, and I couldn’t work on anything until I got it out of my head, so here! Have a fic! (It was supposed to be a blurb, but I got a little long-winded so now it’s too long to be a blurb oops 😙✌) Also, I apologize for any editing mistakes, I just wrote this out in one go, so hopefully it’s alright!

***

Being assigned to assist Dr. Reid with practically his every need after he was shot in the knee wasn't exactly how I expected to spend the past few months.

And that's, like... a huge understatement.

In fact, when Agent Hotchner came up to me in the break room and said he'd like me to do the job, I dropped my coffee and shattered a mug. I could tell he was a little impatient with me, even through his kind reassurances that it was quite all right as he helped me clean it up and waited for an answer.

In the end I'd said yes to the job, though the more I thought about it the more I wondered how much lust and naivete had clouded my judgement when I did.

Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive weeks, possibly months, as Spencer Reid's assistant. Not only because he was intimidatingly intelligent and there was almost nothing I could offer him in decent conversation, but also—and more prominently—the fact that I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

Maybe that was a stretch. I definitely had a stupid major crush on him that felt more like we were in middle school, but I could barely look at him without going warm all over. In fact, I think we had only ever made eye contact once and I averted my gaze immediately, afraid I'd give myself away. If I'd have held it any longer, I was positive I'd have burst into flames.

He'd tried talking to me once, a few months after I started working at the Bureau, and it was only to ask if I'd send some files over to their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, but when I tried answering, I stumbled over my words and ended up only getting out a squeaked, "Uh huh," before taking the files from him and scurrying off.

I almost cried that day.

Basically every time I was in his presence, I was a total wreck. Even more so than I was on any other given day.

Being his assistant did get fairly easy pretty early on, though. I mostly just stayed out of his way while he worked, and if he need anything that he could've gotten himself if not for the injury, it was my job to get it for him. I worked on my own paperwork most of the time, and he was always busy working on geographical profiles and whatever else, we only ever really had to talk when he asked for something. And that only required a, "Sure," on my end, so I could just get up, get what he needed, and then go back to work.

Still, it didn't help that sometimes I'd get distracted.

He was very distracting.

I usually waited until I was sure he was so busy in work that I wouldn't get caught. And that's when I'd peek over my computer or hide behind a book and stare at him. I know that sounds creepier than it is, but if you had to spend almost every hour of the day with him, you'd have done the same. Even though for months he was put on rest from the field, he always showed up looking more like a college professor than an FBI agent. Which, I suppose suited him more anyway. Regardless, it was a damn fine look. His hair was decently long and extremely pretty, and when he got the cane?

I was a goner.

It was at that point, though, when I started to realize that he probably wouldn't need my help anymore. He'd been allowed back into the filed by then, and even when I went with them on cases it still felt like I was more out of place than usual. Sure, I'd picked up on some minor skills that aided in profiling and otherwise, but at the end of the day I was still only a desk clerk. Sooner or later, I knew there would be a time where Agent Hotchner would inevitably tell me that I'd done a good job and could return to my menial day job.

So, even though Dr. Reid and I had gotten into a pretty regular, non-awkward rhythm, I was being a little more squirrely than usual.

And of course, he noticed.

"Y/N, are you doing alright?" he asked, looking up from his stack of paperwork. That was another thing we'd ended up doing— late into the night after everyone had gone home, we stayed late in the conference room and quietly filled out paperwork.

I barely looked him in the eye when I answered. "O—Oh, mhm. I'm fine."

"Oh... You just seem... a little different today."

On any other day I would have freaked out on the inside like a teenager, excited that he'd noticed me at all enough to notice a difference in my behavior. But that was his job after all.

"Actually, you seem rather... sad."

I did look up at him this time, and the soft glow of the table lamp lit up his features— features that looked me over with concern. I could feel my face grow warmer with every second I looked at him, until I quickly looked back down at my paper and shook my head.

"N—No, I'm okay. Promise. Just a little tired, that's all."

Usually he would have left it at that, given we didn't ever really have longer conversations than that that didn't pertain to whatever case the BAU was working on. But he pushed further, and I swallowed.

"Are you sure? Because... You can tell me if there's something wrong. I'm a good listener..."

Did I dare tell him what was really plaguing me? That I was scared I wasn't going to be able to spend time with him every day, thus most likely giving away my crush? That is, if he hadn't already figured it out by this point... Truthfully it wouldn't have surprised me.

The thought made me go warm again, and still, I kept my head down.

"I'm sure..."

And then I did something I probably shouldn't have. I looked back up at him, just a quick glance, but under his intense gaze I crumbled, flitting my eyes back down and playing with my hands.

"Is it... because of me?"

Afraid suddenly that I'd made him feel bad, I straightened a little. "No! No, not at all I... Um... I—I guess I'm just... A little sad that I'm probably... not going to be of any help to you anymore. You know, now that you're healing up."

A small smile flashed over his face, and I inwardly melted.

"Oh... In that case I... I guess I'm sad, too."

"Really?" I asked softly, my heart jumping.

"Mhm," he answered back in earnest. His features were softer than they'd ever been, eyes wide and kind, smile inviting... "You've been a great help. And you're fun to be around."

I couldn't help but smile shyly at his confession, completely bewildered that he'd think of me as someone he'd enjoyed being around, though I'd offered just about nothing interesting to any conversation we'd had. "Y—You don't mean that..."

"I do."

"C'mon, really? I... I—mean... coming from you that's... that's too generous."

He laughed a little. "How do you mean?"

"I... Well, y—you're you... I mean, you're... smart, and nice, and cu— uh,... n—nice..." I stumbled hard on that last one, squeezing my eyes shut at the thought of almost calling him cute to his face... And then I realized I'd called him nice two times... in a row.

I hadn't even realized he'd gotten up and walked over to me until I felt his cane gently tap my leg. I jumped, looking up at him and almost crumbled again right then and there. He stood over me, tall and clearly amused, and I wanted to just curl up and hide where no one would ever find me.

I also didn't want to be craning my neck so far up to see him, so I stood up, sending my chair rolling back a foot or two. The added height was better, but he was still fiarly taller than me, and with the way were standing so close to each other?

Maybe I'd made a mistake...

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

Still amused, Spencer tilted his head a small amount. "What for?"

"I... I don't know, m—making this awkward?"

"It's not awkward."

"It... It's not?"

He shook his head, quiet for a few beats before he nearly whispered. "What were you going to say?"

I paused. "I... What?"

"Before... You said I was smart. And nice... And... What else?"

It sounded like he was trying to get me to confess something, and quite honestly I couldn't tell if it was for humiliation or amusement or clarification purposes. I mean, it was probably safe to assume he wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate me, but... it still made me nervous.

"I—I didn't... I..."

"Y/N... Tell me?"

I'd been cornered. Quite literally, too, as my lower back hit the edge of the table. My hands shook anxiously at my sides as I contemplated what to say. The truth? Embarrassing for me. A lie? I was no good at telling lies, and I'd still end up embarrassed, because he'd be able to tell.

So, after a very long silence in which he waited on me to answer, I blurted out, as quietly as possible, "Cute."

The word sounded juvenile coming from my mouth. Right now, standing under Dr. Reid's intense scrutiny, it didn't even feel like the right word to describe him. Not that it wasn't true... But it just wasn't an elegant enough descriptor for him.

And that alone probably proved just how different we were. How out of my league he was...

"That's what I thought you were going to say," he mused, slightly breaking me out of my self-deprecation.

I would have asked him something then, anything to keep myself from looking like even more of a fool with a childish schoolgirl crush, but all words escaped me entirely. All I could do was look up at him, slowly growing warm under the intensity of his eyes and praying he wouldn't think of me as silly.

Though, it wouldn't have mattered, because he kept talking anyway, his body taking up even more space around me as his arms came around to well and truly trap me against the table.

"You're right, you know... I'm almost completely healed, and pretty soon I think I won't need an assistant anymore."

I was scared that maybe I was wrong before, and he'd actually humiliate me now, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it. SO I just stood there, trying to breath steadily as Spencer studied my face.

"And I meant it... That makes me sad. You know why?"

I shook my head, afraid to make a sound.

His head dipped lower, close enough that I could feel his breath on my mouth as he spoke. "I probably won't get to see you every day."

"Y—you want to see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He scanned my eyes, amusement and something else lingering there as he did. "Yes."

And then he kissed me.

It was a short distance, but it felt like we went far. And I hadn't even registered that I whimpered into his mouth until he returned it with a low groan that boiled my insides and absolutely melted me. I was helpless against him as he pressed himself further against me and used his hands to keep my back steady.

The whole time my mind was swimming with dizziness. It felt like my body was covered in butterflies from head to toe, particularly strong where his hands pressed into me and his cane rested firmly along the inside of my thigh.

I leaned forward when he pulled away, because I was afraid that he was saying goodbye. But one of his hands came up to my face and my eyes fluttered open, immediately taking notice of how messy his hair was now that I'd had my fingers in it.

I must have looked scared, because suddenly his eyes changed, and he removed his hands away from me altogether, putting distance in between us. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking..."

The relief that rushed through my body must have gotten to my head, because I breathed out a demand I'd never have had the courage to get out before.

"Do it again."

One second I was staring at him, admittedly afraid that he'd regretted all of it, and the next I was seeing stars as he came forward and kissed me again. His hands cradled my face as he did so, coming on to me with gentle care while still maintaining that hunger that surprised and excited me.

I hadn't realized how much I missed his touch until he'd given it back to me, my body once again melting into him and allowing him to do whatever it is that pleased him.

Apparently that was lifting my leg off the ground and making me sit on the table.

My body went along with it easily, and I was glad for it because my brain was nothing but mush, unable to process fully how he'd decided that I was worth kissing. All I really knew was that I wanted him. Anything he wanted from me, I was willing to give. And that must have come across very clearly, because when he pulled away and spoke to me, I whimpered at his words.

"Y/N... You've been such a good girl, helping me with whatever I needed these past few months..." Meanwhile his hand danced along the hem of my skirt, the tiny brushes of his skin against mine sending me into a mess of shivers.

"I think it's about time I've thanked you for all your help, don't you think?"

The implications in his tone made me whine again, and I pressed my forehead into his, our noses brushing as I answered. "Please."

I was so taken by the way he groaned as his lips connected with mine once more that I almost didn't realize that his hand was now fully up my skirt, his fingers drawing gentle lines over my panties and practically making me melt again. His hungry kisses contradicted the softness he took to my clothed cunt, a fact that warmed me to my core and made me want him more than ever.

When he slipped the fabric aside and ran the pad of his finger through me, I whined hard against his mouth, something that must have excited him— He nipped at my bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"How long have you wanted this, Princess?"

If not for the kissing and the finger slowly sliding up through my arousal, the nickname would have done me in. By now I was an utter wreck, but I somehow still managed to answer, even through a little stammering. "F—Forever."

It was the best I could come up with.

He breathed a laugh as his finger circled my clit. "That's a long time..."

"Uh huh," was all I could manage in response. My body and my brain were too focused on the things his finger was doing to my body, involuntarily rolling my hips forward for more. I needed more.

Thankfully he picked up on my urgency and reciprocated with slipping his middle finger inside me, one knuckle, then two...

I cried out as my head lurched forward, connecting our mouths once again. My hands clutched around his neck and my fingers tugged at his hair to keep myself from falling, because the slow, searing pace at which he fingered me made me wonder how I'd still been able to breathe.

He added another finger soon enough, picking up the pace and rendering me practically useless in his embrace. Meanwhile I registered the sound of his own little whines, still deeper than mine but little enough to tip me off that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, and that alone helped get me further along in pleasure.

I pulled my mouth from his reluctantly, squeezing my eyes shut as I allowed my forehead to rest against his. "D—Doctor, I'm c... I'm so close."

"His honorific falling breathlessly from my mouth seemed to do something sinister to him, because his fingers sped up and his breathing got heavier.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Princess?"

My stomach tightened and I nodded as best as I could, relishing in the sounds coming from below us, wet and downright filthy.

"Go ahead...Be a good girl and come for me... You deserve it..."

Each little sentence was punctuated with a slightly faster pace, each one bringing me closer and closer until I squeaked into his mouth and shook violently around his fingers, my vision going white. My legs had been open wide since he'd started teasing under my skirt, but now they threatened to clamp shut from the intensity. But I wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to make this as easy as possible, so I held out and kept them open as wide as I could stand as my orgasm rocked through me.

Spencer whispered praises into my skin as his hand slowed and his mouth trailed down to my neck. And even though it was more than nice feeling him lick and bite over my skin, I felt rather sad when he removed his fingers from me.

That sadness didn't last long though, not when he pulled back and studied me for a moment, eyes lust-blown and purely ravenous before he brought his glistening fingers up to my mouth.

I didn't even have to think. I brought my tongue out and let him slip his fingers over it, closing my mouth around them and sighing as I sucked them clean. This only seemed to excite him more, his features displaying all sorts of desperation until he couldn't take it anymore.

He kissed me again, bringing both his hands to rest at my waist. And with his hands so low I wondered if maybe he'd take to ridding himself of his own pants, but it never happened. Rather, he pulled away after minutes of more kissing, and sighed quite sadly as his upper body pressed firmly into mine.

Something else pressed firmly against me as well—right along the inside of my thigh—and I gasped, mind running wild through all the possible outcomes of the night.

But Spencer only stood there, occasionally nudging his nose against mine while his hands gently kneaded my sides.

"D—Do you want to stop?" I asked softly, afraid he'd regret what we did.

He proved me wrong. "God, no... It's... It's just that I'm still not cleared enough for any... strenuous activity on my leg, and I don't..."

I didn't want to push him, obviously, but I thought I could make the mood a little lighter. "O—Oh, well on the bright side... I could stay your assistant for a while longer."

The laugh that rumbled in his throat made me smile, though from the way he stood there, I knew he wouldn't risk it.

"Um... Raincheck?" he whispered.

On the one hand, that meant he definitely wanted to see me again, and I was more than happy with that. But also, that meant our fun for the night was done...

Yet... Maybe not...

"Sure," I answered, pecking his lips once more. Then I brought my hand to his chest and slid it down until I reached his belt, and I leaned back to look him in the eye, a boldness I never imagined coming from me in a million years.

"But I can still help you..."

I watched the desperation and disappointment in his features slowly dissolve into a newfound hunger—and an amusement—that grew my confidence tenfold.

"Oh?" Spencer mused. "How do you suppose you can help me this time?"

He wanted me to say it. So, without second guessing myself anymore, I grazed my finger over his erection. "I'm very good with my mouth, Dr. Reid."

He grabbed me by the hand then, dragging me along to the chair I'd kicked back before and sat himself down, one of his hands still gripping the cane. Matched with the desire in his eyes and the swollenness of his lips and the tousled strands of his hair, the sight was truly something to behold. It was something that only ever existed in my dreams, nd now it was real.

Not wanting to waste any time, I sunk to my knees and nestled myself in between his legs. He reached out and caressed my cheek before lifting my chin with his middle finger.

"You like being my good little helper?" he drawled.

I tried to nod, but he clicked his tongue and held my chin in place. "Words, Princess."

"Yes. I—I'd do anything you asked. Anything you want, it's yours..."

He hummed then, removing his hand from my face and moving to undo his belt swiftly with only one hand. The action, the sound, everything... it was enough to make me wet again, and I subtly ground down onto the heel of my foot as I watched him pull himself free from the confines of his pants.

I didn't have time to marvel at him before I was drawn forward like a magnet, my hands crawling up his legs and my eyes batting up at him, ready and eager to please him however he wanted.

"Eager, are we?" he mused once more, gently stroking himself with his hand.

"Yes, Doctor," I breathed, inching closer and kissing the outside of his hand.

His movement stopped then, and it didn't take longer than a second for him to decide to let me work on my own.

"Then have at it, Princess..."

I started by kissing my way up the length of him, taking my time to gauge his reactions as I did so, occasionally darting my tongue out to taste him. Once I reached the tip, I sucked on it gently, using my tongue to swirl around it until I could taste the saltiness of his precum.

And then I started taking him slowly into my mouth, watching above me as Spencer's eyes started to shut, obviously debating whether or not to lay back and enjoy this or watch me intently.

Either way, I was more than happy to keep it up, finally getting him to the back of my throat. I flexed my tongue and held him there as long as I could, promptly gagging over him and blinking tears from my eyes as he let out a loudest sound I'd heard from him yet. His head flew back and his tongue quivered along his bottom lip as he cursed my name.

The act made me proud, so I retreated for air, sucked at his tip again for a few seconds, and then repeated it, taking him down my throat again and watching through teary eyes as he visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so... Such a good fucking girl..."

The praise caused my insides to burn hot, and I ground down onto my heel again, lifting my mouth to start bobbing up and down.

His eyes opened then, and he looked down at me, using his hand to brush stray hair from my face and the other to grip onto his cane for dear life. I looked up at him the whole time, making sure to convey through not only my actions but also my eyes that I loved this. I thrived off of his praise, I enjoyed the feel of his dick gliding over my tongue and hitting the back of my throat, and I longed to feel him coat the inside of my mouth with his release.

I was so entirely into him in every capacity, it wasn't even funny.

I was so glad he could tell, a smile grazing his features as his hand gently gripped some of my hair. "So eager to please, Princess... And so fucking good at delivering..."

I whined onto his dick as he held me down, rendering me immobile. The only thing I could do was look up at him and choke, and of course, I was more than happy to do it. In turn, I was met with a deep groan and a tug of the hair.

"Hold it, hold it... Atta girl..."

My cunt throbbed at his words, and my throat continued to burn, tears falling down my face at ten-speed until finally, he let up and pulled me off of him.

I coughed a little and blinked away tears as I caught my breath, Spencer's fingers combing hair from my face as he smiled proudly.

He didn't even need to say anything then. I wanted to give him more. So I leaned down again and took him in my mouth, quickly making work of his tip while my hand came up and stroked the rest of him.

"Fuck, Princess, just like that... Make me come just like that..."

Rather than just continuing, I offered him a high whine and a wide gaze, hoping to exceed expectations.

I guess it worked, because he came right then, his dick pulsing over my tongue and in my hand as his warm release shot down my throat and over my tongue. I hummed around him, fluttering my eyes closed at the taste and the feeling, probably enjoying the fact that I'd done this to him more than I should have.

