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whatifyoulivelikethat · 10 months

Text

(seven) days a week, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: It only takes seven days (a week) for Jeon Jungkook to get you in his bed to fuck you right. And showing up in weird places. And kissing in the rain. He's crazy. Okay, it's kinda complicated.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language (reader swears a lot); strangers-to-lovers; vague allusions to a loveless childhood and bad parenting (no specifics); JK might be insane and you do tell him that he is; slight crack; fluff; smut (fem reader, fucking with clothes on and off, m and f-receiving oral, light hair pulling, fingering, nipple play, choking, penetrative sex, handjob); non-idol!BTS – persistent!Jungkook x noona, def tsundere!reader lol ft instigator-cupid!Park Jimin setting them up

this directly follows Jung Kook's 'Seven' MV, so make sure to watch it (although I'm sure you've seen it if you wanna read this lmao)

monday.

“What? Something on my face?”

You stared at him and he stared back. Wide eyes, slightly parted lips, the look of caught prey and all. You had your hands in front of you, long fingers laced together, elbows on the table. You probably shouldn’t have scowled like that. That was a bit rude, especially to someone you didn’t know well, but this guy had been staring at you all night and barely speaking to you, even when prompted, so you were getting both impatient and annoyed at accepting this invitation.

“You wear… a lot of jewelry,” Jeon Jungkook said out loud, with awe.

You looked down at your hands. Well. The rings, the bracelets, even the earrings on both your ears, all sterling silver or white gold. You had even swapped out the lower lobe piercing for a pair of dangling dice earrings with grey freshwater pearls. You liked the cooler tone to bring some death to your warm-toned skin.

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” Your low voice had an edge of guarded to it.

A quick, nervous head shake. “No. No, it’s cool. I’ve never seen a girl wear so many chunky rings like that. I didn’t think I’d like it either, but then I saw you.”

You opened your mouth to snap out a comeback and then his words hit you.

There was no doubt that Jeon Jungkook was cute. Black-brown hair with a lustrous quality. Bright, expressive dark brown eyes. Slightly rounded cheeks with a distinct jawline. He said he had, and you could see, tattoos and piercings, something you quite liked but not a requirement. Built body, in the way that people where when they were committed to taking care of their physical appearance. Not so much in vanity, but in the way that matched how they felt that they should look in their head. Respect for that. But, in this chance that was what you had expected to be his, Jungkook didn’t taken it.

He looked the part.

Didn’t act it, though.

Black blazer, matching trousers. White t-shirt. Dressy but not too much. To be honest, the outer appearance didn’t matter much to you. It actually mattered the least. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Really. You were often told that you had too little patience for people, but, come on!

This conversation was awkward.

Hah.

You turned as you sensed a lively presence re-entering your icy atmosphere. Hmph. The actor playing Cupid in the instance. He looked the part too. Baby blue dress shirt with the top buttons undone. Ivory slacks, neatly pressed. Black hair perfectly curled over his forehead, framing an angelic face. Full lips forming an infectious smile that made his eyes disappear as small hands folded away the receipt and tucked his card back into his wallet.

“Ah, the waitress and I had a cute little chat,” flirty Park Jimin chuckled, giving you a little eyebrow wiggle. You rolled your eyes at him. “Did you guys have a nice talk while I was gone?”

“Um…?” Jungkook started, nearly afraid to glance at you for some support.

You gave Jimin a deadpan stare. “You trying to get her number?”

“Me? No, no!” he waved his hands, sitting back down to lean in. “She gave it to me anyway though.”

Figures Park Jimin would introduce you to a guy and also get the number of someone else in the restaurant. You deliberately hadn’t answered Jimin’s question, but he hadn’t noticed.

Jungkook, however, did.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him deflate a little and you winced in unease, not sure if you should have avoided it, but at this point the waitress had returned, lashes aflutter and gushing about how they just had to try to fried ice cream and it was on the house, as long as Jimin promised to come back, right? Right?

Jimin promised of course, of course, with a big smile.

You completely ignored him and picked up one of the pieces of fried ice cream – mango, it seemed, by the color – and placed it on one of the small plates before setting it right in front of Jungkook.

He perked up and gave you these big, hopeful eyes.

You didn’t say anything but felt your cheeks flush and your gaze shift, putting on an expression of reluctant apology. After a half second, you bowed your head just a bit, shaking off the moment and serving yourself before serving Jimin.

What?

Damn flirt didn’t even notice.

tuesday.

“You didn’t like him?”

“I mean, there’s nothing to like or dislike. He barely said anything. Also, Jimin, I told you, I’m not really a relationship person,” you sighed into your phone, walking quickly to the train station. “I don’t want to give this guy the wrong idea about me. He didn’t really strike me as a fuck-around-and-find-out kinda guy.”

“You said you would change your mind for the right person though.”

Sometimes you thought Jimin argued with you just to argue.