It was worth it to see the look on his face, though, after he'd given me all he had and I purposely spit some of it out onto the tip of his dick so I could lick it up and give him just a little more stimulation after the fact. His mouth hung open, eyes heavy and unwilling to leave me, even as I finished and sat back to wipe the tears and saliva from my face with a satisfied smile.

Though, the longer he looked at me, the more shy I became. Funny when I'd just had his dick down my throat, but I'd never been good with people staring at me for long periods of time.

"Was that... Was that okay?" I asked, suddenly worried I hadn't done something to his standards. "I know I don't do this a lot, so I'm sorry if it wasn't that g—"

"Y/N..."

I blinked up at him, still on my knees and unwilling to move. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn't even if I had.

"That was fucking perfect... I meant it, you're... so good."

I knew he was capable of better words, but after having the life sucked out of you, I could imagine 'better words' were hard to come by. Still, I laughed a little, playing with the hem of my skirt. "Good. I'm... glad I could help."

He smiled at me, readjusting his pants and then moving to help me off the ground.

"Hey, uh... Even when you go back to your regular job after I get better, I... I hope you know you're always welcome to come visit me if we're not busy."

The words warmed me in a different way, my heart swelling as well. "You... You mean that?"

Spencer nodded, grabbing my hand and dragging his thumb over my wrist. "Of course. I mean, you're more than just a good helper, you know. You're also kind, and smart, and cute..."

I laughed at his emphasis on cute, heat warming my face. "Ha-ha..."

"I really mean it, though," he said softly, removing his hand from mind and bringing it up to lift my chin, so I'd meet his eyes. They were swimming with sincerity, the epitome of warmth and comfort and kindness— the kind that always drew me to him in the first place. "And... If you'd want to maybe ditch the paperwork one day and grab a coffee or something, maybe—"

"Yes," I interrupted without thinking. My heartbeat picked up upon seeing the look in his eyes when I agreed, a mixture of amusement and relief. "Y—Yes, I'd love to."

"Good. Then it's a date?"

"Definitely."

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[mypoisonedvine]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 || soft!dark baron zemo x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : he’s a baron, you’re just the maid.  you literally can’t afford to say no to him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (dubcon, oral m receiving, fingering, loss of virginity), innocence kink, ‘sir’ kink, quid pro quo harassment (raise in exchange for sex), zemo being kinda mean but then Soft again c:, slight degradation but it’s not verbal it’s like... with actions?? idk, sensual candy-feeding, more reconstructed sokovian (this time I used the cyrillic, latin and translations at the bottom)

                     You really, really needed this job.

That was what you reminded yourself when your boss, the Baron himself, came out of the master bathroom in only a robe, carrying a glass of vodka and staring down at where you were cleaning his floor.  

He seemed to get a kick out of making you slightly uncomfortable like this, in those little ways that you were too naïve to really understand, but being a member of a Baron’s house staff was an opportunity too prestigious to squander.

Perhaps some would never see a maid’s job as prestigious, but compared to your other options, it was easily the best choice.

You didn’t look back up at him, afraid to see more than you bargained for, but his gaze made you want to tug down on the hem of your dress uniform… yet left you feeling paralyzed so you couldn’t actually do it.

He lingered there, standing right beside where you were polishing the hardwood, and the moment lasted far too long until you just had to say something.

“Should I stop, sir?” you asked awkwardly, your own voice sounding weaker out loud than it did in your head.

“No, keep cleaning,” he encouraged, finally stepping around you to take a seat in his lounge chair.

Even though you felt a bit odd about it, it wasn’t the first time he had watched you clean (just the first time while wearing so little), so you did your best to shrug it off and keep going, which you managed to do for a few minutes.

It got slightly more awkward when the area you had to clean was right by his feet, which made his staring all the more conspicuous as you tried to hold up your neckline so he couldn’t see down the uniform.

A crinkling sound caught your attention, and you looked up to see him toying with a wrapped candy, the lid off of the decorative silver vase on a credenza nearby.  You’d always wondered what he kept in there...

He caught you looking, a smirk tugging at his lips as he raised an eyebrow.  “A Turkish delight,” he explained as he waved the candy between his fingers.  “They’re rather exquisite, and an unfortunate vice of mine.  Would you like one?”

It seemed like an offer in earnest though you couldn’t imagine what would motivate him to share candy with his staff.  His motives were always quite mysterious anyhow, and you didn’t see any harm in it, so you reached out to him and opened your palm to accept the candy.

He shook his head, his eyes getting a bit darker as their gaze pierced right through you.  A sinking feeling filled your gut as you realized what he wanted, and you slowly opened your mouth.

He delicately placed the candy on your tongue, the flavor of the powdered sugar coating hitting you first.  

When you closed your lips and hesitantly began to sink your teeth into it, the texture wasn’t what you expected at all— nor the flavor, which you were a little too poor to recognize as rosewater though you still appreciated the delicate floral notes.

It was delightful; you couldn’t help but smile as you continued to chew, and he smiled at you as well— significantly less mischievously than he could have.  “Do you like it?” he asked.

You nodded, but froze when he reached up to wipe sugar off your lips with his thumb.

“I suppose you could never afford candy like that before,” he posited, sitting back again.

Swallowing the sticky remains of the sweet, you replied, “I don’t think I could afford it now, either, sir…”

For a second the glimmer in his eye made you wonder if you’d spoken out of turn, and you anxiously looked down to your hands in your lap as he leaned in a bit closer, speaking in a hushed tone.  “Maybe you could, if you got a raise, hm?”

Confused about what he wanted from you, you simply nodded slightly.

“Would you like to earn one?”

Suddenly the aftertaste wasn’t so sweet anymore, and you got that strange icky feeling when you knew something was wrong but you didn’t know exactly what.  “If… if a raise is a sign of a job well done,” you finally managed to form an answer, “then I’d like to do my job well, sir.”

“You do your job very well,” he assured, “I’m talking about a new job.  Consider it… an opportunity for advancement.”

His hand reached down to slip around your wrist, gently pulling you up a bit until you were kneeling between his legs.  You jumped a bit when your fingers grazed over his leg, and he kept moving your touch higher as he stared down at you.  “I… um, don’t know how to do anything else, sir,” you stalled, heart racing slightly as you watched him guide your hand higher and higher up his leg, under the hem of the fluffy robe, past where you could see.

“I’ll teach you, don’t be afraid,” he whispered right against your ear, and you tried not to be but it was a bit scary when you felt him wrap your hand around his cock, so much warmer than the rest of him and growing harder in your palm.

A little, uneven exhale left your mouth when you didn’t mean it to, and he breathed along with you which helped to calm you slightly.  “I’ve never… I don’t…” you stammered.  “I’m not good at this.”

“You will be, it just takes practice,” he promised, sounding a bit more hoarse; you felt his precum smear over your fingers as he helped you stroke him, and it made your movements a little easier even if it made your gut twist harder.

He leaned back and relaxed in the chair, letting go of your hand to let you keep going on your own.  It gave you a bit more room to breathe, but it left you with no excuse for your actions, no one else to blame when his legs spread and you saw his cock fully hard in all its pride and glory, flexing slightly in your hand whenever you reached the tip and moved back down.

Taking it as a sign you were on the right track, you kept going and occasionally gathered the bravery to look up at his face in search of approval.  Each time you found him staring back at you with dark eyes, and it made you feel this most inexplicable feeling… almost like fear, but with something oddly pleasurable about it.

“You can use your mouth now,” he said like it was an offer, an allowance, but you didn’t even really know how to do that.  You’d definitely heard about it before, from your more worldly friends, but your cheeks were heating up at the idea of trying and doing it totally wrong.

“Show me how, sir, please,” you requested weakly, and much to your relief he grinned widely.

“Okay, кошеня, I’ll show you,” he breathed, reaching up to cradle your face in his hand and guide you closer.  “Open your mouth and I’ll put it in for you.”

You did as you were told even though it was definitely more intimidating this up close, thankful that you didn’t really taste much of anything when he put his swollen head on your outstretched tongue.

“Now close your lips and suck, not too hard, just like a candy,” he explained, hissing when you did your best to recreate what he said.  You pulled back right away with wide eyes, thinking you might have hurt him.  

“Am I doing it right?” you asked quickly.  He seemed a bit irritated as he pulled you back down roughly, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth.

“Yes, you can’t stop until I tell you,” he explained.  You wanted to apologize but that would’ve required stopping, too, so you just kept going and humming a bit whenever you tasted that slight saltiness at the back of your throat.  “Блять, that’s right, see?  I knew you’d be a quick learner.”

Happy to hear you were doing it properly, you sucked a bit harder and kept your lips slack so he could bob your head however he wanted.

When the tip bumped into the back of your throat, you gagged right away and figured you were definitely doing something wrong.  But either he didn’t notice or didn’t mind, because he made you do it again and again— perhaps he even liked it, considering you heard a tense groan from above you and felt him hold your face a bit tighter.  

“I’m going to come, кошеня,” he grunted, “and you need to swallow it all, okay?  It’s worth a lot more than that expensive candy, I assure you.  But don’t swallow it until I say so.”

You tightened your fingers where they clutched his thigh, since you couldn’t respond any other way.  Not being able to breathe was beginning to make you light-headed, and the sounds of his quiet moans made a rare (but not entirely unfamiliar) feeling burn between your legs.

He swore a few more times, sometimes in English and sometimes in Sokovian, as he roughly used your mouth, and you didn’t realize he was coming until you felt it all threatening to spill out from your lips and around his member.

But you, being diligent as ever, were careful not to let a drop go to waste as he sighed and slowed down, guiding you slowly off of him.

As tempting as it was to swallow it already, especially since the taste was a little odd, you kept your lips sealed tight and blinked up at him, hoping the tears running down your cheeks wouldn’t bother him and waiting for further instruction.

“Open your mouth, show me,” he breathed, nostrils flaring as if he was angry (though you really hoped he wasn’t).  He groaned proudly when you did so, sticking your tongue out and letting his seed gather there.  “Блять, good job… you can swallow it now.”

You put your tongue back and swallowed, but you were a bit too slow and some of it dripped onto the floor first.  He leaned forward slightly to look at it, tutting disapprovingly.

“That just won’t do, you need to clean that up,” he explained.  You turned back to reach for your cleaning supplies but a hand on your shoulder stopped you.  “No, sweetheart, not like that.  With your mouth, same way you made the mess..”

“Oh,” you whispered, leaning down and lapping up the drops with your tongue, noticing that it was a bit closer to room temperature now which made it taste worse such that your nose crinkled at the flavor.  Still, you swallowed it, too, and sat back up to look at him.

You wanted to ask if you did well, but considering the way he was smiling at you while he caught his breath, his exposed chest rising and falling along with that necklace he seemed to wear all the time, made you confident enough that he was happy with your work, and you smiled slightly.

“I think you’ve almost earned your raise,” he broke the silence, and your smile fell.  There’s more?!  “Why don’t you get up and bend over the bed.”

Your throat was a little sore now, so your shocked and empty swallow stung a bit, but you couldn’t help it; for all your inexperience you had a few ideas about what that meant.

“Sir, I—”

“Did I not speak clearly?” he snarled, making you cower slightly.  “Get up.  And bend over the bed.  Pull up that little skirt for me, too.”

Even though an uncomfortable shudder crawled up your spine, you nodded and stood up, finding your legs a bit shakier than they should’ve been.

You’d made his bed a thousand times but never thought to lay on it, so you felt a little strange bending yourself over the edge, and you tried to avoid meeting his gaze as you reached back to pull your uniform up to your hips.  You heard him hum but didn’t hear him get out of the chair, and you wondered if he was going to do anything at all.

“Are you… just going to look?” you wondered aloud.

“No,” he answered quickly, “I’m going to fuck you.  But I’m going to do it on my own time.  You can wait.”

And he sure did take his time, eating one more candy and finishing off his tumbler of vodka before he finally stood up and shed his robe; you felt his hands on your butt first, fingertips slipping under your panties delicately only to roughly tear them off.  You squealed slightly at that, biting your lip to keep it down, but he heard you and chuckled as he slapped your bare ass.

“I knew you were hiding something lovely underneath your uniform, кошеня,” he sighed, “I may need to make sure you never hide yourself from me again.  I always wanted to make you clean the house naked.”

Another spank made you wince and lurch forward, but another pang of heat hit between your legs, too— you hadn’t expected to enjoy this so much, but after all the anticipation you just needed him to get it over with.

Even if you honestly didn’t know that much about the ‘it’ he intended to do to you.

“How much do you know about sex?” he asked bluntly, apparently reading your mind somehow.

“Sex,” you repeated shakily, “is… something husbands and wives do…”

“Right,” he agreed, “but is that all you know?  Do you even know how good you can feel?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond, reaching down to slide his fingers slowly over your pussy, your legs quivering right away.  When he focused on one spot, rubbing in circles gently, your back arched of its own accord.

“Have you ever touched yourself here?  Made yourself come?” he continued, pressing down a bit harder until you whimpered.

“N-no, sir,” you breathed, squirming as you felt yourself approaching the edge of… something, something you never knew you needed.

But of course, he had to stop just then and push his two fingers inside you as you cried out.  “Just that hurts you?” he realized, watching you nod and pout.  “Oh, кошеня, you have no hope of taking my cock… you may not be able to get your raise after all.”

“Please, sir,” you whimpered, “I can take it, I’ll be good— please…”

He twisted his fingers inside you and your legs quivered but you were determined to prove you could do this, so you ignored the sting and kept on breathing, hardly capable of believing how deep his fingers reached.  

A third finger made your eyes start to roll back in your head, especially when all of them curled against a spot that made your toes curl inside the sensible heels you were made to wear at work each day.  Oddly enough, you found yourself rocking back onto his fingers in search of more, wanting him to push harder on that spot until you could finally reach that feeling you were blindly searching for.

“You need it so badly, кошеня,” he growled, “I’m trying to be gentle with you.  Is that not what you want?”

“J-just a little more, please,” you begged, whining when he instead pulled them all out and left you painfully empty.

“I’ll give you more, don’t you worry about that,” he promised cryptically, and you gasped at the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your opening.  You were so wet that as he slid his length over your folds, you coated him with your arousal in mere moments.  “I think you’re ready for me, sweetheart.”

You, meanwhile, weren’t so convinced; your gut sank as you tried to imagine how something as thick as his cock would ever fit inside you, but he didn’t consult your opinion on the matter before he lined himself up and pushed forward.

He was kind enough to move slowly, leaning down to wrap your body in his as he filled you.  His hands slipped around and clutched yours, and you genuinely couldn’t tell if it was meant to soothe or restraint you.

“Бля, ти така гарна,” he breathed, squeezing your fingers between his.  You turned to rest your face on the silky comforter, a tear still making its way down your cheek which he tenderly kissed away.  “Don’t cry, it’s all right,” he whispered.  “I’m not going to move yet, just breathe.  It’s not going to hurt much longer.”

Tightening your jaw and breathing through your teeth was the best you could manage at the time, trying your best to relax since every time you tensed up, it hurt more.

“Так тугий,” he hissed against your ear as he finally found the end of you and his hips met the back of your legs, “і все моє.”

He stayed still until the pain faded, though you still winced slightly when he eventually did move again, pulling back only to push forward and fill you deeper, if possible, than before.

You felt him hitting that spot again, the one he found with his fingers before, and your whines started to soothe into moans and gasps.

“See?  I knew you would like it,” he whispered proudly, “I knew you’d take me so well.”

He trailed kisses in abstract patterns over your neck and shoulders, gentle at first but soon enough becoming wet and sharp with his tongue and teeth, the pace of his thrusts picking up along with it.

“Так добре, така добра дівчина,” he groaned, “fuck, do you feel how deep am I inside you, sweetheart?  That’s how deep my come will be when I’m finished.”

Honestly, it was starting to feel so good that you couldn’t find the will to protest that.

“And then you’ll be mine forever,” he added, under his breath, so quiet that you could barely hear it.  But you did hear it, and you couldn’t explain why it made you moan louder, or made your walls grip him encouragingly.

Your toes curled again, your legs even started kicking a bit, when he slammed into you every time, the sound of his skin on yours and of your drenched channel being filled echoing around the ornate bedroom.  Thoughts of everything wrong about this were banished as your mind became a blank slate, you couldn’t even form words anymore (not that you were trying to) as your mouth fell slack and your body became a pliant vessel for his desire.

The edge was so close now, and you wondered if you should try to stave it off— but before you could even consider it, he bit down on your shoulder and you were pushed right over all at once, gasping his name as pleasure overtook you from your head to your toes.

“Good girl, keep going,” he instructed roughly, “don’t stop coming for me.”

You couldn’t if you tried.

Tears fell again, but for entirely different reasons than the first two times.  He whispered praises in your ear, in a few languages you understood and a few you didn’t, keeping you falling into it as long as he wanted you to.  You were so helpless to him now, your body going limp and your eyes fluttering shut, and you didn’t even mind it at all.  

It went on for quite some time, it seemed, and though his stamina was impressive it was entirely unnecessary since you had already exhausted yourself of whatever maximum number of orgasms you could have in a row.

Finally, his desperation started to kick in and you could feel him getting rougher and losing his rhythm as his moans got louder yet deeper.  “I’m about to fill you up, кошеня, are you ready?”

You barely managed to nod through the fog, and it only took him a few more seconds before he squeezed your hands just a bit too tight and stopped moving.  There was a little delay before you felt the heat of it inside you, the feeling impossible to describe but instantly addictive.  As if you weren’t already feeling full before, now you felt stuff to the brim, and even when he pulled out you could still feel it— even when most of it seemed to drip down your thighs.

“There you go again, making another mess,” he sighed, “and this time on such a lovely comforter… I won’t make you lick it up this time, you look too pretty laying there fucked-out and braindead.”

Those words probably should’ve encouraged you to move and prove him wrong, but instead you were happier than ever to just lay there and soak in the afterglow.

He laid beside you on the bed, pulling your body to rest on top of his, stroking your hair while he caught his breath.  “You won’t just be getting a raise, sweetheart, but a very important promotion,” he mumbled.

As enticing as that sounded, up until that moment you’d forgotten about the raise entirely.