“Yeah, and I don’t even know what kind of person he is because he didn’t say shit,” you barked back to that snippy tone on the other side of the line. Some idiot honked at you and you resisted the urge to flip him the bird. Maybe he wasn’t honking at you. The hanging out the window and catcalling could be to the couple walking next to you.

You highly doubted it.

Also, maybe you just wanted to give someone the middle finger because you couldn’t show Jimin right now how much you deeply appreciated him.

“Jungkookie’s just super shy, but wait a minute and he’ll make you his.”

You rolled your eyes. Damn bad habit that you were forming ever since you became friendly with this mildly infuriating angel. “He’s not making me do anything.”

“I’m telling you; he suits you perfectly. You’re being stubborn and not giving him a chance. Anyway, I gave him your number, so don’t worry!”

“Wait, you did wha–”

The roar of the subway train below cut you off.

“Oop, you’re at the station. You’re breaking up! Can’t hear you, byeeeeeee!”

You twitched as Park Jimin hung up on you.

Asshole.

You pulled your phone away from your ear and pulled up the app to pay for your ticket. Paused for a second. New message, unknown number. Then it was your turn, so you hovered your phone screen, heard the beep, and hurried to the correct train line, finding the one to take you home. It was hectic even now, still within the dregs of rush hour, so you didn’t even think to check for the content of the text until you sat down with a big sigh, somewhat of a fwump with your distressed bomber jacket and baggy cargo pants, both made of thick black fabric. The side of your jacket slid off, exposing your bare shoulder and tight white tank top.

The guy standing about a meter away from you snuck a glance in your direction.

You tucked your tongue in your cheek and yanked your jacket back in place with the hand that was holding your phone. Noticed the screen flash, reminding you of the notification.

Fuck it.

Pressed your thumb and your phone unlocked.

Hey, it’s me. Jeon Jungkook… I wanted to say that I’m sorry about not talking that much last night. I was really nervous because you were so pretty and self-assured. I was so impressed that nothing I could think of seemed like a good thing to say, so I blanked out. I’m very sorry. I hope it is okay for me to text you like this.

An essay.

You paused for so long that you felt your cheeks heat.

The fuck?

You frowned at yourself. For some reason, even though he hadn’t talked much, you could hear the text in your head as if Jungkook was speaking to you directly. Sense the anxiousness in the typed words. See those big eyes gazing right at you with a mixture of curiosity and wonder and what-ifs. You sighed, feeling defeated. It would simply be rude to not reply.

I apologize for being too intimidating.

You sent it before thinking. Aw, shit. That was a bit short, wasn’t it? Damnnit. You saw the sending quadlet of dots spinning slowly, struggling due to you being underground. Fuck. If you sent another message now, it might be out of order and that would just get confusing. And what else could you add? Oh, geez, you didn’t even confirm it was you. The conversation with Park Jimin must have scrambled your egg brains.

The train roared out of the tunnel.

All of a sudden, the message sent and a reply instantly popped up. Actually, a serious of bubbles, rapid-fire like bullets. The confirmation must have lagged.

You’re not intimidating at all! Well… not in a bad way. In a sexy way. I mean, in a good way! In a cool way, like you’re not afraid to say what you wanna say. I really admire that in a person, so I really admire that in you. Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it? I made things weird… ㅠ.ㅠ

You blinked slowly at the messages. It was pretty clear Jungkook had sat there and pondered over the first message for quite a while and these subsequent ones were stream of consciousness spewing. Honestly, kind of funny. Heh. You could sort of imagine it. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to respond right away. Hm, you wondered if he had hoped you would. He really was trying hard, huh. For what? What was the reason?

You tucked your tongue in your cheek and responded anyway.

Oh, you’re definitely weird, but you never know. I might like that. What’s the outfit of the day, Jeon Jungkook?

Were you fishing for a photo? Of course. He would probably scramble to put on a good outfit to impress you. To your surprise, the downloading image icon popped up instantaneously, spinning, spinning. You tilted your head, surprised at the prompt obedience. He must have snapped a pic right away when you asked. It was taking time to load though. You saw some people getting off the train and looked up, checking the stop. Oh, yours was next.

You took care not to look directly at anyone around you, keeping your sling bag in your lap.

Then you looked down to the inquisitive dark brown eyes of Jeon Jungkook with messy black hair and a black leather jacket. White t-shirt. It was a selfie, so you couldn’t see the pants. It was something borderline vain about the angle, but also a seek of approval in that parted mouth, silver ring and stud dotting the edge of the right side, flash of white teeth and slight bite of the left side revealing a small mole at the center underneath his lower lip.

You twitched.

Bold, wasn’t he?

You weren’t sure if you liked it – well, you didn’t mind it, you just weren’t sure if you like-liked it, what was he trying to play at here, trying to get your heart to beat fast or something, hmph – and you clutched your phone pointedly, your rings clacking as you prepped your fingers to type back… something, be honest here… and your fingers wavered.