//

кошеня = kitty/kitten

Блять - fuck

Бля, ти така гарна = fuck, you’re so beautiful

Так тугий, і все моє = so tight, and all mine

Так добре, така добра дівчина = so good, such a good girl

[koushou]

i love it smmmm omg. the megumi fix is amazing it’s more than i asked for ❤️❤️ bro 6,9k is a blessing you don’t understand how glad it made me it’s so worth the wait. tumblr is so dry when it comes to anime fics and especially w megumi thank you for feeding me something other than the crumbs this website gives me. i don’t want to be too annoying but whenever you’re free if you could do a pt 2 cause that ending omg. i love it sm and i can’t thank you enough ❤️

pairing : megumi x f!reader [fluff]

warnings : slight makeout scene idk HAHA nothing too intense though (also not proofread because i wanted to get this posted as soon as i finished it)

wc : 3.5k

a/n : ur too sweet omg and im FINALLY back from procrastinating your request again anon… (i really apologize i don’t mean to take so long pls forgive me D: ) i hope this is what you wanted!!

pt. 1 (you don’t really have to read pt 1 to understand this part but i do recommend it)

loud chatter echoes through the large modern dining hall located on the second floor of the hotel.

“i’m… so full…” a certain pink haired male burps for the nth time as he still continues to stuff food into his mouth. gojo laughs at itadori’s passion for the hotel food, while doing the same as he takes a large bite of a pancake.

you chuckle, taking a sip of your drink and leaning back in your cushioned chair, already finished with your 3rd plate of breakfast. i mean, who could blame you? hotel breakfast food just hits a different type of way.

“so, spill all the juicy events that happened last night, i wanna know!” nobara nudges you excitedly, her eyes twinkling as she pulls her chair closer to yours.

rolling your eyes, you look away from the ginger female and pretend to not have heard her. accidentally, you were now faced towards megumi, sitting on the opposite side of you. your eyes met for a brief moment before you quickly turned away, breaking the awkward interaction.

“aww— c’mon, y/n! please—“

“nothing happened at all! and don’t think i forgot the way you ignored my knocks on your door yesterday,” you shot her a glare, earning a sheepish laugh in return.

“but... in the same bed..?”

you were about to retort back when gojo stands up and claps his hand over his stomach, which now seemed just… a few sizes bigger.

“alright! have we all finished our food? god, when did hotel food get so good— anyway, it’s time to pack our things and head back home!” your constantly enthusiastic teacher exclaims, as a waiter comes to collect your plates.

after thanking the waiter and paying the bill (poor gojo-sensei’s wallet), you all head back upstairs to drive back home.

a thick silence hangs over your room as you and megumi collect your items, not wanting to bring up any events from last night. finally ready to head out, you walk towards the door to open it until another hand reaches the handle at the same time.

you retract your hand quickly, while the other hand lingers in the air above the knob.

“oh— sorry, you can go first!” you gulp, backing up a bit so megumi can exit first.

he pauses for a second, twisting the knob until the door pulls open. you expected him to walk out, but he makes his way to the other side of you instead, still holding the door open.

you look over at him with a questioning look, receiving a slight shrug and a hint of a smirk.

“ladies first.”

why was his stupid face so handsome?

you shook your head at his teasing expression, making your way out the door to the carpeted hallway, him following close behind.

the others were already at the lobby waiting, their conversation becoming clearer as you reach them.

“what’s taking them both so long? you don’t think they’re too busy… y’know…” nobara’s usual cheerful voice carries her words to your ears, making you roll your eyes and spook her from being.

“boo.”

“i’m just sayin- oh my go—“ she frantically turns around, breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing it was just you.

“you scared me!”

“what were we talking about?”

“nothing important! come on, we should get going!” nobara nudges gojo and itadori ahead, escaping you as she scurries out of the lobby.

you hear a yawn from behind you, a tuft of black hair moving past you as you suppress the urge to laugh at megumi’s already messy hairstyle, amplified by his morning bed hair.

finally, you were all seated back in gojo’s car, ready to drive back to the school so you all can head back to your own homes.

the ride back was full of gojo’s irritating voice singing along to songs playing from the car radio, itadori laughing along, and the rest of you too excited to leave the car.

“alright kids! we’re here, make sure to be safe on the way back home!”

gojo waves to all of you as you hop out of his car one by one, basking in the cool summer air for a few seconds.

“see you guys!”

itadori jogs away, heading in the direction of his own home, followed by megumi, then nobara, and lastly, you.

upon reaching your house, your mother welcomes you, asking about your day, if you had fun, and other typical mother questions.

you were telling her about your day when you suddenly recalled the hotel night events, and scurried away embarrassed upstairs to your room, leaving a very confused mom behind.

you flop down onto the bed, face down, wanting to get a good few minutes of quiet nap time in before your phone dings with a notification.

grunting, you pull your phone out from your pocket, swiping across the screen to check the message.

surprisingly, it was from megumi, eyebrows suspiciously raising as you open the text message from him. you two rarely texted unless it was about school or business-related, so you couldn’t think of anything he would need from you right now.

megumi : Hey.

megumi : I have your hair tie with me. You probably left it in my bag or something.

megumi : I’m coming over in 5 minutes.

you sat up abruptly, rereading his messages to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

you had been so caught up with his prior messages that you failed to register that he said he was going to be at your house in… 5 minutes.

hurriedly, you swiped to see what time he had sent that last message. 12:34 AM.

your eyes moved to the top of your phone screen, reading the current time. 12:37 AM.

almost falling out of bed scrambling to your room mirror, you checked your appearance to make sure you looked fine and your hair wasn’t messy and-

you paused.

“why am i so concerned about how i look? why do i care about this?”

you slapped your face with both hands, bringing yourself back to reality when you were interrupted again, but this time by your doorbell ringing from downstairs.

making your way out of your room, you saw that your mom had already opened the door with a familiar tall figure standing in the doorway.

“oh! megumi, it’s been a while!” your mom lets megumi in with a smile, already going to the kitchen to make him some tea.

he bows politely, sitting down on the couch, now changed into a loose white t-shirt with black shorts.

“uh- theres no need to make me tea, i won’t be here for too long—“

“nonsense! you can even stay for lunch, dear megumi! i just have to prepare the last dish and—“

you finally clear your throat, standing at the middle of the stairs, catching both of their attention.

“oh, y/n! i have to go out to the grocery store for some ingredients, take care of our guest megumi, alright?” she places two cups of tea on the table in front of megumi, grabbing her keys to head out.

“wait, mom—“

she sends you a wink by the door, already outside before you can finish your sentence.

you sigh in defeat, sitting across from megumi on the other couch.

“here.”

megumi pulls out a black hair tie from his pocket, almost identical to the one currently around your wrist.

you raise your eyebrows in suspicion at the hair tie. “but i only have one? and i didn’t bring any extra yesterday..?” you motion to your own arm.

he looks back and forth between your wrist and the one he had in his hand, scratching his head in confusion.

“it was in our hotel room, so i assumed it was yours.” he shrugs, placing it on the table. “but if it isn’t, i can just throw it away.”

you hum, taking a sip of the tea your mom prepared as he does the same, cringing as the still hot tea burns his tongue.

“pfft…”

he glares at you, placing the cup down as his eyes scan around your living room, taking in the decorations.

“i’ll just keep it then, it seems new.” you take the forgotten hair tie on the table, and wear it around your wrist, now decorated with two black hair ties.

he nods, sitting back against the couch, silence falling between you both.

a question suddenly popped up in your mind, your mouth moving faster than your brain.

“you came all the way here… just to give me a hair tie?”

the question seems to set him a little nervous, clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact as he fidgets in his seat.

“well— i figured i’d return it to you before i forgot,” he shrugs, reaching out to take another sip of his tea before pulling back quickly again at the heat.

you nod slowly, still unconvinced with his answer. who goes all the way to someone’s house to return a hair tie?

“okay then, see you on monday?” you get up, ready to send him back off.

his head snaps up, still not moving in his seat as he opens his mouth slowly, as if unsure of how to respond.

“um- i thought your mom said i could stay…for lunch…?”

he averts his eyes, pink dusting his pale cheeks as he looks away. your mouth forms into an ‘o’ shape as you recall your mom’s words and those were - in fact what she had said.

it wasn’t that you were against him staying for lunch, but you two weren’t even friends or remotely close at that. rivals would even suit you both better than friends.

“but if you want i can, uh, leave now,” he starts to stand, looking uncomfortable in his position across from you.

it was then that you remembered megumi’s background, that his mother had left early at birth, plus his father wasn’t exactly present.

you couldn’t imagine living without your parents, and how lonely he must be without true family.

“no! i mean, that’s not what i meant, you can stay.” you sputter out before he gets the wrong idea.

his eyes seem to light up at your words, nodding before sitting back down on his previous spot on the couch.

you glance over at the time on your phone, it had been around 7 minutes after your mom had left.

the tension was thick in the room, and just when you thought you were about to explode from the awkwardness, he finally breaks the silence.

“do you… play that?”

you turn to where his eyes are placed on, seeing your black xbox console laying on top of a cabinet, having been untouched for a while.

“oh that? yeah, occasionally, why?”

you hear a snicker from beside you, snapping your head to find his lips curled into a teasing grin.

“oh, i just didn’t think a nerd like you would play games.”

you raise your eyebrows at his words. “you sure about that? it doesn’t seem like you’re very good at games either, megumi.” you make sure to stretch out each three syllables of his name to tease him further.

he huffs while leaning back, still maintaining intense eye contact with you, almost challenging each other to say something back.

“how about this, whoever wins against the other gets to make them do whatever they want. no matter what it is.” he nods over to the console, tilting his head as he waits for your response.

you chuckle, standing up to take the console, fiddling with it for a moment before turning back to him.

“alright, just don’t cry when you lose too much, okay?”

he shrugs, smirking as he looks around the living room for the other console, making you remember something.

“oh, the other console plus a TV is in my room, wanna just play there?”

he stiffens suddenly, before nodding slowly and following you upstairs to your room.

reaching the door, you suddenly stop, making megumi grunt and come to a stop, almost crashing into you.

“uh - wait here.”

you open the door just enough to slip inside, quickly gathering some of your belongings and cleaning as much as you could, to at least make your room seem presentable.

“okay!” you open the door for megumi, who makes no move to enter at first.

“...”

“you can come in.”

“... is this okay?”

you cock your head, not understanding his question.

“your mom isn’t home.”

“...so?”

“we’re alone.”

“and?”

“i’m… going into your room.”

“what is your point?” you began to grow frustrated at this conversation. then, it hit you all of a sudden.

“ahh, megumi? have you never been in a girl’s room alone before?” you snicker, shaking your head from laughter.

he starts to protest, before quickly closing his mouth and finally entering your room.

you connect the two consoles into your TV in your room, sitting down on the edge of your bed as you load up the games on the screen.

“you can sit here if you want,” you pat the empty spot next to you, to which he carefully sits down on, taking one console from your hand.

“ready?”

he nods, as you start the game.

-- --

“what--?!”

you throw your hands up in frustration, groaning as you flop backwards on the bed.

“i told you, you can’t beat me.” megumi chuckles, dodging a stuffed bear you threw in his direction.

you huffed, sitting back up, determined to beat him at least once.

“one last rematch!”

he lets out a laugh, a rare one that you think you might just never forget, and starts the game again.

after a few minutes of intense clicking, yelling and laughing, you let out a proud shout, the word victory flashing across your screen.

you pick up another stuffed animal from your bed and toss it straight at megumi’s face, celebrating as he lets out an ‘oof’ and glare back at you.

“but i still won around, 7 times, so i get to make you do something- oof-” he stumbles back again from another stuffed animal to the face.

“hmm? i don’t know what you’re talking about--” you pretend to not have heard him before your vision goes momentarily black from a soft object hitting your face, a pink bear landing in your lap.

“hey!”

“what, you keep throwing them at me!”

“fine…”

“hey, why are you getting so close--!”

you tackle megumi backwards onto the bed, throwing your pillows at his face -- not very gently -- as he tries to shield his arms in vain.

“ahh—! okay, okay, i’m sorry, stop it—“ he huffs as you finally stops your attack, his dark blue orbs looking up into yours.

you only now noticed your close proximity, quickly sitting back up to create some distance between the both of you. he clears his throat, fiddling with one of your pillows.

“well, a loss is a loss, what do i have to do?” you sigh, admitting your defeat.

“hmm…” he seems to be lost in deep thought, probably trying to find the worst thing he can make you do.

after a few silent, intense seconds, he finally speaks.

“are you… free tomorrow?”

you turn to him, giving him a questioning look at his strange question. he only stares back at you in response, awaiting your answer.

“um… yeah, i’m free the whole day, why do you as-“

“come watch a movie with me tomorrow.” he blurts out quickly, not even letting you finish your sentence.

you gape at him, still processing his words, unsure if you had heard wrong.

“... sorry?”

his face was reddenning by the second, yet his eyes remained firmly on yours the whole time.

“let’s go watch the new movie in the theater. i heard it’s quite popular already despite releasing only last week.”

“oh… okay, i can ask nobara if she wants to com-“

“don’t!” he says a little too loudly, clearing his throat after as he regains his composure.

“i mean, i- just, you.”

“just.. us?”

he nods.

silence fell again between the two of you, unsure if he was asking you what you thought he was asking you. you decide to test the waters cautiously.

“man.. it’s almost like you’re asking me out on a date, megumi?” you tease lightly, expecting a ‘tch’ or an, ‘as if’.

“so what if i am?”

now that was an answer you weren’t expecting.

“you’re.. joking, right?”

megumi sighs, moving closer until his body was mere centimeters away from yours.

“i’m serious.”

“do you... like me or something?”

he stares at you blankly. “would i ask you on a date if i didn’t have feelings for you, idiot?”

you only just realize how stupid your question sounded, trying to find a response until he reaches up to cup your cheek with one hand.

they felt soft, yet slightly gruff from constant training and fighting, large enough to cover one half of your face. they were warm, slightly trembling probably from nervousness, yet made you wish he’d never take it off.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to. we can forget this ever happened.” his own cheeks turning slightly pink, yours probably even worse as the space between your faces closed in slowly.

“but i don't think i can do this anymore, so just let me be a little selfish this once, okay?”

barely registering his words before he moves in to kiss you, soft lips moving against the other as his hand tightens against the side of your cheek. you barely register your own actions anymore, hands reaching up to tangle themselves in his hair, moving down to his neck, and finally finding home cupped around his face.

he groans against your lips, pressing you down until he was now hovering above you, never breaking the kiss even once in the process. you lost track of how long you both had been making out in your bed before you hear the front door open from downstairs.

frantically, the both of you separated in fear of your mom catching you in the act, catching your breaths while still processing what just happened.

you hear shuffling from downstairs, standing up to escape megumi before you were pulled back into a warm chest.

“wait—“ his arms wrap around you to trap you from leaving his grasp, your eyes looking everywhere but his, and suddenly your wall was the most interesting thing in sight.

“are we… really going to pretend that didn’t happen?” you finally gather the courage to look him in the face, almost melting at the soft pout set on his (now slightly redder than before) lips.

“ilikeyoutoo.” you get out quickly before you lose the chance to say it again.

he stiffens against you, eyes lighting up almost like an excited puppy receiving treats. “you like me? i didn’t hear you, so can you say it again?”

you huff, trying to wriggle your way out of his arms, only resulting in him pulling you closer to sit on his lap. he presses his forehead to yours, chuckling at your futile attempt to escape.

“i said— i like you—!” you ram your head into his, making him groan in pain, loosening his hold on you. the perfect chance for escape.

you saw the opportunity, dashing to the door, twisting the knob, almost getting it open until—

“nope,” megumi’s hand stops the door in time, instead twisting you around until your back was now flat against the wood, both of his palms placed beside your head.

“y/n? megumi?” your mom’s voice calls from downstairs, but all you could hear was your heartbeat thumping loudly in your chest.

“megumi! move, my mom’s home,” you place your hands on his chest, trying to push him away to no avail.

he grabs your pushing hand and places it on the left side of his chest, letting you feel the soft but fast thumping of his heart, almost matching the pace of your own.

“this is all your fault. you’re not gonna take responsibility for it?” he inches closer to your burning face, making you huff and grab his face.

you press your lips to his, feeling him immediately return the kiss, but you pull away after a few seconds, leaving him still trying to kiss you again.

“nope, my mom’s home, and i’m hungry.”

you open the door, seeing your mom begin to set the table with plates of food downstairs. you look back at megumi, who still looked sad after getting his kiss cut short.

sighing, you take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers together before pulling him down the stairs.

“come on, it’s time for lunch. you’ll get more later.”

you feel him perk up, giving your hand a squeeze as he follows close behind.

you steal a glance at your wrist, still wearing both the hair ties. good thing he hadn’t noticed you stuffing one into his bag this morning.

[wizkiddx]

i just had the cutest idea at least in my head and would LOVE if u could do a blurb? where tom is trying to measure your ring size to propose while your asleep, but then you wake up and catch him.

this is v v cute! I hope this is what u want, sorry if it didn't translate I found it a bit tricky aha

summary: tom gets caught preparing for a very big moment

warnings: v small reference to smut

//////////////////////////////

Sleep always had been, and always will be, an important thing in your life. Naturally then, any source of interruption, was met with some….some hostility. Maybe it was your annoying flatmates as a student, who insisted on playing the worst drum and bass till 4 am every night; maybe your neighbours car alarm, which seemed to be set off by the lightest gust of wind; or maybe your loving- if slightly infuriating -boyfriend.

Tom had just got back from a trip abroad and you’d had a quiet evening in- consisting of pizza, a long forgotten film playing and lots and lots of laughs. As much as you loved his family and friends, celebrating with a fancy dinner and lots of drink - there was nothing better than a night in. It was what you’d both desperately needed too, just actual quality time with the both of you living in the moment, forgetting everything else outside the four walls of your flat.

Needless to say, you’d ended up right between the sheets and you honestly couldn’t remember falling asleep. But now, barely conscious, you did notice your fingers being moved and fiddled with. With a groan you limply pulled them away, rolling over to chase Tom’s body heat - which seemed to have disappeared. His presence hadn’t though, you could tell even with your eyes shut due to his little coo.

“Shh darling…. go back to sleep.” And with a mumbled incomprehensible response, you tried to - even if you personal heater appeared to be in hiding.

Yet then, barely 30 seconds later, the bed dipped weirdly again; Tom’s grasp lightly tugged at the arm you’d crossed over your body. Fighting against it, you snatched your arm away and groaned incoherently once again. Again you got a the most whispered and soft sounding reply from Tom. “Shhh Y/n/n…. come on, work with me here.” Clearly you were half asleep, not really paying any attention to to his words, so huffed - shifting again so you we lying half on your back, half on your side, your left hand lying on the pillow next to your head.

And yet again, barely a minute later, you were sure you heard him chuckle before the bed wobbled as he crawled up it. You could feel his shin brushing against your side as he once again went to grab your hand. And that- that was the last straw.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The sight you were greeted with was not one you expected. Tom kneeling next to you, with bed hair and all, looking like a deer caught in headlights - literally too, the flashlight from his phone illuminated the otherwise pitch black room. His eyes bugged out his head, while he frantically fumbled with his phone in an attempt to get the light off.

“Nonononono” Muttering as if you weren’t there, Tom obviously struggled to find the right button to shut it off - giving you amply opportunity to notice the other object in his lap.

A yellow tape measure?

Why the hell he was measuring you while you slept, completely unawares, was beyond you. The boy hand some explaining to do - primarily because… he interrupted your sleep.

“Tom what the fuck?”

“I’m so sorry I-I just….just go back to sleep love.” It was weird, how he seemed defeated? He looked upset, and was doing that thing where he nervously ran his fingers through his brown curls.

“Not until you tell me what the hell you’re doing.” Sticking firmly, you reached over to flick the bedside light on, just as he finally got the torch off. The warm golden light illuminated to whole room, allowing you to more clearly assess the situation. The brunette was sat so he were almost leaning over you, with the tape measure but also you now noticed a little notebook and pen sat to the side. His despairing look had you immediately forgiving the interruption to your night- everything, melting away to concern. “What’s going on T?”

“You um-you weren’t supposed to-fuck! I’m sorry love I just-“ Reacting to his embarrassed ramblings, you sat up properly to cup his his cheeks with both your hands.

“Hey take a breath yeah? Then tell me why you’re being all creepy and sizing me up for a coffin or something?” He laughed breathily at that, but it was a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“I wasn’t- I… can we just forget this happened?” He already started to get off the bed, wrapping the tape up in a very hurried manner. With a scowl you shook your head, leaping up to grab the yellow ribbon out his hands before he could fight back.

At that point it was too late for Tom. You saw the way the tape was labelled, not with cms or inches. Instead it was letters of the alphabet, starting at G and ending at Z. You would’ve been confused, except the fact you’d used this weird scale before, when you and your best friend got matching promise rings the other month.

Tom had been trying to measure your ring size.

You couldn’t help but let out a little ‘oh’ as it clicked - making Tom sigh heavily, still looking at you with worried and terrified eyes. It took a minute for you to face him, smiling weakly with a little gleam growing across your eyes.

“We should- we should uh, let’s go back to bed yeh?” Stammering through, you already almost forced the the tape back into his hands. Wordlessly he nodded jerkily and placed both the notebook, the tape and his phone on the bedside - as you flicked the lamp off.

Obviously, it was awkward as hell. Right now Tom knew you knew - he was less convinced though on how you reacted. Now he was doubting whether you wanted that- if you wanted to be his wife. The silence was defeneing, the bedsheets the only noise to interrupt as you both settled back onto the pillows. Tom left a bit on no-mans land in the middle, not wanting to push it.

Really there was no reason to not move and cuddle up to him, even slightly cruel. You knew Tom was worried that he’d fucked up massively. You could hear his breathing shake, as you both stared up at the ceiling. Maybe it was slightly horrible, but you couldn’t help but feel insanely blissfully happy. Tom was your future and it was good to know he was starting to get the ball rolling.

“I’m a size N” You whispered up to the ceiling “just for the record.” You both swivelled to look at each other simultaneously, your smirk completely overwhelmed by the smile of pure joy that grew on Tom’s face. Yes the room was dark and you could barely see, but that image might just be one that lives forever in your memory - as your absolute favourite.

“Just-just so we’re on the same page… um, thats your fourth finger? Left hand?”

Finally moving from the awkward position, you nestled your head into the crook of his neck, legs wrapping round his. You chose not to answer super specifically, because it seemed like he was asking more than just one question there. Just very broad and very open to interpretation answer.

“Yes and… and um yes too…just for the record”

~~ let me know what you thought <3 ~~

tagging: @hallecarey1 @hollandfanficlove @crossyourpeter @lovehollandy12 @thefernandasantana

[skinnyducky]

awkward apologies (pt. 2 to unexepected visits) // v.h.

This was soooo cute to write. When I tell you it was so hard to not laugh while writing this, I was trying my best. But, that's the whole point of this. To laugh, to go "awweee", and to be happy. So, thank you to those who enjoyed pt. 1...here's pt. 2 :)

link to part 1

Word Count: 1557, slightly edited

WARNING: language, sexual themes, embarrassed vinnie, and i think that's it.

---------

Vinnie leaned against the fence of the skatepark, cradling his board close to his chest. Jett sat next to him, still laughing from the story Vinnie had shared with him.

“Please tell me that all was a joke,” he laughed. “You can’t be serious?”

“It’s not funny, dude. I was so embarrassed.”

Jett shook his head, trying to stop his giggles. “Look, shit happens. It’s not the end of the world. At that, it’s not like Y/n was mad at you or anything.”

“Jett, Y/n hasn’t called me since that night.”

It was true; you hadn’t spoken to him in three days since the night of the incident. Why would you though? He embarrassed not only himself, but you, in front of your parents. Those are the very people whose opinion matters when it comes to your relationships, and he just blew it. It didn’t even help that he did not bother to explain his urgent departure right after. There were no texts, no calls, not even a tweet that gave you any hints as to what went wrong.

“I just don’t know, man. I messed up something so good.” Vinnie sighed, looking down at his shoes.

Jett sighed, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Like I said, it’s not the end of the world, man. Everyone knows how head over heels you two are for each other. One little mistake isn’t going to make or break what you have going on.”

“I get that but…I…I wish I hadn’t-“

“You don’t need to repeat it.” Jett said. “Now, how about you get on your board, skate for a few minutes, and calm yourself. The more you think about it, the sadder you get, and I really don’t feel like having to cuddle with you in one of your sad moods.”

Vinnie chuckled. “Those are the best cuddles though.”

With that, the boy hopped onto his board and rode off. He skated, doing turns and all sorts of kickflips. He was in the zone, and nothing could bring him out of it. With his tongue peeking out between his lips, he gathered himself to do an ollie. He got into position, keeping his eyes on his board and his fit. With a leap, he looked up and lo and behold, there you were with your friends. He gasped, the sight of you catching him off guard, so much that he barely came close to nailing his trick.

“Shit!” he shouted, landing on his ass.

Even as far as he was, he could hear the sound of Jett’s cackles echo throughout the skatepark. Even through his awkwardness, he managed to look over at you. Much to his surprise, you were looking right back at him, laughing along with your pals. He shot you a small smile, but that fell once he saw your happy expression turn into what one would refer to as…disgust. Oh, you were mad mad.

The boy gulped, picking up his board and hurrying over to Jett, who was still laughing his ass off.

“I wish I had caught that on camera, man!” He hollered, clutching his stomach. “You should’ve seen the look on your face before you fell! Oh wait, I can show you!”

Jett proceed to mock Vinnie’s expression, failing his arms in the air.

Vinnie stared at him with an irritated gaze. “Ha, ha…very funny.”

“Dude, what happened? You normally nail your ollies.”

“Y/n happened.”

Jett’s laughter stopped as he realized what Vinnie said. “What? What’s going on?”

“They’re here.”

Jett scanned the park for you before finding you on the other end from them, chatting with your friends.

“What is Y/n doing here? I didn’t know they skated.”

“They don’t, which is why it caught me off guard.” Vinnie replied. “You think they’re here for me?”

Jett shook his head. “No, I think they’re here to protest.”

Vinnie squinted his eyes in confusion before turning back to you. There, he saw you pick up a board and wave it around, chanting, “Save the whales!”

“Why at a skatepark?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m not the one protesting.” Jett snickered.

“Y/n laughed at me.”

“Then they’re not mad.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

Jett turned to his friend with a puzzled face. “Why do you say that?”

“Because, when I smiled at them, they just looked at me like I was some creep on the street.”

“Welp, then this is your chance,” said Jett. “Talk to them, explain what happened.”

Vinnie sighed, “What am I supposed to say? That I accidentally jizzed in my pants and had to leave before I made an ass out of myself?”

“Yep.”

Vinnie looked to Jett with shock. “You’re joking. Jett, I can’t do that.”

“Listen Vinnie, you are making a big deal out of nothing. All you have to do is walk up to Y/n, tell her the truth, say you’re sorry, and hope for the best. I mean, if anything…it was kind of a compliment to her, right? Trust me on this.”

Vinnie sat there and thought about it for a minute. Jett wasn’t completely wrong; it would be better to tell the truth than to not say anything and let what could be good relationship just wither and die. With that in mind, he pulled up his britches and walked over to you.

“Save the whales-“ you stopped your chanting, merely glaring at the boy in front of you. Your friends scoffed to themselves, turning to stare at Vinnie.

“Um, hey…Y/n.” He greeted, rubbing the back of his head.

“Hey…that’s all you can say?” You replied. “You haven’t called me, you haven’t texted me, you haven’t even left a voice message. What the hell, Vinnie?”

He stood there speechless, not knowing what else to say.

“Like, what the hell happened? That thing with Mac and then not shaking my dad’s hand, like…what?”

“I know, Y/n, and I’m so sorry.”

“Vinnie, I managed to fly to Seattle with you and spend a week with your family, and you can’t even spend one hour with mine? I thought you were different.”

“I am, Y/n. I promise you, I am.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. “You know what…I can’t do this here, Vinnie. We’re trying to save whales and…”

“Okay, sorry.”

Vinnie shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned and began to walk away. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the ounce of pride in his system or the fact that he didn’t wanna lose you, but something kept him from leaving. Then he did the unthinkable…

Swallowing his embarrassment, he turned back around and stepped towards you.

“I, um…I ejaculated in my pants.”

Your friends snorted behind you, trying to keep their laughter to themselves. You stared at him with a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. You tried so hard not to break out into a smile.

“We were, um…we were getting hot and it’s not every day I have someone as…hot…as you grinding on top of me, and I got a bit excited. Next thing I know, your parents come in and I’m sitting there with jizz in my pants.”

You pursed your lips as you turned to the side, trying to contain the fit of giggles begging to escape. Your friends on the other hand…they were nearly on the verge of pissing themselves.

“So, uh…sorry. Sorry.”

Vinnie cleared his throat and slowly treaded back to Jett.

You moved to face your friends, joining them in the laughing session.

“That was the most awkward thing ever.” One of your friends said. “But I’ll say this, he’s honest. There’s no way anyone could make that up.”

“Right?” You chuckled.

“I say you should you talk to him. He’s a good kid.” Your other friend added.

You smiled. “You think so?”

The two nodded.

“Okay.” You said, running towards Vinnie.

“Vinnie!” You called, gaining the boy’s attention.

He glanced over to Jett, who took this is as his signal to give you two a minute.

“You know, never once have I ever heard of something so weird,” you said, “but so adorable at the same time.”

Vinnie grinned, awkwardly shooting you a thumbs up. “What can I say, that’s all I am. Just a weird, yet adorable, person.”

You grabbed his hands, looking into his eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me what happened? I totally would’ve understood.”

“I was just too embarrassed, and plus I didn’t know if you still even wanted me.”

“Vinnie, I could never not want you. I told you before, I really like you and I wouldn’t want to do anything to mess that up. You should never have to question that.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry for not coming to you sooner.”

“And I’m sorry for my friends. They’re still laughing about it.”

He smiled, bringing you closer into him. The two of you stared at each other, your faces inches away.

“I love you.” He said.

It caught you off guard a bit, granted you had only been seeing each other for a short time. But nonetheless, it still made you feel butterflies inside. Grinning you closed the gap between you two, bringing your lips together. It was so good to have his lips against yours, and vice versa. You pulled back, pressing your forehead against his.

“I love you too.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

weird, m | ksj

pairing(s): seokjin x reader

summary: Your roommate and best friend, Kim Seokjin, forgot to double-check the autofill information and shipped his package from the online sex shop with your name on it. Naturally, this ends with you tying him up and sucking his dick, and him tying you up with you riding him like a wild animal. Wait, what?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; friends with benefits; crack (sorry, I can't be serious for more than two seconds when writing Seokjin); yes, reader usually fucks younger dudes XD; smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics (both switches), bondage, m-receiving oral, thigh riding, cowgirl, spanking); non-idol!BTS - just two best friends fucking for sexual exploration, don't mind them

technically a prequel to love roulette, m | myg yes, this is the explanation to that mysterious package, but is it really an explanation or rather an excuse to fuck WWH, you decide

--

“Seokjin, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

When Kim Seokjin looked at you, it was a bit like looking into the eyes someone much younger than you even though he wasn’t. He had that youth about him, the ‘here’s-to-never-growing-up’ sparkle in his large brown eyes, complete with parted lips in a small ‘o’ and, alright, yes, his Nintendo Switch in his hands.

“A long time ago, I asked you which way you think you lean, more dominant or more submissive, no?”

His handsome face flushed pink, slowly scooting away from you.

“Er… yeah, I remember…”

“What?”

“Huh?”

You poked him and he squeaked, slapping a hand over his side even though he was wearing a brown sweatshirt. Seokjin was always cold, even during the summer.

Your best friend was an odd character.

You chuckled. “Why are you being so awkward? I thought we were over this phase.”

Well, he should be. You had known Seokjin since elementary school and seen him, er, date was a strong word for what you both were doing in middle and high school, more like being bumbling messes and walking in on each other bonking classmates, but, hey, what mattered is that you both got better at it over the years.

It being sex.

Not romance.

You both still had only sketchy ideas about what romance was supposed to be.

“We are,” your best friend coughed, clearing his throat for absolutely no reason. “We are, I just…”

“Used my name for purchasing goods from an online sex shop?”

He choked and nearly flung his Switch. You caught it, swiftly placing it on the coffee table as you procured the cardboard box from behind your back, already open, address and name circled in thick black permanent marker on the rather inconspicuous package.

“W-What, that’s absurd, why would I ever–?”

You hummed pleasantly, sweeping the box away from his lanky limbs and his flailing hands. For someone who didn’t purchase goods from an online sex shop, he sure was interested in getting the box. He tumbled into your lap, and quickly scrambled back, black hair suddenly fluffed and wild from the movement.

“Something tells me you didn’t check the autocomplete form before clicking submit.”

You saw Seokjin choke on air.

He jerked away from you and fumbled with his phone beside him. You peeked over his broad shoulder and saw that he was scrolling through his emails like a madman, except Seokjin had a bad habit of never deleting any. He had maybe fifteen thousand unread emails to sort though.

“You don’t have to check. I am sure I didn’t order red cotton bondage rope and a leather flogger.”

Seokjin whipped his head around, face redder than a tomato, looking halfway between fainting and screaming.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is it for you or a mysterious imaginary girl that you’re dating?”

Now your best friend seemed to be contemplating holding his own breath until he passed out to avoid your questioning.

“I-It’s not for me!”

“Oooh, then who? You’re not an internet hookup kind of guy though… unless she was dumb enough to put her full name as her username, then she’s too airheaded to be a catfish–”

Seokjin flapped his hands, smacking you in your pajama-covered chest, sputtering. “No one! There’s no one! I just…!”

You caught one of his wrists, raising an eyebrow.

“Just?”

He froze.

Silence.

“… Seokjin?”

You left go of his hand. It stayed there, frozen in the air.

Ah, it seemed as if his soul left his body.

Rest in peace Kim Seokjin. You were the handsomest best friend one could ask for.

You prodded him in the side again and Seokjin doubled over, trying to cover his face with the large sleeves of his sweatshirt, long legs in black sweatpants curling up as if he could cocoon himself away from the conversation.

“Seokjin, you can be interested in whatever you want,” you snickered, placing the package next to his fetal positioned body. “I simply thought it was funny that you accidentally used my name. Although I wouldn’t use that flogger on a real person, only for posing in pictures. In any case, have fun being freaky by yourself and not for some mysterious woman you refuse to tell me about.”

You stood up, about to leave and give your best friend some space. You shouldn’t go too far teasing him after all.

“What do you mean?”

You stopped, looking back. Seokjin’s large brown eyes were peeking out of his splayed fingers, shifting awkwardly when you made eye contact. He cleared his throat. He was doing that a lot for someone who seemed perfectly healthy ten minutes ago, shrieking at himself for missing the ledge in his game and dying.

It had seemed like a good time to interrupt and embarrass him so you could save your eardrums.

He coughed and pointed to the box. “About the… um… whip… thingmabob…”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You marched over and opened the box, making Seokjin jolt and cover his red ears instinctively, but you ignored him, pulling out the black pleather flogger you had already unwrapped from the plastic – purely from thinking it was your own package, by the way, no other reason, surely not because you were mildly curious about what your best friend was into, nope – and you slapped the short three tails into your hand, wincing.

“This kind of cheap material is too plastic-like. If you use this on bare skin and hit too hard, you’re going to cut someone and I know you’re squeamish around blood, unless you secretly have a blood fetish too and have been a really good actor all this time–”

“How do you know that?”

You blinked at his question.

“What?”

Seokjin sat up, giving you a confused pout. “Why do you know something like that?”

Now it was your turn to shift your eyes around.

“Uh…”

Er… how to tell your best friend that the younger guy you were casually fucking for the past couple of weeks was, ah, rather knowledgeable about certain things, was, um, interested in teaching, uh, yeah, teaching…

Seokjin squinted at you suspiciously. “Is it that idol trainee that was here two nights ago when I was out drinking with Hose–”

You waved your hands very quickly, tossing the flog aside carelessly and slapping your thigh to silence Seokjin and his far too invasive questions. “Look. I just don’t want you to hurt anybody on accident, okay? Your rope choice was good though. You should always use an organic material for shibari, cotton, hemp, linen if you’re rich, but you’re a cheapskate, so–”

Your best friend narrowed his eyes into slits. “How much younger is that guy compared to you again? Hm? And what was his name? Ye–”

You slapped a hand over Seokjin’s mouth, smiling sweetly and dangerously, reaching into the box and pulling out the red cotton rope.