Shaking a little.

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you had been holding.

Oh, the pants are blue jeans, but I’m out right now so there’s no mirror to show you.

You heard your stop being called and stood up automatically, filing behind other people getting ready to step off, the train slowing down, everything slowing down, finding yourself staring at Jungkook’s expression in the photo, why were you staring, shifting your eyes quickly, then back, it wasn’t like Jeon Jungkook could see you, ugh, this was so annoying.

Do you want to see? I can take another photo when I get home.

You let out a frustrated exhale that no one else around you could understand. Maybe not even those closest to you would get it. But you knew what it meant, and knowing also frustrated you.

Being self-aware was a bitch.

You finally sent your answer.

I much prefer this look on you than the blazer. Is this your normal fashion style?

You had worn a flowing white blouse and floaty black skirt the night before at dinner, but it was not your typical style. Well, it was, but it was one of your work outfits since you had come straight from the office. Something you wore to not get in trouble with the dress code and knowing you would have to meet up with people later. Sometimes you were a little riskier if you were feeling frisky, but Jimin had told you to look nice for the friend he was introducing you to.

But maybe it would have been better to look more you.

Then again, the restaurant was pretty high end. They might not have let you in.

Oh. Yeah. Hahaha, I wore the blazer because Jimin-ssi told me to look nice for you. I guess this is street-style? I don’t know… I’m not fashionable, I only wear what I think is cool or comfy. What about you?

You strode out of the train and briskly walked to the elevator, muscle memory already knowing where to go, typing back. Pausing when you saw the vending machine. A green tea would be nice right now.

You veered off course and headed to stand in line.

I think my friends would describe my style as dark and strong. They’re always telling me I should dress more feminine or at least in less black, but one of my core traits is not listening to shit people say. And swearing.

You tapped your card and made your selection. Waited out the whirr and clunk. Didn’t pay much attention to the world around you. It was a typical day, people passing by, no warning feelings. And, besides, your phone was much more interesting right now.

You did not just think that.

You scowled at your reflection in the glass of the vending machine before picking up your drink.

I hope I get to see you sometime soon so I can appreciate it. :)

You raised an eyebrow at your phone as you ticked open the can and started walking again, taking a crisp sip. It was slightly irritating that he was better at flirting over text than in person. Or maybe it had just been the circumstance. Come to think of it, it would have been weird if he did with Jimin right there, although you were sure Jimin wanted to be there to witness whatever unfolded. The awkwardness was probably just as entertaining to him as it would be if Jungkook had been more forward.

Hmph.

What was more irritating was that you weren’t instantly annoyed by it.

Hmmmmph.

Are you saying you aren’t intimidated by me, Jeon Jungkook?

You hurried home, following the streetlights, breathless, not because you were running, but because you wanted to be home so you could be alone with…

I’m saying I like feeling your effect on me in person.

Him.

wednesday.

The next time you saw Jeon Jungkook, you were groaning and setting your forehead on the edge of washing machine, screaming internally. Would have banged it against the metal if you weren’t going to lose a substantial number of brain cells. You were going to pay cash because you wouldn’t get that card surcharge if you did but, of course, of course you had accidentally shorted yourself and pocketed the wrong amount.

Fuck!

Now you were already at the laundromat. Walk back home and lug your shit to and back to get the right amount? Or just forget it and pay the extra charge? You had already put the detergent in. Fuckity fuck fuck. Technically you could go home, it wasn’t that far, but, ugh, it was extra annoying today because you had slept late and now you were grumpily doing your life responsibilities. Come back a different day? No, you had specifically told yourself to get off your ass and get that pile washed. Damnnit, if you hadn’t slept late and scrambled your egg brains, this wouldn’t have happened!

But you had been talking to Jeon Jungkook.

Ending the conversation had been more difficult than you expected. You gritted your teeth, feeling stupid for pulling such a teenage move. Still young, huh? Young and stupid.

Grr.

You heard the metal slide of the money drawer being closed and then an approval ping!

You jumped back, freaked out at the thing you hadn’t done, and then snapped your head to the sudden presence next to you. Dark blue jeans with giant holes at the knees. Gray hoodie sliding off a built right shoulder. White ribbed tank top. Messy black hair. A piercing, no, two on the right side of open lips.

Big, round, dark brown eyes.

You noticed he was wearing a few silver rings himself.

“Um… hi? I noticed you were short a little so I just…” Jeon Jungkook trailed off, giving you a hopeful look.

You gawked at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Ouch. A little too snappy. Jungkook faltered, those peepers shifting. “Ah… well…”

You bit your tongue and reeled it back. “Sorry. I didn’t expect to see you, is all. Obviously, you came here to wash your clothes like everyone else.”

He reached up and scratched the back of his head nervously. Wait. Why was he looking at you like that?