“I know a lot of knots now and I can tie a noose just for you, Seokjinnie.”

Your best friend, rightfully so, looked terrified.

“Now. Let’s talk about you, okay? Okay.”

You removed your hand and held onto the rope.

Seokjin gulped, but then shook his head vigorously, frowning. “What did you call it?” He was already moving past your death threat. Smart man.

“Call what?”

“Shi-something?”

“Shibari? Japanese rope tying?” You lifted the cotton cord in your hand. “Is that not what this is for?”

Seokjin blinked very rapidly.

You blinked back at him. Then it dawned onto you. “The diamond-y rope patterns where they’re all tied up and stuff.”

“Ah! Yeah! That!”

“You want that done to you?”

Seokjin jerked to one side. “What? No! To someone else. Maybe. No. What?”

You slowly placed the rope on his lap and scooted away.

“Uh… huh. Okay. Enjoy.”

“Wait,” he blurted.

“What?”

“CanIpracticeonyou?”

“Can you WHAT?” you echoed shrilly.

“Right, yeah, okay, never mind–”

-

“Seokjin.”

Your best friend choked on his own toothbrush and threw himself into the bathroom wall, colliding into the towel bar and howling in pain while simultaneously hacking up a lung.

“I’ve decided I am going to teach you some simple knots to prevent me from having to pick your naked ass up from the police station or hospital,” you said calmly as Seokjin half-died on the floor tangled in your mint green and his navy-blue bath towels. “And because I don’t want to have to cut some poor girl off your bedframe because you’ve blacked out running onto your door trying to find me.”

“I’ve never–” he wheezed.

“But you will if I don’t take precautions,” you cut in, grabbing your purple toothbrush and putting toothpaste on it as Seokjin attempted to collect himself off the ground. “Like that one time you ran into the window when that wasp was in the apartment.”

“That was a fucking wasp, you freaked out too!”

You started brushing your teeth. “Yeah, but I didn’t knock myself out and wake up with a fat bump on my forehead. That was you,” you gargled.

“Ack…”

“Anyway, I know a few things and I figured I would do a good deed and enlighten you.”

“Who taught you? Was it Ye–”

You jabbed Seokjin forcefully in the ribs and he immediately shut up because he choked on his toothbrush again.

-

“Why do you have scissors?”

“For cutting the rope.”

“Yeah, but why are they so big?”

“That’s what she said.”

Seokjin narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Cool, now I’m gonna tie you up. Give me your hands.”

You unwound the end from the bolt and frowned, nudging his knee with yours. You were both sitting on his bed, him cross legged and you on your knees because he was wearing black sweatpants and you were wearing no pants, just your usual large lavender pajama shirt with a pattern of yellow stars.

“Take off your sweatshirt. It’ll get in the way.”

“But I’m cold.”

“You won’t be because apparently this shit turns you on,” you snickered.

“Shut up, it does not. It’s the other way around,” Seokjin grumbled, yanking his chocolate brown sweatshirt over his head.

You paused.

“I thought you were more sub.”

Seokjin froze, head half-out of his sweatshirt. You waited. He didn’t move. You waited some more. He coughed and chucked the article of clothing aside, yanking his white t-shirt down and smoothing his hair, not looking at you.

You waited.

He smoothed his hair for a full two minutes.

“Um, anyway–”

You planted a hand on his knee and Seokjin tried to chop your hand away, only for you to snatch his wrist, so his other hand came up to stop you, but you wound the end of the rope around his wrist and bounced off his mattress, pinning your knees on top of his knees and making him squeak as he tumbled back into his pillows, bringing you with him. You had to jerk your head out of the way to avoid collision.

“My nuts!”

“I didn’t hit your precious nuts, you numbsku–”

Hang on.

You locked eyes with Seokjin under you, who gawked back at you, absolutely terrified.

“… You are still a sub.”

Seokjin winced. “Ugh, it’s just… I’m getting older, alright? I can change my mind…”

You could get off him. You could let it be. You totally could.

But were you going to?

No.

You straddled his abdomen and brought his hands to his chest with a big grin. Seokjin’s eyes turned into giant brown saucers. He looked ready to pass out and not from your weight because you weren’t putting much weight on him.

“W-W-What are y-you d-doing?!” he shrieked.

You rapped him in the forehead. “Teaching. Pay attention. Hands up.”

“You aren’t taking your rings off?”

He was referring to the three silver rings you wore on a daily basis – an onyx stone on your left middle finger, a goat-head shaped ring on your right thumb, and a skull with a jester hat on your right ring finger.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why do I need to take them off?”

He lifted his hands and gave you an exaggerated shrug in between your thighs. Come to think of it, Seokjin had a rather broad chest so you had to spread your legs pretty wide to accommodate and hover over him.

Precarious.

“Ah, perfect.”

Your best friend yelped as you wrapped the rope around his wrists, leaving the end sticking out between them, first focusing on loosely binding. He tried to break away, but you harshly squeezed his sides with your thighs, narrowing your eyes.

“Stop squirming.”

He froze at your cold tone, shifting his eyes awkwardly.

“Watch. Now.”

His eyes immediately snapped to your hands.

“Wrists together.” You nudged them so the inner parts of the wrists were touching. “A little space in the center,” you added, looping out the end of the rope. “I’m just teaching you how I learned it, there are a few ways, but the details are important so you don’t prevent loss of circulation,” you added seriously, waiting for him to nod before continuing. “So, wind it around a couple times, but don’t overlap. Four or five?”

“But I can still get out.”

You glared at him. Seokjin shut up and jammed his plush pink lips together, shaking his head rapidly as if to say, who me? I wasn’t talking!

“Turn it ninety degrees like this,” you demonstrated. “And start going perpendicular to and in between the wrists to create the binding. Line up each coil side by side. Mind the starting end here. Then…” You reached for the scissors and snipped the excess away, dropping the rope and scissors beside you on the bed. “You tie it off on the outside. I use a square knot, so this end over this end, and then retie it the opposite way. Try to break free.”

Seokjin frowned at the red rope around his wrists, twisting it this way and that, squirming underneath your legs. You put your hands on your waist triumphantly, nodding to yourself in pride. You did a good job! It looked neat and it was inescapable without tightening on any blood vessels to cause any dangerous loss of circulation.

Hang on.

Seokjin froze.

You froze.

You both looked down.

You smacked him in the cheek.

“Ow!”

“What are you looking there for?!”

“Why did you hit me? Why do you always resort to violence?!” Seokjin accused, jabbing you underneath your breasts with his bound hands. “What is going on down there?”

“Nothing! Stop moving!”

“No!”

“You–”

You closed your thighs around Seokjin’s waist and sat down on him, causing him to gasp, wind knocked out of him as his diaphragm was pushed up into his lungs, struggling with the rope between his wrists and resorting to slamming them down on the bed above his head. You growled as you towered over him. He started yelling, as he always did.

“Yah!”

You slapped your free hand over his mouth.

“Silence.”

He glared at you behind your palm, breathing hard. You sat on top of him, breathing just as hard. He was bigger, strong, yes, but not in the position of power and – being honest, after all – your best friend was never really out to fight you and win. He was more of a ‘I’m-going-to-be-stupidly-annoying-until-you-do-what-I-want’ type, which made him rather childish in some ways. You were more of the ‘I’m-gonna-beat-your-ass’ type.

In conclusion, it was a healthy friendship.

Seokjin started licking your palm and making crazy eyes at you.

Your eye twitched.

“Stop it.”

Unsurprisingly, he did not, in fact, stop it.

“I said, stop it.”

And you slid down, past the wet spot now on his t-shirt, planting your soaked panties on top of his crotch, grinding down, and, yup, Seokjin bucked and yelped, immediately stopping and seizing up as if he could hide the massive erection that you had been willing to ignore but he was being a little – nah, actually, an extra-large, supersized – shit and it was getting on your last nerve, so what better way to resolve a wordless argument (on his part, heh) then humping his hard-on?

You removed your hand and Seokjin had a brief moment to gasp your name before you slid the pads of your fingers onto his tongue, rubbing it roughly and making his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“I told you to stop, but you aren’t listening,” you snarled.

Seokjin whimpered, brown orbs glassy, pupils blown out.

You stilled.

Hold on a second.

You had a brief epiphany where you realized you were grinding on your best friend’s dick with him tied up and you were wetter than the Yellow Sea. This wasn’t some guy you picked up at the night market that won you that sleeping Pikachu at the claw machines, only to chat him up and end up with bed with a guy who was – ack, never mind his age – anyway, this was your best friend.

Kim Seokjin.

Oh shit, I’ve gone too far.

You let go, backing up. “S… Sorry, I–”

But then Seokjin’s plush lips closed around your fingers, sucking hard and you choked slightly, feeling his hips roll and the tip of his clothed erection hit your covered clit. He was glaring at you. You gasped as his teeth gently but firmly caught your two fingers. It did hurt, but only a little. Mostly it sent a rush of rather uncomfortable and mind-boggling arousal racing from your knuckles to your core, drenching your panties further.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbled around your fingers.

Don’t stop?

DON’T STOP?

His teeth let go, panting, staring into your eyes.

“Don’t make this weird,” Seokjin muttered, shifting his gaze. “Don’t make this weird, okay?”

His brown eyes flickered back to you. His bound hands were still over his head, black hair flaring out of his pillows, white t-shirt messed up, still trapped between your thighs. You paused, fingers slipping out of his lips, the pads trailing on his lower lip, turning it glossy with his saliva.

Your heart was racing fast.

He furrowed his dark brows and, for the first time, his serious expression made you think that perhaps, maybe, there was a side of him down there, the other side to the coin.

“I just…” Seokjin exhaled slowly, not looking away from you. “I trust you to do this. You’re capable and knowledgeable. I know you are. Word gets around with your, er, habits with younger guys…”

You felt your cheeks heat and you scratched your head awkwardly.

“Anyway, it’s fine if you wanna… er… get off. With me. Because I’m so handsome and all.”

You were thiiiiiiis close to leaving out of sheer embarrassment that instantly dissipated at Seokjin’s sudden unexpected self-compliment. Instead, your eye twitched and you squinted in annoyance.

Seokjin coughed, ears singeing bright red. “Unless you can’t, of course. Because it’s easy to fall in love with me, and that would be very bad considering I don’t want to marry you–”

“I don’t want to marry you either,” you snapped. “You’re ugly.”

Seokjin gasped dramatically, highly offended. “How dare you–!”

He abruptly sat up and you twisted back, only for his arms to swing over your head and sandwich you between his tied wrists and his chest, ramming you back onto his lap and his hard dick. You hissed and bit down your moan, not willing to admit it was mildly turning you on, because of course neither you or Seokjin hated each other – only in that classic way best friends hate and love each other at the same time – and, yeah, sure, you could admit Seokjin was handsome and cute and fun to be around, but he wasn’t the one, not that you knew what the one was supposed to feel like or knew if you would ever feel such an intense, romantic love, but you had this strange idea that the one for you would be someone who could understand you on a different level, and you didn’t have that with Seokjin even if you did talk all the time. You were quite sure the feeling was mutual and now, looking into his brown eyes with a scowl, you saw that the feeling was indeed mutual.

Also, Seokjin was an immature shithead.

A loveable, worldwide handsome, immature shithead. Redeemable.

Still.

You were horny.

And Seokjin was horny.

You weren’t going to date Seokjin ever, but your best friend was hot as hell and you could definitely bang him without any regrets.

“Let’s fuck,” he breathed into your face.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t make it weird.”

Don’t make it weird, yeah, okaaay dude–

Your thoughts were suddenly cut off when Seokjin kissed you.

His forearms closed in behind your back and he pressed his bound wrists into your shoulder blades, pushing you into his solid chest and his embrace, taking your breath away. He always had good hugs, even if they were just to comfort you when your favorite flavor of ice lollys stopped being stocked at your local grocery store – still tragic to this day – and even when he was clinging onto you like a howling monkey because a cockroach was in the bathroom and he was screaming at you to kill it and nearly blowing out your eardrums, even then…

Now.

You closed your legs in around his hips and rolled your crotch into him, suddenly kissing him back.

He gasped into your mouth, your eyes half-opening, him gazing back at you, long lashes and dark eyebrows and glowing tan skin, holy shit, your best friend was handsome as fuck, why did other men even try when Kim Seokjin existed?

“Are you falling in love with me because I’m so handsome?” Seokjin teased, nipping at your lower lip.

Your eye twitched. Oh, yes, that’s right, because you’re annoying.

You shoved him and he yelped, clutching your back as you both fell onto the bed with a flump! You slid out from under his arms, skin prickling at Seokjin’s involuntary whine at your departure. Don’t make this weird, yeah, okay, don’t turn me on this much, dumbass, you are reminding me of… You pushed the thought away.

You didn’t want to think about other people when the person you were touching was right in front of you.

“What are you – yah!”

You gripped the waistband of his sweatpants and yanked down, exposing his underwear – bright blue, nice, nice – and his clothed erection, leaning in, hot breath ghosting over it, Seokjin jerking his arms about because he seemed undecided on either if he wanted to see or not see, but you let him deal with that in his own time, lowering your mouth, tongue extended, fingers splayed over his hips, silver rings glinting in his bedroom lights.

“You look like a demon,” you heard from above you.

You planted your tongue on the spot where the head of his cock would be and soaked it with saliva.

“F-Fuck!”

That shut him up real quick.

Your eyes drifted up, lapping slowly, barely stimulating the sensitive head through his underwear, closing your lips around it so the fabric clung wetly to the taut skin underneath. His cock swelled and twitched under your mouth; the action was mirrored by Seokjin’s jaw. He was clenching it along with his hands balled into fists, gasping for breath.

“O-Oh, f-fuck…!”

You were beginning to get the hint with each passing second of working your tongue around his rapidly hardening cock. Seokjin had put himself in the sub category when you asked back then because he liked to things being done for him. It was less about the mental aspect and more of the physical acts of service in his case. However, he wasn’t very good at articulating what he wanted and thus the natural pattern of someone just doing it led to, ah, exhibit A.

You currently parting your lips and letting your tongue snake out, coating the length with saliva.

But.

You could see it in his eyes, that burning intensity.

Maybe part of it was because it was you. He probably didn’t have those butterfly jitters of trying to woo a stranger or the nervousness of looking bad in the honeymoon phase of a relationship. There was already a level of comfort – and the ability to readily shit-talk each other at any moment – and so Seokjin was free to relax, even if it was a bizarre situation of sexual discovery.

“Take it off,” he growled.

Your fingers creeped up his sides, hooking over his boxer briefs. Slow, deliberate, kissing up his length, on the tightrope, dominant in your control, submissive in the action, raising your head so Seokjin could lift his hips, feathering kisses on the exposed skin and making him hiss and shudder, eyelids fluttering, slipping into subservience a little.

At the end of the day, who killed the unwanted bugs in your shared apartment?

Yeah, you.

“Oh, f… fucking shit…”

You tilted your head and ran your tongue up and down the length, licking up the sides and circling around the thick head, bordering on frustratingly soft, switching to wet, sloppy kisses when his hands raised, making him pause, gazing down at you curiously and attentively, entranced by the action. You ducked down, tongue slurping around his balls, lifting his cock, kissing, sucking, eyes closing, tip of your wet muscle drawing zig-zag patterns that soft skin.

Seokjin moaned your name.

A shiver of electricity went up your spine.

Alright, fine, you were getting turned on.

You wrapped your lips around his balls and enveloped them both with your mouth.

“Whoa!”

You opened your eyes to see Seokjin staring wide-eyed at you, hands straight up to stare at you between his upper arms. You almost laughed at the hilarious triangular-looking pose, but your mouth was currently full, so you restrained yourself.

“That’s possible?! You can put both nuts in your mouth at the same time?!”

Uh.

Where you supposed to respond with your cheeks stuffed with his nutties?

You hummed casually in response.

“A-Ah…!”

Seokjin gasped at the vibrations and the movement of your tongue slapping all over them, short, rapid licks all over his skin, watching him with a cocked eyebrow, but he didn’t even notice, hands dropping and moaning to the ceiling, his eyes closing and savoring the hot wet warmth and the power of your mouth, shivering as your hand slowly stroked his length in time with your tongue.

You let him bask in it before detaching and swallowing his cock.

“Gah!”

Seokjiinie, you thought wryly, we gotta work on your repertoire of sex sounds.

You spied him looking down at you, so you paused around the swollen head and slid your tongue out, circling and wrapping around his length while sucking on the tip and rubbing the back of your tongue along the underside.

Seokjin made a bunch of weird croaking noises that were, strangely, rather attractive. Okay, you could admit it. You were kind of a sucker for your best friend in the most platonic way possible… while in the middle of sucking his dick.

What?

He was handsome!

You began to bob your head up and down, tongue and lips descending, taking him deep so you kissed the base of his cock, head buried in your throat, waiting for him to glance down at you, hazy brown orbs under lush lashes, and you would peek your tongue out and lap at his balls, interrupting the tightness, causing him to swear and jerk his hips up, urging you to keep consistent speed and pace, all the while watching every single movement of your tongue. You kept this irregular pace, slow, then fast, then slow again when he looked at you, then fast when the ecstasy was too much and he closed his eyes, over and over. You could see that a battle was being waged Seokjin’s pretty head, between wanting to observe the lewdness of you licking his balls with his hard cock buried in your throat while also desperately needing to get to the fuck off.

“You… bitch… suck me off properly, fuck…”

You raised all the way so only the head was in your mouth and sucked, rubbing up and around it, swirling all over, teasing the slit and soaking the sensitive skin, rutting it against the roof of your mouth and Seokjin groaned, pressing his head back into the pillows, black hair covering his eyes, fists pressed to his chest.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please, let me cum!”

His hips rammed up and you dug your nails into them, wincing as the head hit the top of your throat and slid down, cutting off your air, and then he began to thrust erratically, the position, inability to use his hands as leverage, and your resistance not letting him set up a good rhythm. You had to force him back down, popping your mouth off, snarling.

“I’m gonna gag if you do that! You want me to vomit on your dick or what?”

But all of a sudden Seokjin sat up again, grabbing your pajama shirt and yanking you to him, saliva dripping down your chin and then it was on his chin, a messy, savage kiss, ravenous need in his actions, pulling you to him, close, closer, you twisting and then gasping as he pushed one of your thighs down, planting your soaked panties on the exposed part of his thigh.

“Ah, Seok–”

He attacked your lips again with a light growl, sparks shooting across your skin, his thigh rising and bouncing you both on the bed, his legs still tangled in his pants and underwear but the effect was undeniable.

Seokjin was making you ride his thigh.

Whoa.

He bit your lower lip and sucked hard, your eyes fluttering closed, hips rocking, heat turning hotter, wet turning wetter, your sticky, sweet juices clinging to his upper thigh, your own pressed against his saliva-covered cock, wrapping your arms around him, close, closer, you thrusting your tongue in his mouth and him moaning before he did the same to you, starting a tug of war, rubbing harder against his skin, his muscle tensing against your covered clit, friction and wetness everywhere, too many clothes and no eye contact, one of your hands slipping into his black locks and tilting his head, deepening the kiss and inhaling his exhale, shuddering at the erotic nature of the moment.

He mumbled your name against your lips, still clutching your pajamas, stars bunched in his hands, fingertips pressed into the curve of your breasts.

“Can I try the rope tying now?” Seokjin whispered, voice gravelly and low.

-

“Excuse me?”

There was a ripped-open condom wrapper sitting on the bed.

“What?”

Your pajama shirt, bra, and panties were on the floor, along with Seokjin’s shirt, sweatpants, and underwear.

“Why are you – gah!”

You sucked in a breath as you sank down on his cock. Fuck, it was tight, tight as you lowered yourself onto his hips, Seokjin gasping and clutching the long length of red cotton rope that you had carefully untied from his wrists. You had even taken the extra step to massage them afterward, not that he needed it because of your careful work – good job, past you – but he appreciated it all the same, because deep down Kim Seokjin was a prince.

“Oh my God, you’re so tight, shit, shit, shit…”

You neglected to tell your best friend that you were both low-key proud of and turned on by your own ability to take dick without much foreplay. That little edge of tightness added just the right amount of spice of pain that amplified to the pleasure.

Okay.

And yes, you felt a special kind of glee as you witnessed Seokjin’s stunned shock and near passed-out expression from being inside you.

You held out your wrists and grinned. “Go ahead. Tie me up.”

Seokjin gawked at you like you had three heads.

You squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, tilting your head with a devilish grin.

“God, you’re so hot, but you look crazy,” he wheezed.

Your grin dropped and your eye twitched. “Is that supposed to be a compliment or…?”

Seokjin shrugged, and moved your hands so they were in the better position for him. Much to your annoyance, he didn’t elaborate.

“Um, let’s see, you left a bit out to use as a tie and…”

You began to rock your hips.

“H-Hey!”

The side of your lips curved upward. “What? We’re multitasking.”

“We–?” Seokjin choked, gritting his teeth as you pulsed around his hard length, rolling your hips gently, adjusting until you found a comfortable spot so the head hit you in just the right spot, ah, yes, right there, spreading your fingers out over his chest, leaning your forehead against his, not quite going full force but a slow, deliberate rhythm that wasn’t going to make either of you cum, but, damn, did it feel good.

Seokjin shuddered, gasping your name.

“Tie me up, Seokjin,” you murmured back, caressing his skin.

His eyes darted up, saturated with lust, searching your eyes, and you gazed back.

You could be a real jerk right now.

His hot exhale washed over your lips, a shudder of nervousness.

But this was your best friend, and he was trusting you.

You tilted your head and kissed him softly, flush against his plush lips.

“Come on,” you nudged his nose lightly. “Do it.”

You viewed him from under your lashes. He shivered. Almost.

He needed only one more little push.

“Want you, Seokjinnie,” you breathed against his skin, hints of need and desperation in your voice.

A small smile danced on his lips, staring into your eyes.

You might have fallen for him a little bit in that moment.

“Okay.”

He kissed the side of your mouth, a teasing little peck, and you smirked, turning your head so you wouldn’t break the image you had created for him, but he was already looking down, busily occupied with your wrists, so you drew back, focusing instead on riding him, closing your eyes. You built a leisurely, pleasurable pace, leaning forward a bit to rub your clit against the base of his cock, sighing contentedly at the way he filled you, a wonderful, thick, satisfying girth that you could get used to, other than the fact that most of the time Seokjin drove you up the wall, but, hey, maybe if both of you reached a certain age and you were still single, maybe you could marry your best friend solely for having accessible dick…

“Ah! Perfect.”

You cracked open one eye.

And tried not to burst out laughing.

“Erm… well…” you coughed, tugging at the rope a little. It looked messy and rather hideous, parts overlapping and twisting awkwardly, but he had the… basic idea? It wasn’t like you were going to do anything dumb anyway, so it was pretty good for a first time.

Seokjin frowned. “I don’t know how you did it so neatly…”

“You line up the coils next to each other – ah!”

He seemed to think that was good enough and grabbed handfuls of your ass, causing you to tip forward and brace your hands against his chest, gasping as his hips thrust up into you, abrupt pleasure blooming up your core, sudden squelch of wetness between your joined hips.

“Come on,” he grunted, clenching his jaw, tone getting deeper and more dangerous with each word. “I have to get off, and now.”

He smacked his hands down on your ass and you almost whimpered.

Almost.

Seokjin drew back a little, giving you a strange look.

“W… What?” you managed to get out.

He tilted his head. “Do you like that?”

You almost said, no, of course not, but you stopped yourself, looking down at the red rope tied around your wrists, heat flaring in your cheeks, ass stinging slightly from his slap.

His cock twitched inside you.

Your eyes flickered up to him. A sly smirk danced on your lips.

“Yeah. I like the things you do to me.”

You saw Seokjin pause, brown eyes widening a little, black hair over his forehead.

You pushed him down on the bed. He gasped, but he was used to it now, gripping your ass and tipping his head back as you began to really ride him, waving your hips to ram his cock into your pussy, not even noticing the moan seeping from your lips, fuck, it was good, fulfilling and deep, your bound hands on his chest, fingers spread out and nails digging into his skin a little, but Seokjin seemed to be into it, his own nails sinking into your ass, pushing you down with every descent, hitting you harder, rougher, intensifying the pleasure, building onto it. Hot breath, warm skin, joined hips, loud slaps, rocking bedframe, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, gazing at each other through half-lidded eyes, not quite seeing each other but drowning in the gratification, the roughness, gasping sharply as his open palm smacked down on your ass again, making it bounce and jiggle in his hands, your core and thighs squeezing tighter, witnessing his tight hiss of desire, mesmerized by your sound so he did it again, spanking the other cheek, and you did it again, whimper creeping out, arousal consuming his handsome features, intoxicated by your reaction to his action so he did it again and again, hard, stinging slaps as you rode his stiff, quivering cock harder and faster, fuck, Seokjin must be incredibly turned on because he was so fucking hard, just so incredibly sexy how hard he was right now, even the pain was nothing but an injection of added carnal pleasure, throwing your head back and sinking your nails into his skin, fucking him recklessly, forgetting about hiding your moans, who the fuck cared, not you and not him because Seokjin too was crying out, the sinful sound of sex echoing off his bedroom walls, except instead of you in your bedroom putting headphones on to drown him out, you were in his bedroom, doing it, fucking the daylights out of him.

Alright.

You could see why girls wanted to date your best friend now.

Seokjin was a loud dork, but he had a great dick.

“F-Fuck, Seokjin, fuck!”

He had a similar response, although it was more a choked garble of your name mixed with, “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

You must really be drunk on his dick because even that turned you on and tipped you over the edge.

Your thighs tensed and you moaned deeply, tucking your chin down and spreading your palms onto his pecs, wrists straining against the cotton rope, a rapid torrent of adrenaline soaring through you and then you smacked your ass down onto Seokjin’s crotch, whining as you came in vicious pulses of pleasure, clenching around his jerking length and you realized Seokjin was clutching your ass, pinning it down so you couldn’t move, shooting his release into the condom, so much that you felt his cock shudder and throb inside you, head buried in your deepest, most pleasurable spot, you feeling all of him and him feeling all of you.

Holy shit.

You almost saw stars.

“Hah… wow… I guess I can’t blame younger dudes for wanting this pussy…”

Your eyes weren’t open but your eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

“Shut up, Seokjin.”

-

“Come on, man! Look what you did!” Seokjin barked accusingly, pointing to his chest with red indents of your rings.

“Excuse me? I’m the one who has scratches and a bruised ass!”

“You’ve marred my beautiful skin! I should fine you!”

“Where’s that fuckin’ whip – get your naked ass back here, Kim Seokjin!”

-

Hm, well, maybe you would find your true love some other time. Maybe try gambling?

--

masterpost

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter 3: Happy Little Accidents (Identities)

Prev

AO3

@maribat-bdbwm

Marinette stared at the man in front of her, trying not to let her jaw drop. Sure she’d seen pictures of Bruce Wayne last night, Adrien made sure she was well educated on the man’s less than ideal fashion choices. But his choice of a sharp suit or his eyes that too closely matched hers weren’t why her jaw dropped. No, her jaw dropped because-

“Batman!” She says, in a wonderful moment of word association added to the man’s height and build. Mr. Wayne’s eyebrow quirks up and Marinette’s face instantly turns bright red as she hears the snickers of her classmates around her. Marinette immediately wishes that they would have left her and gone back to the bus without her, but no such luck. Instead they got to see her embarrass herself in front of her bio dad for the first time. Not that they knew that, but still. It was the principle of the thing. 

“I-” Mr. Wayne starts, but she cuts him off. 

“Oh, no, oh my god, I’m- no, I’m so, so sorry. I just, you’re- and you- and well yesterday, um, so I just, you seemed really familiar and I saw Batman yesterday so I said it and I shouldn't have and I'm so sorry I'm just freaking out cause my bi- ohhhhh….I mean-” Marinette rambles on, her blush darkening as she tries and fails to let out a coherent sentence in front of the man. She’s mercifully saved by the sharp blare of an akuma alert, the phones of every one of her classmates blaring at the same time. Mr. Wayne and the other employees in the lobby of Wayne Enterprises look confused, but Marinette is relieved. 

“What-” Mr. Wayne tries to ask, but is cut off yet again. 

“Oh well that’s not good gotta go call Paris-bye!” She yells, rushing away from the group and towards the bathrooms. She groans at the look Kaalki give her when she opens her purse. 

“That was a disaster.” They say simply with an unamused face. Marinette groans again. 

“Please don’t remind me. Tikki, spots on! Tikki, Kaalki, unify!” Marinette yells before calling a portal and falling into Paris, the awkward situation pushed to the back of her mind while she pours her focus into her Ladybug duties. 

---

Bruce Wayne was confused. And worried. But mostly confused. Or, the confusion overweighed the worry until he asked about the alarm on the French class’ phones. That’s when the worry began to take center stage. A supervillian? In Paris? For almost two years? Why was the League not informed? 

“Um, would you like to watch the battle, Monsieur Wayne?” A blonde boy asks, holding his phone out and rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous fashion. Bruce studies the boy for a moment and recognizes him as the one who hugged Miss Dupain Cheng the day prior. His daughter. Who is currently living in a city with a supervillain and no League intervention. Nodding, Bruce takes the phone and watches the battle, his horror growing. There was one hero, rushing around the scene, one of her pigtails singed and soot covering her face. What the hell kind of villain was this? And why did the hero look so small? Bruce flinches as the hero, Ladybug the comments called her, is thrown against a building roughly. He waits with baited breath until she stands back up, her face set in a grimace before she went on the offense with a vengenace. 

“Who is this villain? I’ve never heard of them?” Bruce asks Adrien, not bothering to look away from the fight. 

“I don’t know this one’s name, Akumas all have different names and powers.” Adrien replies. Bruce’ gaze snaps up to meet Adrien’s as his blood runs cold. All. As in, multiple. 

“How many villains?” He asks, thankful that his newly discovered daughter is currently in Gotham instead of Paris, a sentiment he never expected with the crime rates of his beloved city. 

“Oh, there’s only one villain. Hawkmoth. Akumas are just people who’ve had a bad day.” Adrien explains as if it’s a simple concept. 

“And what does that mean?” Bruce asks, feeling frustration creep into his neutral posture. 

“It means that what you’re seeing right now is a normal citizen who’s being controlled. Hawkmoth…. He has the power to control anyone who shows an extreme negative emotion. Heartbreak, anger, sadness, lonelines, anything negative can be used against you. We, Paris that is, don’t blame those who were akumatized. They can’t even remember what they did when they were under his control. It wouldn’t be fair to hold them accountable.” Adrien explains, and Bruce can’t help the feeling of complete and total helplessness that rushes over him. If he went to Paris, even with the intention of helping the hero in order to protect his daughter, he could become an even bigger obstacle. He could hurt her. He could hurt others. 

“Is that why the Justice League isn’t there?” Bruce asks, slightly amused at Adrien’s face rapidly changing from understanding to shocked. 

“I-um, probably? If you want more information, miraculousparis.org or the Ladyblog would be your best places for information.” Adrien offers. Bruce nods, mentally making a note to check out those sites later. 

“Very well. Thank you. I hope the rest of your trip to Gotham is enjoyable.” Bruce says, careful not to slip into a threatening tone. The boy hadn’t done anything to him, and while he might want to play the protective father, he knew it wasn’t his right. Not yet, anyways. Now he had a supervillain to destroy from behind the scenes. 

---

Opening a portal into her hotel room, Marinette sighs tiredly. The battle had been tiring, especially since she was on her own. Chat Noir had some kind of trip that he couldn’t get out of and had aplogized endlessly for it. She had reassured him that she could do it, but now… she knew she could do it but she really missed her partner. Letting both transformations drop, she sighs, relieved that the odd number of girls in their class allowed her to have her own room. Until a gasp filled her ears. She instantly shifts into a fighting position, shoulders tense as she stares at-

“Adrien?!” She yells in shock and confusion. What was he doing? In her hotel room? Without her? How did he even get a key? How was she supposed to explain this? Well, he did know the basics from his time as Aspik but-

“But you’re Multimouse!” Adrien yells before clapping his hand over his mouth, his cheeks instantly turning red. Marinette’s eyes widen. 

“How do you know about that?” She asks, panic rushing through her system. 

“Oh my god.” Adrien says, his eyes widening as he glances from Marinette to Tikki and back again. “Oh my god.”

“Please don’t tell anyone! I know you don’t owe me anything, but I just really don’t know if I can handle being the center of attention and then my family would be in danger and I know they wouldn’t approve because it’s dangerous and I-”

“THE TWO GIRLS I HAVE A CRUSH ON ARE THE SAME GIRL?” Adrien says, his eyes wide as he cuts off her rambling. 

“I- wait what?” Marinette sputters, completely shocked at this turn of events. 

“Well I’ve had a crush on Ladybug for forever and then like a month ago, I was talking to Plagg about how mad it made me that people weren’t listening to you and how hurt you were by the whole high road advice which was, honestly, not my best moment. And somehow, I started ranting about how pretty your eyes are and how kind and amazing you are and so then Plagg told me that that’s a crush, and I thought he was wrong. Until I saw you the next day and realized that he was right but then I felt bad because I felt like I was betraying Ladybug by having a crush on you instead, but Ladybug is you. Which makes sense, now that I think about it and-” Adrien’s cut off by Marinette covering his mouth with her hand, desperate to get him to stop talking. 

“Plagg?” She asks, jumping back from him as the Kwami flies out from Adrien’s pocket. 

“Good job kid, you broke pigtails.” He says, gesturing at Marinette who suddenly felt like the human version of the windows error screen. Could this trip get any weirder?

Next

Tag List: @vixen-uchiha @liquid-luck-00 @stainedglassm @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks 

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing vii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 4, 627

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

Despite being friends with three (well, now four) people on the football team—you didn’t fancy attending football games at all. It was highly unlike the usual scene you were comfortable with. It was loud, rowdy and people didn’t understand the concept of personal space when they’d shove and push others aside just to get a better glimpse of the players on the field.

Yet, you attended every single one of the football games—and you were a familiar enough face that the coach smiles at you when you hover outside the changing rooms; a simple request from the captain himself.

You’re a little shocked at yourself at the fact that you had no idea who Namjoon was prior to his introduction. He was the captain of the current football team, which apparently, throughout your college’s history—brought the most wins ever. And, he was also well-known that lecturers applauded him for his impeccable work-to-life balance.

Somehow, the divulgence of your own thoughts makes you frown. Because perhaps you were truly anti-social. You weren’t even acquainted with common school affairs in spite of being apart of the student council.

Maybe Jungkook was right.

You don’t dwell too much on your thoughts because you’re unable to, not when the door slams open and bodies of college men pour out with large shouts and their padded shoulders—looking very much prepared for their game.

The anxiety settles into the pit of your stomach when you realise you stick out like a sore thumb. The jeans and white top you were wearing was quite a typical outfit to wear to a game, with the addition of ironically—a baseball jacket. But when you were definitely smaller than the footballers; it was hard not to feel out of place.

Especially when they look you over before continuing out to the field. While you attended games before, you were never asked to meet in the changing rooms. Jimin and Taehyung knew well enough not to ask you, and Jungkook … well. You were always his dirty little secret, weren’t you?

And you see Jungkook first, grinning like a madman when another footballer brings him into a headlock and hollers something you assume is their hype-cheer.

It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Things were meant to have been settled, but the tight feeling in your chest when you look at him only reminds you that some things were hard to erase.

Before you can look away, Jungkook spots you—and he pushes the arms of his teammate off ever so slightly before turning to him and muttering a few words before he’s stalking towards you.

Your eyes widen, definitely not expecting him to pay you any mind.

“You’re here?” He furrows his brows.

You clear your throat, and you realise navigating a conversation with him after what’s transpired is much harder than you expected it to be. The fact that he was so casual about it when he left you with a kiss on your forehead makes you even more conflicted.

“I am.” You mumble. “I told you, remember?”

Jungkook blinks as if he remembers something, and his expression hardens ever so slightly before he’s schooling his features.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “I knew that. Just didn’t know you’d be … here.”

Here was probably referring to standing outside the changing rooms, and you can’t help but flush at the declaration.

“Um, yeah. Namjoon—” Before you can finish your sentence, you see the captain heading towards you with a large grin; looking over Jungkook for a brief moment.

“You’re here!” His words are exactly the same as Jungkook’s, but it evokes a different set of emotions in your chest.