“W-Well, actually… Jimin-ssi told me you normally come here on Wednesdays to do laundry and I was nearby so I figured., maybe, I’d just check if you were here…”

You stared at him.

“You’re stalking me?”

“N-No!” Jungkook sputtered, waving his hands frantically even though you hadn’t raised your voice.

There was a bristle to your tone though. Indignation and frigidity you couldn’t hide. You frowned, narrowing your eyes, cornering him with your gaze. There were only a few people on this slow day, which was why you picked Wednesday to do laundry, but all the patrons had AirPods or other earbuds in, busying themselves with their shoving of clothing in and out of the washers and dryers. No one was going to interrupt anyway.

Not their business.

“I… I…”

“And how did you recognize me anyway? My head was down,” you remembered, advancing on him, and Jungkook took a step back, swallowing hard. Your outfit was baggy too, dark denim jacket and jeans, the tight black tank hidden by the bulk.

“I couldn’t forget how beautiful your hair is,” he mumbled out quickly, looking a little too mesmerized by your fierceness. Forget that. “And your hands were on the edge of the washer. Your rings. The star chain bracelet you wear. I…”

He was fixated on your collarbones and the thin black choker around your neck.

Or lower.

“Oi! My face is up here,” you hissed, snaping your fingers and making him jerk his head. He had stopped backing up though. You pointed at him, somewhat rudely. Actually, very rudely, but whatever. “What do you mean, check if I was here? And who told you? That idiot. I’ll kill him.”

And why was Jungkook looking at you like that?

Like he thought you were hot when angry.

He better stop that shit because you were losing your irate demeanor for some fuckin’ reason.

“I texted you almost all night. That wasn’t enough?” you half-growled, half whispered.

A tiny head shake.

Ah, shit.

You deliberately did not think that was cute.

“I liked it so much that I…” Oh no, oh no, not that honest tremble and deep gaze into your eyes. “I was hoping I could talk to you again, in person, more bravely this time.”

You opened your mouth to sink in that verbal bite and nothing came out.

The entire laundromat could flood right now and you wouldn’t even notice because you were staring at Jeon Jungkook and wondering if this audacity was freaking annoying or freaking impressive. Not this damn guy within two days leaving you speechless. Well… actually, no, never mind the technicalities.

“Are you even thinking before you do things?” you grumbled, not yet backing down.

Jungkook stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets suddenly. Hm? Nervous and shaking? You couldn’t tell, but you watched him closely, observing his body language, your eyes following those lines.

“Mmmm…” He bit the left side of his lower lip. “No?”

You strongly resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

Shy smile greeting you, accompanying the lip bite.

“I’m just listening to my heart.”

Now you visibly cringed. “Don’t say stuff like that.” Looking away slightly, somehow unable to meet those honest eyes.

“Why? You don’t like it?” Genuinely curious.

“You don’t mean it.” He did mean it and you could see that he meant it but you did not want to admit that you knew that he meant it. Yeah. “You barely know me. We only talked over text.”

“But you gave me thoughtful, frank answers. I don’t believe that you were being dishonest,” Jungkook protested, following you over to the tables a few steps away from the washing machines. You dragged your laundry bag with you and kept your voice down.

“I told you, I’m a straightforward an honest person. I won’t lie to you. And I won’t hesitate to cut you off if you lie to me,” you reminded him.

He nodded. You wanted to shake him and yell at him to stop giving you those eyes. “So I just decided to do what I wanted to.”

You cocked your head at him in disbelief. “You didn’t think you went too far?”

What was with that mischievous smile? “I’m the all-in type.”

You let out a puff of air.

“Also, you haven’t told me directly that you don’t like it,” Jungkook pointed out, leaning toward you, smiling.

You gave him a deadpan stare. “You don’t get me,” you said back flatly.

Those dark brown orbs sparkled. “That’s okay. I don’t have to get you to think you’re cool, clever, and stunning.”

Your eyebrow twitched.

“And why do you say that? Because you see how people look at me? Because you enjoyed my useless facts and tangents last night? Because you think with your dick?” You added the last question with bite, leaning forward too, having enough of this, not really him but…

The fact that you didn’t want to tell him to fuck right off.

Silence.

Jungkook was staring into your eyes.

“The shape of your eyes is so… perfect.”

You felt your ears heat.

He raised a finger and traced the air right in front of your left eye, the scent of his clean cologne drifting in your direction. “The way they sharpen in the inner corner, like a bird of prey… And your irises are so dark and striking…”

You grabbed his finger out of the air.

“Don’t be… weird.”

Why did you pause? Hello? No way you’re being like this over this guy right now.

You pointedly pulled his hand down, pinning it to the table. “Pay attention.”

Jungkook was giving you this dreamy, hazy expression. “Huh? What were you saying?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You can’t even listen.”

He leaned in closer and you caught a whiff of that delicious cologne again. “Sorry. I will. Say it again, please. I’ll listen carefully.”