You smile as sincerely as you can, which is proven difficult when you can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you.

“I am.” And you repeat the same thing you said to Jungkook. It feels odd, but you push the feelings aside. “Good luck, you.”

You offer a small punch to his shoulder, an awkward attempt at supporting him and you almost apologise but Namjoon smiles even wider.

His hand reaches out to your hair, gently patting it as he looks at you fondly. You don’t think anyone’s ever treated you so … tenderly before, not upfront and after one meeting at least. And you’re definitely flustered.

“Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here.” His dimples are on full show when he looks down at you with a kind gaze.

You clear your throat and look away, hoping the dim lights didn’t amplify the blush on your cheeks.

“Of course. We have that exhibition next to look forward to if all else goes South.” You grin cheekily up at him, words still soft.

You hope that your joke doesn’t rub him the wrong way, and it doesn’t because he snorts in response. All while Jungkook is silent.

“That’s a win itself, isn’t it?” He says smoothly, and your eyes widen at his blatant—or at least you think—flirting.

And before you can splutter a response, Jungkook is nudging Namjoon’s arm with his shoulder, the movement slightly rougher with his shoulder pads in place.

“We gotta go, Cap,” Jungkook says stiffly.

Namjoon doesn’t realise the hostility in his tone, but you do. And you frown ever so slightly, but you cover it up when Namjoon looks over at you with an apologetic expression.

“I’ll see you after the game?” He asks, eyes lighting up.

Your lips tilt upwards and you nod your head.

“Yeah.”

Namjoon jogs off first, not before grabbing his protective gear as Jungkook lingers ever so slightly, stuttering in his feet as you have the vision of his back towards you.

You’re about to head towards the bleachers, a spot that Namjoon purposefully reserved for you with help of his coach; but Jungkook turns around and his face is hesitant.

“Will you …” He swallows as you raise an eyebrow at his uncertainty. “Will you cheer for me?”

The question is odd, especially when you know that he’s aware that you were here for Namjoon. Usually, that would imply that you were rooting for him. But, you’ve never been able to say no to Jungkook. Not even when you want him to feel the same hurt you’ve felt.

“What friends are for, right?” You mumble, eyes darting to the ground for a second until you look back up at him again.

What you don’t say is that friends don’t do the things we did, or that there was no manual to teach you how to navigate the throes of your relationship after everything that’s happened. Nor do you tell Jungkook that you’re always cheering him on, but you can’t do it outwardly. Not tonight. Not for a while, too.

Jungkook’s face falls obscurely, but he forces a tight smile before grabbing his protective gear too.

“I’ll look for you,” Jungkook says.

Then he’s off, with a squeeze to your shoulder that leaves your heart feeling a lot heavier.

You ended up sitting next to the school photographer, who you now know as Yena. Prior to this, you’ve heard the student reporter club have a few intense individuals apart of them—word you heard from Yoongi, the President himself—and he was already as intimidating as one could get. But there was Yena, who essentially made people cower in fear when they’d make eye contact with her.

“What are you doing here?” Is the first thing she asks when you slide into your seat. Her tone isn’t condescending, neither was it purposely made to make you feel uncomfortable. Rather, she asked it in a rather bored tone—as if there were better things she could be doing.

“Um.” You squeak.

Yena rolls her eyes, “Relax. I’m not going to bite your head off despite my grotesque appearance. Ever heard of a conversation starter?”

You blink.

“You’re very pretty.” You say softly.

Yena narrows her eyes at you for what seems like forever as you clear your throat. Then, she snorts before patting you on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean objectively ugly, sweetheart.”

The tilt of her lips make your ears flush and you never found yourself downright intimidated by someone, but there was something about her that made you want to listen to her.

“O-Oh.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re too nice, _____. Has anyone ever told you that?” She emphasises her point with a tilt of her head.

“N-Not really …” You mumble.

She sighs as she kicks her feet on top of the railings in front of her while her eyes follow the line of footballers that pour onto the field, already moving towards a group huddle.

Her camera is already in her hands when she snaps the shot like second nature, before plopping back into her seat.

“Well, you are. People are gonna eat you alive, you know?” She says pointedly.

You fiddle with your fingers before you find the courage to look at her.

“How did you know who I was?” You wonder out loud with furrowed brows.

Yena scoffs before turning to look at you with a blank expression. And it’s the worst part in you that makes you think that you’ve said something wrong.

“You’re kidding, right?” She deadpans. “Girl who made honours three years in a row? First female student council president? Lecturers pet? Curve-setter? The list goes on, really.”

You flush as you turn your head away.

“I didn’t mean …” You mutter.

She waves you off. “You don’t have to sound so guilty about it. You’re smart and you’re capable. Own it.” She shrugs.

You blink up at her with wide eyes, and for the first time; she properly looks at you and your surprised expression.

“Thank you.” You say softly.

When a whistle blows, the game has somehow started and you have half the mind to begin cheering like the rest of the crowd. But the awkward part of you remains rooted in position.

“So.” Yena leans in with a grin on her face. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

It’s … odd. Purely because you’ve never spoken to her before and you’ve briefly heard about her in passing when you communicate with Yoongi on pastoral affairs. And for someone to speak to you so freely and casually, like you’ve been friends for years—feels nice.

And it’s probably also because you didn’t have any girl friends that you could really trust. People on campus were … they were mean and they usually wanted something from you, whether it was to get to one of your friends or get insights on events so they’d get a boost on their reputation.

“Earth to _____?” She drawls.

You snap your head towards her and your ears turn red once again.

“There’s isn’t … any guy.” You confess.

Yena snorts as if she doesn’t believe you.

“Really now?” Her grin approaches a smile when she rests her chin on her palm. “You know not just anyone sits here, right?”

You shrug. “What about you? Who’s the lucky guy?”

She blinks, then leans back before kicking one leg across her other.

“Photographer pros. Or cons. Especially if you consider watching disgusting men sweat and chase after balls is something to be grateful for.” She rolls her eyes.

You laugh when she complains, and it’s likely the first time you’ve relaxed your shoulders around her.

“That does sound kind of gross.”

She nods her head as if to say right, before offering you a cheeky grin.

Then, her eyes zero onto the field, then back to your face—and eventually back to the field before she hops off her seat once again; waving her camera to signal you that she was going to carry out her duties.

You think Yena’s cool. A little intense, and kind of scary—but a nice person nevertheless. Maybe you were a blind optimist that saw the good in everyone, but there was something about her that you really liked. The kind of person you wish you could become.

The cheers get immensely louder, especially when you note that Jungkook’s scored a goal—his beaming expression displayed on the big screen while you hear girls and guys alike cheering his name.

It’s times like this where you’re reminded of how different you were from him. While he received praise and approval from the masses and was born to be loved by them. You were quite the opposite; the cheerer and the supporter but never quite the one receiving it.

His eyes skim the crowd, and you can see from the screen that his brows furrow ever so slightly. But he’s quick to return to his groove, fist-bumping a teammate along the way.

You sigh because even when you weren’t intentionally looking for him it’s like your heart only wants you to see what’s familiar. And funnily enough, the hurt is familiar too.

In the middle of it all, you try your best to smile—and throw in a small whoop on your own, hoping to blend in but be present enough to be heard.

Yena returns only when it’s half-time, her own body covered in sweat while she huffs, slapping a stray strand of hair away from her face.

“God. You’d think they’d slow down after fifteen minutes but nooo. They have to go flex on their fragile masculinities because they think growling and ripping off their shirts is peak alpha male character.” Yena mutters and it’s the first thing you hear from her.

You offer her a sympathetic smile before digging into your bag and pulling out a handkerchief, one that you always carry around.

“Here.” You smile at her toothily.

Yena eyes the fabric sceptically before looking at your face and back to the handkerchief.

“You sure?”

You nod your head, jutting out your hand once more to emphasise your point.

“Ah. I can see why Namjoon nabbed you up.” Yena coos, ruffling your hair as your eyes widen.

“H-How—?”

“How did I know? Well besides the fact that my job is to literally stick with the team and capture moments and make them look pretty—I’m nosey.” Yena shrugs and your face pales. “Oh, and I saw you guys at the changing room too.”

If she saw … that meant—

“Thought you were with the meathead Jeon for a moment.” Yena snorts.

Your eyes dart down to your lap, and Yena picks up on your silence immediately. But unlike the conventional person; despite her curiousity, she respected your privacy more. So she doesn’t, she just offers you a smile and a nudge to your shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Yena assures, sighing as the voices of the footballers fill your area as they come up for refreshment. “He’s nice.” You weren’t sure who she was referring to so you just nod.

“Yena—pass me a bottle!” A boy calls, and you half expect her to do so, but instead, she delivers him one better—a middle finger.

“Get it your self you dickwad!” Yena calls back.

Your eyes widen when you turn your head to look at her, completely unbothered when the footballer shoots daggers at her nonchalant figure.

“Men. Think you always owe them something.” She scoffs.

You find yourself unconsciously nodding your head, and once again Yena recognises the gesture but doesn’t mention anything.

Instead, she turns towards you and levels you with a wide grin of her own.

“You’re cool. We should hang out.”

The declaration makes your eyes widen even more and you realise how much you’ve fumbled and made yourself look … stiff the entire time you were attempting to converse with Yena. But she seemed to be unbothered, and the thought makes you excited.

“We should?” You parrot with a squeak.

She nods and you’re still finding it hard to process the fact that she’d brought that up out of the blue.

You weren’t bad company. But you were … you.

“You’re like Ms Bona Fide.” Yena tuts. “People these days are either out to please or to receive.”

You furrow your brows.

“And I’m … not?” You say softly.

“You’re present.” Yena shrugs and throws you an easy-going smile.

God. She was so cool.

Namjoon scores the final goal.

You expect him to call the hangout off because, well, he’d closed the game and he was the captain. It was only normal that he’d want to celebrate.

So when Yena nudges your shoulders while your head is bent and focused on your mobile device, you slowly looked up with furrowed brows to see her cocking her head to the side with a knowing grin on her face.

And you see Namjoon, out of his gear and in a plain t-shirt and sweats while he waves at you.

You can’t help but gape at him.

“I see you’ve surrendered to good company instead of a zoo.” Yena greets Namjoon first with a snort.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and you gauge that they’re at least well-acquainted. Acquainted enough that Namjoon subtly tries to flick her off, but you catch the gesture as soon as it comes.

“Promises are promises.” Namjoon shrugs as if he wasn’t aware that you were still gaping at him. Mouth open like a fish out of the water.

“Well—be nice, captain.” Yena whistles, throwing her camera into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder before she turns to look at you, a gentle nudge with her shoulder to yours as she levels you with an intentional look in her eyes.

“Don’t start any fights, Yena.” Namjoon gently chides, but his tone is joking.

Yena waves him off, then waves at you one last time, leaning down to whisper something into your ear that has you flushing.

“Tell me how it goes when we hang out.”

And she leaves you with a keen sense of excitement on the prospect of a new friend like her to look forward to hanging out with.

Namjoon looks over at you, and gently reaches for the tote bag you’ve slung over your shoulder as he tugs it off you with a soft pull.

“Let me.” His smile is all teeth and dimpled grins when you reluctantly let him take your bag from you.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyes attempting to look at him but his gaze is so focused on yours that you find it difficult to make eye contact.

“We’ve got an exhibition to go to, don’t we?”

You nod your head enthusiastically as he chuckles, allowing you to lead the way as you find a little prep in your steps. It was nice. Having a friend like Namjoon.

“Captain’s not coming?” Yugyeom groans, ruffling his hair with a towel as the rest of the footballers filter out of the changing room.

Jimin snorts in response. “No. He’s got a date.” The emphasis on the word date is obvious in the immature sense, evoking wide eyes as responses.

“He bailed on us for some pussy?!” Yugyeom cries.

Jungkook has to clench his fists by his side when he hears how his teammate casually referred to you as just some pussy. You weren’t just … that.

“Watch your tone,” Jimin growls, and Jungkook’s thankful that Jimin was more of the confrontational type and didn’t allow shit like this to slide easily. Especially when it came to you. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

Yugyeom’s eyes widened before gawking at the blonde boy.

“You mean Namjoon is going on a date with _____?” The rest of the footballers murmur in response, possibly out of confusion. “How did they—doesn’t she not … date?”

Jimin sighs, already ready with a response on the tip of his tongue but Jeonghan, the keeper interjects.

“Wait, I was under the impression that she and Jeon were a thing?”

At the mention of his name tangled with yours, Jungkook, who has been relatively silent throughout, freezes as his hands stop rummaging through his duffel bag while he tries to ignore the inquisitive stares he’s receiving from his teammates.

“W-What?” Jungkook stutters caught off guard.

Yugyeom narrows his eyes at the boy, while Jimin silently observes with an unreadable expression.

“Now that you mention it …” He trails off, head tilting upwards as if he was deep in thought. “I did always see the two of them alone with each other.”

Jungkook clears his throat as he lets out a nervous chuckle, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck.

“We’re friends,” Jungkook says stiffly and he hopes it’s believable, despite his hoarse voice. “Friends hang out.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Or she’s a two-timer.”

This time, Jungkook can’t keep his face neutral.

“Talk about her like that one more time and I’ll make sure you never speak again.” He growls to the other boy, whose eyes widen in response.

“I was kidding—” He raises his hands in defense but Jungkook is shoving the remainder of his belongings into his duffel bag before hauling it over his shoulder and storming out of the room, ears burning in both frustration and anger.

“You don’t joke about this type of shit,” Jungkook mutters under his breath right as he leaves the rest of the members brewing with confused expressions as they look at one another with concerned expressions.

Namjoon, as expected, is a museum enthusiast. That much you could assess when he was excitedly chirping about how much he appreciated all types of art, abstract, modern and contemporary and vintage—you name it and he could likely give you a break down of the nuances behind styles and techniques.

He is also great company. Namjoon is a comfortable line between involved and chivalrous, never pushing farther than what you were able to offer but engaging you in insightful discussions that you found yourself being intrigued by.

While you expected more … forward gestures, Namjoon is respectful and you’re surprised but not really. He was mannered encompassed into human form.

So, when the security guard informs you that the exhibition was over and that the two were the last guests in the hall—the two of you reluctantly had to bring your night to an end.

“That was fun,” Namjoon says once the two of you exit the hall, just two figures in the night who have thousands of words to say about the masterpieces you’ve witnessed.

“Honestly, I was already looking forward to it but seeing the pieces the art students curated in person was just another type of euphoria.” You confess.

Namjoon nods in agreement. “I totally agree. You can just tell that they’ve really dedicated all their free time to the work they’ve displayed.”

“Art is beautiful, isn’t it?” You mumble, eyes looking back to the museum as you grin up at Namjoon who’s already looking at you.

“Yeah.” He breathes, and the way he’s looking at you under the dim moonlight makes you irrevocably flustered. “Beautiful.”

You clear your throat as you shift on your heels, hoping the blush on your cheeks isn’t too apparent. The night was still wondrous, and you feel a type of comfort in Namjoon that you haven’t felt in a very long time. But there’s still a lingering thought in the substandard part of your mind that reminds you of doe-eyes and a bunny smile.

“Thank you for your time, Namjoon.” You say shy, fiddling with your thumbs.

When you find the courage to look at his face, he’s already beaming at you.

“No. Thank you.” He reassures. “I know you’re super busy so for you to find time out of your schedule to hang with a virtual stranger really means a lot to me.”

Your eyes widen, but then your face neutralises as you flush.

“I’m not that busy …” You mumble.

Namjoon chuckles. He doesn’t even snort or offer a sarcastic remark in response. He just acknowledges it with a kind smile and doesn’t comment further.

He’s different from what you’re used to. A challenge. A burst of rebellion that loved to roll remarks off his tongue.

You don’t want to think of him just yet.

“Regardless. You’re here. And I’m grateful.”

You nod your head lamely, clutching your bag into your chest (after relentlessly whining to Namjoon to allow you to hold it yourself when you felt a little useless).

“I should—I should head back.” You cock your thumb towards the direction of your apartment.

Immediately, Namjoon steps forward and is ready to head the same way you are.

“Let me walk you back.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“I’m not asking this time, ______.” He frowns.

You snap your lips shut. Though you did feel a little bad, it was late and the rational part of you knew that it was best if Namjoon walked you home.

“Okay.” You say softly.

Before you can begin walking, he tugs you by the elbow so gently, but firm enough for you to nearly stumble into his chest.

And he’s so tall, so you’re peering up at him with wide eyes as you gauge his nervous expression.

“I-I’m sorry if this is a little forward but—” Namjoon clears his throat. “W-Well I think—I really think you’re nice. And great. Like—good company, you know? So I’d r-really—I’d enjoy—”

You blink at him as he attempts to find his words.

“Namjoon.” You whisper gently, tugging the hem of his shirt.

At your gesture, his mind blanks but he remembers that you’re still looking up at him with a confused gaze.

“Okay. Fuck.” He whines as a giggle escapes your throat when he peers at you with an exasperated expression. “I’m not usually this much of a mess. You just make me nervous.”

“O-Oh.” You breathe, “I do?”

Namjoon sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I don’t know if it was obvious but I’m kind of into you.” He says softly, rubbing his hand over his neck.

You don’t expect it, not at all. So you can only muster gawking at him at his sudden confession.

“And you don’t need to—you don’t need to say anything about it. We can pretend like I didn’t just confess to you. We can just be friends.” He rambles, eyes wide. “I just wanted to let you know … yeah. So I really hope we can still continue to hang out even though you might think I’m a creep and I really didn’t offer to walk you home because I had intentions. Really just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You continue looking at Namjoon with wide eyes. Because you’ve never been on this end before. The one receiving the confession. You’ve never really given a confession either, and you try to suppress the bitter memories of the confession you tried to give Jungkook that wasn’t verbal but with your presence.

With you giving up certain parts of yourself for him so he could see you.

“Please say something.” Namjoon chuckles nervously.

“I—…” You choke. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We can pretend like I didn’t just say that.” He winces.

You shake your head. “No. No. It’s fine, Namjoon. Really.” You reassure him gently. “I really appreciate it … I just didn’t … expect it.” You finish lamely.

“You’re a very interesting person,” Namjoon tells you, lips twitching in an attempt to lighten the awkward atmosphere.

Interesting? You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone call you interesting before. Not outright, at least.

“I’m really not.” You say sadly.