The fuck were you saying again? The lights of the old laundromat flickered but you barely noticed. A common occurrence in these ol’ mom-and-pop places. And, besides, you were staring at this determined, patient smile and mentally shoving down those butterflies that you definitely weren’t feeling, nope, violently compacting those distracting internalizations into a tiny, windowless box.

“You don’t seem very good at listening,” you finally said, tight and even.

“I am,” he insisted softly. “I promise.”

“I’m too much for you.”

Or was Jungkook too much for you?

“I’m offering all of me,” he whispered to the shared air between you and him. “It might not be enough so I’ll be to work hard and do my best.”

What was he so earnest for? You hesitated, the edges to your hard demeanor softening. You didn’t want to trust stuff like this. It was so easy to get burned and you wanted to be the one to do the burning. And how could you trust people? Even you didn’t say everything out loud. Some things you could say and some you couldn’t say. It was too much trouble to believe in someone.

You had never received unburdened kindness when you were younger.

“We’re not on the same page.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Aren’t we? But you’re reading me easily and I’m doing my best to learn about you too.”

Your shoulders released the tension. “Don’t pretend with me. It’s clear you’re a relationship kind of guy. And, while I’m not against them, I can’t deliver the same kind of devotion you are willing to give. Can’t you see that?” You removed your hand from his, not realizing it was still there.

His fingertip traced a line on the back of your hand.

Sparks raced along the base of your head.

You remained stern, feeling heavy and hot in your clothes.

“Why do you say that? You don’t think you’re loyal?” he asked very sincerely.

Your eyes narrowed. “Of course, I am. If I like you in that way and you asked me to bury a body, I’d already be digging the grave. But I’m not a flowers-and-chocolate kind of girl. That’s not how I show affection.”

You had no idea how far your clothes were in the cycle. The whole world could crash down and you would still be staring at Jungkook and his body language. His shoulders slouched a little more so he could look up at you with those pleading eyes.

Inhale still in your throat.

“Then, do you not like me?”

Say something.

But you didn’t say anything at all, gazing down at Jeon Jungkook and wondering why you couldn’t get through his thick skull that you were a bad decision. Honestly? Honestly, fine, it was because you grew up with parents that never liked each other nor their kids. Honestly, it was because you grew up too fast and with too much independence to not see the filthiness of the world. Honestly, it was because you saw the finicky innate nature of humanity of never devoting themselves to anything, much less anyone, and why would they?

People were crazy.

Call it personal experience.

You sighed.

“Jungkook, I’m not gonna lie to you. I fuck before I care about anybody. I’m only living to get my pleasure and not take care of anyone, okay? I’m barely keeping my own head together. I’m blunt. I don’t need or want romantic gestures. I just want dick. There. I’m not a good person.”

He was smiling.

Aw, shit.

“I must be favored to know you.”

You twitched, tucking your tongue in your cheek to avoid scowling, which was pretty much scowling anyway, so you failed spectacularly.

“Also, you haven’t said you don’t like me,” Jungkook pointed out. Infuriatingly. “Because it’s not true and you don’t lie. Right?” He said your name with a little too much sweetness and knowing.

You yanked your hand out of his and shoved his hard, muscular chest. He bounced back, grinning a little too happily. You told yourself to hate it and you didn’t. Fuck. “What are you even still doing here? Gonna fold my clothes for me or something?”

The energy at being offered a household chore was disturbing. “Oh! I can! I’m very good at doing laundry. And washing dishes. And cleaning. I like doing that stuff.”

“Sure, you do,” you puffed sarcastically,

“I do,” Jungkook insisted, coming around the table. “And I’m good at it.”

You scrutinized him up a down. “Yeah? Because you don’t know where else to put all that energy of yours?”

His lips parted but all he did was gawk at you. Oop. Right on the money. You were liking this expression a little too much. Maybe it was time to lower these walls a bit. After all, it didn’t seem like Jungkook was going to go away any time soon. He was pretty harmless anyway.

“I could drain you in a night,” you chuckled, smirking.

The tips of his ears were getting red at your lowered tone.

“You think you could keep up?”

thursday.

Ugh, it was one of those days that fuckin’ suuuucked.

Woke up late and had to rush to get dressed and bounce, then got to work and some shit was going down about missing documents and people moving papers they shouldn’t have, forcing you to play manager because everyone else had no goddamn spine to fix anything. This department would be a disaster without you. To top it all off, you had people stalling, keeping an irrelevant conversation going, leading you on a wild goose chase with no funny honking – turns out the documents were in some random copier right behind you, for fuck’s sake – and you had a very strong inkling it was because of what you looked like.

Which was fine.

Unless you were actually trying to do your job.

Then, one of your side dishes you had brought for lunch had gone off, so you ended up slightly less full than you wanted to be, and you forgot your jacket at work, leaving it hanging on the back of your chair in your rush to leave, and the train halted several stations before your stop because there was some emergency maintenance or some shit.

Fuckity fuck.

It wouldn’t be so annoying it if wasn’t so windy, but it was and you were wearing a sheer sweater with splashes of jewel-toned colors and a longline black sports bra under it – you had worn your jacket half-zipped until your boss had left in the middle of the day and your co-workers didn’t care how you looked, the dress code was stupid anyway – and black jeans, mid-rise. The rules were more about being covered up rather than being professionally dressed.

The job was primarily sitting at a desk and sorting documents, did it matter how you looked?

Or maybe you just broke the rules a little because you were a rebel.

Your stomach growled angrily and you told it to shut the fuck up.

You stood on the corner halfway between work and home, debating on whether or not to do some damage. The problem was you didn’t have any of the usual bad habits most people had. You didn’t drink, so getting stupid drunk and getting thrown out of the noraebang was out of the question. Also, you couldn’t sing. But, anyway, you barely took medicine, let alone know where or how to procure the illegal fun stuff, so that was also out. You didn’t have a sweet tooth either so you couldn’t down a whole cake with gusto, although that sounded like a great way to go.

You sulked.

You had an addiction, but you just stared at the names in your phone and felt guilty. Guilty! For what? For some guy you met literally less than four days ago? Ugh, no, this couldn’t be you right now. Seriously? Seriously? You crossed and stalked up the block, not yet deciding what to do so you kept walking until you figured it out during this internal battle. You had to keep this guy at a distance. Okay, yes, you could admit you liked him.

And that was the problem.

If you didn’t really like him, you could just fuck him and establish those hard boundaries. No issue. You had been in love before but that was a long time ago and ultimately you ended it because it wasn’t right and you weren’t good enough to be devoted to.

You breathed out hard, the unease spilling out of your insides.

It was definitely easier to not expect anything from anyone. You had spent a lot of life not having and, ultimately, not needing to rely on others, both out of necessity and simply having too much to work on by yourself. Years of fighting off bitterness that you had always tasted, years of letting go of important moments realizing that supposedly important people in your life would never be there for them, years of lashing out and becoming the shadow of the abuse you endured. Eye for an eye and all that. Keep the cycle going, until you had that moment in the eye of the storm to get hit by lightning and realize that this wasn’t right.

It wasn’t any particular thing.

Just finally accepting the creeping self-awareness that you had been miserable and were making other people miserable on purpose because you tore them open and took their hearts to find yours.

Metaphorically, duh.

So now you sort of did this martyr shit of being there for people when you could and not asking for anything back. Especially not a relationship. Intimate to heal a heart and then give it away, which totally worked if they weren’t into you, just into what you could do.

You didn’t really feel it yourself but you did get sex out of it.

Bad addiction, yeah.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket.

You ignored it.

Stepped into a chicken place and stood in line, feeling the weight of your world on your shoulders. You brain tried to reason with you that it was Jeon Jungkook’s own fault if he got hurt. He was the one who chose to spend all that time sitting at the laundromat with you talking about random shit. Your favorite video game – Persona 5, excelling in your top three most important things about a video game: music score, gameplay, and art style. Your favorite American rapper – Ludacris and the way he could rhyme the weirdest words. Your favorite movie genre – surrealist psychedelic drug movies, which earned you a confused head tilt. You had asked Jungkook what he liked. Mood lamps. Singing. Watching cooking videos on YouTube.

Had asked him if he believed in soulmates.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you ordered at the kiosk and paid.

You don’t think I could have met you in another life?

You stood with the other waiting patrons, ignoring everybody and your phone thrumming against your hip, thinking about last night.

I probably broke your heart.

Thinking about that smile with two piercings and a lip mole. That smile didn’t trust your answer at all.

Maybe the universe is giving me another chance to make up for my past mistakes. I can’t give up.

You made a face at past Jungkook’s answer, too taken aback all those hours ago to scowl properly. Maybe you had been too tired. Too worn down by his earnest nonsense to fight it properly at that moment. Your hand hovered over you hip, wondering if you should check it. Then dropped.

What, did you need to see him every day or something?

Your name was called and you stepped up to receive your order.

Oh, fuck, you miss him.

You yanked your phone out of your pocket and stared at it as you walked out of the restaurant, only to get plopped by a fat raindrop on the lit-up screen. You looked up to the gray sky and let out a hiss.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You turned around and sat down, grumbling as rain poured down and you replied to Jungkook’s texts.

Stupid.

Not him. Just you.

friday.

“What are you trying so hard for?” you snapped.

“Why aren’t you trying hard enough?” Jeon Jungkook shot back.

It was going really well.

Clearly.

You let out a hiss and flicked your hands as if you were trying to physically get rid of his reply. Argh, this… man! The thundering rain was pouring down, down, and you were both standing under a bus stop with no intention of taking the bus. You bit back the volume of your sudden anger. There was no need to yell anyway. No one was coming out in the thick of this monsoon.