Namjoon furrows his brows but doesn’t reach out to you further, his hands still remaining limp by his sides.

“Hey.” His voice calls out. “You are. You’re definitely one of the most interesting people I’ve met in my life.”

You blink.

“T-Thank you.”

He waves you off, gesturing towards where you gestured towards earlier.

“Shall we?”

And somehow, Namjoon has a way of making everything feel easy. Like a temporary space for you to feel safe, to feel wanted.

So why doesn’t your heart flutter?

[strawberrymilkgeorge]

Part Eight. "If you're the imposter, you are canonically Bugsy Siegel."

warnings: swearing word count: 2k (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream xf!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

A/N: ahehahehoho ik sapnap didn't fly to dreams house before they moved in together but this is a fanfic and therefore what i say goes and i say he did :) hope you enjoy!!!!!!

**********

"SAPNAP!" Y/n yelled into her phone, smiling against the cool device.

"Bugsy!" he said with a laugh.

"You're with Dream?"

"Yeah, you wanna say hi?"

"No, give the phone to Patches!!"

"She literally hates me. She runs away when I see her."

Y/n laughed and heard a voice of protest in the background.

"Dream claims it's because she's shy but she literally hissed at me in my nightmares so I think we have bad blood."

Y/n giggled and balanced the phone between her shoulder and cheek. "You're still on for Among Us tonight, right?"

"Yeah, why? What's up?"

"I was just checking since you're visiting Dream apparently. I don't want to take away from your bro time or whatever."

"Oh, nah, it's good. I'm only here so we can look at places to live together and stuff. He told you I'm moving in with him soon, right?"

"Yeah! That's awesome!"

"Yeah. But, yeah, I love playing games with you! Besides, he has his stupid George plug-in to finish still so I'll be bored. So yes, of course I'm still playing, Bugsy!!!!"

"I've never made a lobby before so I'm just nervous," she said, the feeling evident in her voice.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure none of them pull that stupid prank we pull with Quackity all the time when we tell him we're leaving and pretend like he's muted. It always drags on for like half an hour."

"Okay, good. I'm literally so scared already I don't need hooligans messing with me."

"Don't worry, I got you, Bugsy."

"Thanks. Hey, can you tell Dream he sucks?"

Sapnap groaned. "I don't wanna be your messenger for your love letters to each other."

"Sapnap!" she exclaimed. "No, just... tell him he sucks."

She listened as Sapnap's voice became muffled and she heard him relay the message. A loud, "BUGSY!!" was heard in Dreams voice and she giggled.

"He's dramatically appalled. He said—you know what, no. You guys can talk to each other on your own phones. I'm not being a delivery boy."

"Boo, no fun. I'll let you go so you can hang out with Dream but I can't wait for the game!"

"Me too! See ya Bugsy, love you."

"Love you, Sap!!"

**********

**********

Y/n drummed her fingers lightly against her desk as she waited for people to join her stream. She was muted, her viewers only left with the sounds of the music she played and the image of her commissioned "starting soon!!" screen. She double-checked the Discord call she was deafened and muted in to make sure her friends were actually there before unmuting her stream and welcoming everyone.

"Chat!!" she announced happily. "Hi! Hello! Welcome one and all to my stream!" She glanced at the chat which was filled with welcomes and announcements of everyone's excitement. She thanked everyone that had donated and gifted subs before checking her surroundings, even though it wouldn't be shown on stream.

She was bundled in a hoodie, her comforter from her bed wrapped around her and trapping her in a cocoon. The lights were off except a candle on her desk and her fairy lights around her room. It was all very serene. She was ready.

A dono came through and she laughed at the question. "Why isn't Dream joining? Um, because he said no. He doesn't have time for me," she joked, recalling them teasing each other about making time for one another. "This just in: Dreamwastaken hates BugsyGames."

Moments later, a $20 dono came through from Dream saying, "not true".

"Dream!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "You can donate and stalk my stream but not play with us? Very rude. Get off my stream and go finish coding, nerd." Despite her words, she couldn't stop smiling.

"Alright, folks! Listen up, today is gonna be so fun. We got Karl, we got Quackity, we got Tubbo, Ranboo, Sapnap, George, Schlatt, Corpse, Sykkuno," she took a dramatic breath and paused, making sure she wasn't forgetting to mention anyone. "Okay? It's gonna be so fun and I'm very excited!" She glanced at chat and smiled at all the positivity.

user4: SYKKUNO AND BUGSY YES

user5: corpse!!!!!! T_T

user2: omg watch out dream, we got another faceless man he might come for ur girl

user7: omg is this the first time bugsy is playing with tubbo and ranboo???

"Yes, I'm very excited to have Corpse and Sykkuno play today! I haven't played anything with them or Schlatt yet but I have played Minecraft with Tubbo and Ranboo not too long ago. So it should be fun!! Okay, let's join the vc!!"

She typed in the text channel that she was joining before unmuting and undeafening herself. Her headphones were immediately filled with voices speaking over each other, one louder than the rest.

"—aren't, but come on, there has to be something! We aren't blind!" It was Quackity. "Well, George is colorblind but—"

"Hey!" George protested of Quackity's fit of laughter.

"I think they'd be cute," Tubbo said.

"Me too!" Sykkuno's sweet voice rang.

"Quackity!" Karl shouted, exasperated. "I promise you they aren't actually dating! Like actually!!! She's my best friend and she would tell me if something was going on!!" His voice was desperate, almost as if he felt like Quackity was doubting his friendship with whoever he was talking about. Wait, Y/n was Karl's best friend. Were they talking about...

"Yeah, that and I'm literally in his house right now," Sapnap said. "That's two people who are close with the sources who haven't heard anything. I've literally asked Dream straight up to his face and he said no. And he's a terrible liar so I would be able to tell if he and Bugsy—"

"Hi everyone!!" Y/n said quickly, snapping out of wanting to listen to the gossip when she remembered she was streaming. She was worried about how detailed everyone would go into their theories and opinions of what sounded like her and Dream dating.

Where did they get that idea? she thought.

She didn't dare look at her chat in case they picked up on what the boys were talking about, which was very likely.

Quackity and Corpse started laughing loudly at Y/n's entrance while Tubbo stammered out an awkward, "Hel-hello Bugsy!" as if he had been caught doing something wrong. Oh, Tubbo, my sweet son, you could never do anything wrong.

"What are... you guys, haha, uh... talking about?" she asked slowly, hoping they would lie if they were talking about what she thought they were.

"The weather," Sapnap lied.

"Uh, uh, uh," Corpse stammered with a small laugh at the end.

"Tax evasion!" Ranboo shouted.

"Don't let these pricks lie to you, Bugsy," Schlatt said casually, his mouth clearly full of food. Probably a corndog or quesadilla or something. She tensed at his honestly, praying he wasn't going to blurt what they actually— "They're talking about you and Dream."

"M-me and Dream?"

"Are you dating? Yes or no?" he asked bluntly.

"Wha—n-no! No, we aren't."

"TOLD YOU!" Karl and Sapnap both yelled.

"Can we just.. play?" she asked with a laugh. She usually liked chatting with everyone before they played things on other people's streams but she was certain the topic was going to stay on her and Dream and she didn't want that. Bugsy and Dream... that has a nice ring to it, she thought before shaking her head to rid it from her mind. Weird.

"I do have one question, Bugsy," Schlatt said. "Bugsy... what is that? All I can think of is Bugsy Siegel."

"Because you're the most New York New Yorker on the planet," she groaned with a small laugh. "Bugsy just sounded cute, don't compare me to a mobster."

"Then don't name yourself after one."

"Please can we play?" Y/n groaned. "I just wanna play."

"Me too!" Tubbo agreed.

"This is why you're my favorite, Tubbo."

"Yeah, let's get this shit over with," Schlatt sighed among all the agreeing to start. "If you're the imposter, you are canonically Bugsy Siegel."

**********

"TUBBO!" Y/n yelled as the defeat screen appeared. The boy laughed as he sputtered out a defense. "You and Ranboo?? My own sons?! How did you guys get away with that? I literally said from the beginning that it was Ranboo and NO ONE listened to me!!"

"Sorry, mother," Ranboo apologized before laughing.

"I don't trust women," Schaltt said.

"Schlatt, why would I target Ranboo or Tubbo if I didn't have solid evidence it was them? I'd blame someone like Sapnap if I was imposter, not my own sons."

Tubbo laughed loudly and George giggled.

"You can't be trusted, Bugsy!" Quackity yelled. "You lie every other goddamn round!"

"BECAUSE I KEEP GETTING IMPOSTER!" she defended as she raised out of her chair slightly. She had never been so angry than when playing Among Us. It was a dangerous game for her. Her covers were thrown off of her body, abandoned at her feet, and her hoodie sleeves were pushed up. Good thing she didn't use a facecam because she looked like she could murder someone right then. "I have no choice but to lie!!!"

A new game started and she relaxed at the sight of her being crewmate again. She had already been imposter three or four times and they had only played six rounds.

She headed straight for the reactor to do her first task, closing out to see Sapnap silently standing behind her.

"Ah!" she yelled, jumping slightly. "You scared me, dude. Why... why are you being so cryptic?" No answer. "Ssssssssap.....nap?" she asked softly, confused by his uncharacteristic silence.

George walked in and stopped. "Why are you guys just staring at each other?"

"I was doing my task and turned around and Sapnap was here and he hasn't said anything. Sap?"

Shuffling was heard from his mic before he started moving again. "Hey guys!" he chirped as if he hadn't been super creepy moments before. "I was AFK, Dream brought me Chick-fil-a."

"Oh," Y/n breathed. "You looked super sus for a minute there, bud."

"Nah, I just got food," he said, voice muffled by said food to confirm. "Dream! Come say hi to your girlfriend!"

Wasn't Sapnap one of the ones that literally just argued with the group that Bugsy and Dream weren't dating?

Without further explanation, Y/n could hear footsteps coming from Sapnap's mic before Dream's voice came through. "Hi, Bug. Hi, George."

Y/n laughed, glad he greeted George too. Maybe that's who Sapnap meant in the first place? Why did she assume they were talking about her? Ugh, everything was confusing when she had butterflies in her tummy at the mention of Dream's name.

"I'm his favorite girlfriend," George teased, circling around Y/n's character.

"Also his only girlfriend," she said.

"Oh also," Dream's voice appeared again. "Sapnap's imposter."

Y/n and George ran away screaming, heading straight for the emergency button.

**********

Later that night, stream over and Y/n tucked into bed, she scrolled through Twitter and laughed at a Tweet Dream had posted. It was like it was made for her. She ran through her camera roll and found her favorite memes that applied to the request.

She smiled widely and giggled at the butterflies in her stomach when moments later, she received a text from the boy himself. Looks like he wanted her number for more than just to make a cabin vacation group chat (which had yet to be made, she noted).

**********

PREVIOUS | NEXT

**********

tags: OPEN (at the time) (if your name is in BOLD i couldnt tag you sorry!)

@hydrate-tion​​ @loraleiix​​ @tinaswagbd​​ @charsdummb​​ @smileyyuta​​ @1ghoste1​​ @cerberus-hellhound @gaysludge​​ @queestionmark​​ @carnations-red​​ @letsloveimagines​​ @the-fictionwriters-hairdo​​ @boiled-onionrings​​ @a-cryptic​​ @fee-btheweeb​​ @erwinss​​ @just-a-stan​​ @axths​​ @kayleigh2703 @furiouspockettoad​​ @sometimeseverythingsucks​​ @powerpuffyn​​ @itshaileyn​​ @millavalntyne​​ @automaticcomputerpaper​​ @nikkineeky​​ @fivedicksinatrenchcoat​​ @sprucekot​​ @jabby16​​ @mae-musicbitch​​ @hungoverhellhound​​ @dreamyteam​​ @kuroo-icedtea​​ @stuffforreferences @menacingaesthetic @sapphic-soot​​ @fangeekkk​​ @haseulreturns​​ @queenwastaken​​ @peteysgf​​ @losingvienna​​ @bi-narystars​​ @zero-nightshade​​ @erinitoburrito @sparklykeylime​​ @youhyakuya​​ @danny-devitowo​​ @clubfairy​​ @loser-keiji​​ @oi-itsemily​​​ @alm334​​​ @the-katastrophe​​​ @wreny24​​​​ @applecakeradio @unicornblood4ever @brendalopez99​​ @spacecluster​​ @justonemoreepisode​​ @strawbrinkofdeath​​ @aikochan4859​​​ @chaotic-tieflings​​​ @dreamsofficialwife​​​ @where-thesundoesntshine​​

[beann-e]

Haikyu! Characters With A Shy Manager

Inarizaki Players With a Shy Manager

Read Part Two Here

Suna

- Suna is the type to not really care about what’s going on unless it’s fun , funny, or simply involves him .

-A lot of people say he just doesn’t care and is a smoker ? or is just lazy but I believe that he’s just uninterested in things that he doesn’t want to be put in or has no business in. He’s very chill and just goes with the flow.

-he’d accidentally make you laugh

It’d been 3 weeks since you became the teams manager and you had yet to laugh or actually hold a conversation with anyone.

It wasn’t that you weren’t trying you just didn’t know how to keep a conversation going and no one was very funny on the team

well , except for Atsumu and Osuma when they did their sibling things

You sat on the bench as you watched a fight break out “ Osuma why aren’t yer trying “

“ I am “

“ are not “

“ am too “

“ are not “

“ look we all just can’t jump in head first and dive straight into volleyball like you ‘tsumu “

“ well that doesn’t mean don’t try “

“ agh i’m sick of you — shutup“

“ you don’t tell me to shut up “

“ yes I do — now shut yer trap”

you moved to stand as you watched the two boys fight you’d grown use to it and knew not to step in you wouldn’t know how to stop them anyways.

You watched as Kita moved to break them up Aran watching the fight closely trying to determine the winner while Suna moved quickly taking photos at all angles

Everyone calming down while Kita took the two boys away to talk to them leaving you in charge as everyone turned to you

“ what do we do now y/n-san “

“ oh um — “ your eyebrows furrowed in confusion you didn’t know what to tell them to do and the way they were all staring at you some even hovering near you standing over you like your houses fence had you ready to bolt and cry into kitas arms

You felt as your mouth tightened you biting your lip looking for a way to calm yourself down feeling someone stand next to you.

Your body having a chill run through it looking up at the black haired male who stood next to you not making eye contact and looking straight ahead at the men in front of him

He knew not to make eye contact with you knowing he may intimidate you since he was taller than you and simply a lot bigger he knew girls like you — that were shy tended to be afraid of things like that.

They seemed to get in their head and make themselves anxious which is why he was confused when Kita said he found a manager that was perfect to watch over the boys and keep them in line

he just figured Kita used you as a way to make sure no boys would try to flirt with you though that never stopped Atsumu

Even if he knew you were scared he would continue to bug you until you gave an awkward laugh at the situation and ran to Kita leaving the boy to sulk alone

Your eyes came together in confusion as you saw him thrust his phone out in front of you showing a video that he pressed play to

The fight between the two males playing with sound as the camera slowly zoomed in on your face a small smile playing at it as the video ended “ got you “

you looked over to see him smiling down at you happily “ w-wha—huh “

“ i’ve made it my duty ever since you’ve joined the team to figure out when you would smile and I found it — I finally caught it—i’m quite proud of me if I do say so myself “

you felt as a weight had been lifted off your chest your straight line mouth quirking up into a smile before it broke and turned into a small laugh which only grew when you thought about how dumb his actions were

Sunas mouth opening and eyes widning when he saw the bright smile on your face that would show whenever you stopped laughing to breathe

his heart clenching as he moved through his phone trying to find another funny thing to show you

He didn’t want this to end

He really thought you looked beautiful and in this moment he knew he had a crush on his teams quiet manager

Kita

-kita is a leader he has a schedule and only makes time for things that are on it

-he doesn’t mean to make you laugh but his schedule just makes for comedic material

You were standing by the door watching the whole time as the teams captain sat in the volleyball closet finally breaking down

Tears pouring down his face as he set the ball on the ground he had just finished shining. Body shaking as he took a breath

“ k-kita-san are you ok “ your voice hit him fast before he could wipe his tears

“ I-I just — theres “ he took a deep breath as he stared at you

“ A balls missing y/n “ he screeched “ A ball is missing and I can’t figure out if I let someone take it home or if I lost it on accident “

his eyes teared up again “ H-How — I do this every day I don’t know how I lost the ball— how I messed up the count just “ he was pleading with you

“ just please — don’t tell the team we’re missing one — they’ll demote me from captain because I can’t follow a simple schedule “

you didn’t want to but you felt your face break as a laugh ripped through your body that had been bubbling at the surface since the beginning of his speech

“ what — y/n this is not funny I may lose my position“

you laughed harder “ pfft kita-san if you lose your position over a ball I have in my hand right now I will talk to the team myself — no matter if they scare me or not “

his eyes lit up “ y-you have it “

“ yes I do — “

you passed it to him walking over to squat by him as he smiled happily starting to shine the ball “ oh thank god — my schedule may continue — now all I have to do is clean the showers and i’m good to go start practice “

he smiled at you “ y/n where did you find this —- I have to thank you “

you laughed harder “ kita — please there no need“ you smiled at him as you decided to finally sit down next to him turning your bright smile towards him

“ I stayed late last night and helped Aran with his serves so , we used the ball I just brought you —I forgot to bring it back and Aran locked the gym up too fast after we left and I was anxious and scared to ask him to unlock it so I just took it home with me “

you pouted at your words “ i’m actually sorry I didn’t know I was hurting you — I should have sucked it up and asked him “

“ y/n it’s ok I admit my schedule is a bit — but — I thank you for helping me calm down “

he nudged your sad body “ maybe with your help I can stop relying on my schedule all together yeah ? “

you smiled brightly again laughing when you saw his surprised face at your action his face that grew even more confused but interested when you laughed

“ of course i’d love to help you kita — senpai “

he felt as his body went hot and his face grew warm hands shaking at your actions.

He wasn’t sure when it started maybe it began when you initially started helping the team by offering late night volleyball practice to those who need help without all the attention

or maybe it was when you offered your number for those who were too scared to ask questions so, they could text them to you and you would ask for them — even though you’d feel scared yourself and had your hands sweating while you asked

He wasn’t sure but he knew that by the smile on your face that he would always want to see it whenever he looked at you