Only you and crazy-ass Jeon Jungkook.

Switched tactics. "And what makes you think your virgin ass–"

"I'm not a virgin!"

"You are here!"

And you jammed two fingers into that very muscular chest, right next to the left side of his sternum. Too fast to be stopped. The shove actually made him stumble. Or maybe it was the utter shock of the verbal and physical double jab combined with the deep growl that your voice had suddenly become. His racer jacket and black hair were slick with rain. Half of his white t-shirt soaked. Even the front of his blue jeans drenched.

You panted hard after your outburst, the anger draining away all in a flash of lightning.

Jungkook stared at you with stricken eyes.

The rain pelted down, down, beating into the silence.

“How did you know?” he breathed out.

You didn’t but somehow you did, feeling something inside of you break. Not afraid of the world. Never, never again. No, afraid of what you could do, afraid of breaking something this pure, because you broke your first love too and that past guilt still lingered. Not that you thought Jungkook loved you. He couldn’t This was only the fifth day of him knowing you.

The fuck is going on?

“I see your type all the time,” you sighed, your damp hair all over your face. “Looking for light in black holes instead of stars.” The rain had slipped off your black leather jacket. Your cropped band shirt wasn’t wet, but your black cargo pants were sodden knees down.

This coldness, however, didn’t come from the rain.

“You really should stop. For your own good.”

You looked away from him, feeling as if your own words had pierced bullet holes into your walls. Dark sky, never-ending rain, cars struggling to drive, people running with umbrellas and ponchos, arms huddled close to their bodies, and here you were just standing here in the rain, the world acting out your mind. How nice. You thought you had come to terms with everything, but obviously not. Somehow once you saw Jungkook again, once you felt his presence again, the pull was even stronger and the storm was even more intense and the worst part was that you didn’t want to leave.

You heard Jungkook’s soft, silvery voice through the gray rain.

“Why are you blaming yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened yet?”

You turned your head to look into those pleading brown eyes.

Lightning shot across the sky.

Thunder followed seconds after, eating up the night.

“W… What?”

He shook his head, dripping water.

“You haven’t hurt me. You don’t mean to, either.”

That smile, his hand extended, the inked snake on his wrist showing.

You stared at Jeon Jungkook with droplets beading on your skin but those goosebumps weren’t from the weather. Jerked your head away. What is with this gentleness? How could he know anything? He couldn’t know anything. He was just an airhead who watched too many dramas and made others believe that they could be real.

“Noona?”

You whipped your head to Jungkook, shocked at his use of the honorific. He only used it when Jimin was at the meal. Afterwards, the conversations had been clearly directed at you. Not completely informal speech, but sometimes you slipped and he did too. You never corrected him because, well.

You slapped his hand away.

Nothing was going to happen.

You closed the distance and grabbed his head, pressing your lips to his shaking ones.

It was going to be terrible. Cold. Wet. Acidic from the lingering feelings. There was no way that this kiss could be anything else with this setting.

This was real life.

Not a story.

Your hands cupped his cheeks and you sunk into his kiss. The hard edge of his jewelry and the softness of his breath, caught by your mouth, your eyes already screwed shut, nothing to do but feel, feel the way he instantly pressed back and set his hands on your elbows, pulling you closer, shuddering as your forearms pressed to his chest. A weird feeling, like two fires melting together, prickling racing across your skin, no, deeper, past your ribs and into your heart.

The storm raged on.

You snapped out of the kiss, nose to nose, water trickling in places it shouldn’t, over your eyelashes and down your neck, feeling fingers graze across your elbows. Slipping under the leather. Droplets soaking into your shirt and then warm hands lingering at the curve of your exposed waist.

Tracing your lines.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

And you kissed Jeon Jungkook again.

saturday.

No, you didn’t take him home. You’re reckless, yeah.

But you knew how that would go.

Not that Jungkook didn’t try. Maybe you would have done it, if you weren’t the equivalent of wet cat and equally torrenting emotions. His hands around your waist, pulling you closer, heat blossoming between layers of rain-drenched clothing, kiss after kiss, your hands in his hair, tangling those dark waves into wilderness, getting more and more breathless, heady with a feeling you knew but didn’t want to believe in.

For someone who hated lying, you sure enjoyed lying to yourself.

You had reasons.

How could this time be different if it was just following the same trajectory that you always followed?

You had to pry yourself from him, lips tingling, tongue curling, feeling your blood course through your veins and your heartbeat as loud as thunder, opening your eyes to his blissed-out expression, his own eyes still closed, pressing his lips together to savor your taste.

Damn.

You had wanted to tell him to stop it, stop it with all this falling, you were being dragged down by his vibe, clothes feeling heavy, desperate to be stripped away, but you kept your hands along the sides of his head, your exhale escaping but giving you away like a bad con artist.

Those shimmering dark eyes had opened, following Jungkook’s smile.

“You’re a great kisser, noona.”

His hands stayed on your waist, drumming his fingertips on your skin, tangible kisses creating invisible but no less real electricity.

You scoffed, corner of your lips rising.

“Shut up.”

Tendrils of his black-brown hair clung to his forehead. The rain drummed but it had lessened a bit. You had looked back to his eyes, defeated.

“Shut up so I don’t miss you more.”

One last, drawn-out kiss, tongue to tongue and you had broken from him, warning him sternly.

“Don’t follow me.”

Ran all the way home, face burning, not even feeling the rain even though it was still falling.

Now, present time, you sat at this boring farewell party in some fancy hotel with the sun blaring outside. Figures the nice weather would come out when you would have to stuff yourself in a fitted blazer dress and pretend to care about your boss’s boss retiring. Black, of course. For the formal occasion. Sadly, no one was dying except this old coot’s career.

Maybe you were a little salty that you couldn’t retire yet.

You looked down at your phone, which was on silent, noticing you had a new message.

ㅎ.ㅎ

O… Okay. Whatever that face was supposed to mean. You didn’t even bother to answer. Couldn’t, anyway, forced to plaster on a mildly interested expression as your boss gave a speech that you zoned out of. There were multiple large circular tables in the hotel ballroom. Outside the ballroom was an outdoor area with the buffet. Everyone had served themselves before sitting down, but, first, a few words.

A few was turning out to be too many and your salmon was getting cold.

Employees had been allowed to bring plus ones. Wives and husbands. There were a few empty seats, and a few significant others popped in mid-speech, trying to be quiet and politely bowing in apology. Of course, they weren’t required to be on time, having other obligations and such.

You twitched.

Was that why this was dragging on? So everyone could eat at once? For fuck’s sake, who cared if they were late. Then you noticed your boss’s wife stepping in, looking pretty and put-together in a forest green high-necked dress, holding the small hand of a kid in a lopsided children’s tuxedo with an equally confused expression.

Oh.

Come on.

You suddenly felt a disturbance in the Force.

“Excuse me. Sorry, sorry.”

You whipped your head around to see Jeon Jungkook in a black pinstripe suit cha-cha sliding in the empty chair next to you, picking up your black velvet purse and holding it out to you with a grin that made his large, dark brown eyes light up.

You gawked at him.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” He added your name politely and with affection, smooth as butter, criminal undercover. Even the honorific, oh, shit.

The blood drained out of your face and you tried not to think about how your co-workers sitting at the table were staring at you and him like you both had three heads. Of course, no one was supposed to be talking, so no one asked questions yet, but that was definitely going to start the second your boss was finished with his sentence.

You took your purse without another word and glared at Jungkook with such fire that you hoped he burned alive at the spot. Oh, this could turn into a murder and a funeral real fucking fast. All he did was give you those shining big peepers that made you want to strangle him. In an unsexy way.

For now.

You leaned over as the clapping started. He caught on and delicately leaned over, offering his ear to your lips.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Jungkook turned his head so only you could hear his whisper.

“I was nearby, so I figured…?”

You stared at him, plumb slack-jawed at this audacity.

He closed the distance and gently kissed your cheek. You ticked your head almost robotically, piercing eyes following his playful ones, and now you wondered if Jeon Jungkook was truly not right in the head or perfect for you.

Well.

You weren’t right in the head either.

You did text him earlier this morning that you needed to come to this party at this hotel to send off this important retiree. If you missed this, then it would have reflected poorly on you, especially when you wanted to keep your job, so, yes, it was part of the reason why you had not attempted to convince Jungkook to sleep over – not that he needed any convincing whatsoever – and the other reason was to get enough sleep so you could tolerate socializing. Did you think Jungkook was gonna finesse his way into the seat next to you? Hell no. Did you think he was gonna dress smartly and with his black hair parted neatly in the center, fuckin’ black tie pressed and collar pinned? Fuck, no.

Did you think you would like it?

No!

“How did you get them to let you in?” you hissed under your breath.

Jungkook was clapping like a seal because everyone else was. A champagne bottle was being popped. He looked systematically impressed and awed. Amazing acting. “I just said I was with you.” Glanced at you and grinned, the silver piercings on his lip gleaming. A hoop and a stud. “Aren’t I, noona?”

The urge to growl at him to shut the fuck up was silenced by your brain reminding you to be safe-for-work.

You felt a poke at your sleeve. Your co-worker sitting at your left, bleach-blond and with the curiosity of a child. Full of sudden comments and questions too, just like a kid.

“Oh, oh! You never mentioned anything about a boyfriend!” Because you didn’t have one until right now, apparently. “So handsome!” Yes, he was. You had taste. “How did you meet?” Circumstances beyond your control.

“Through a… friend.”

That was a very generous word for instigator Park Jimin.

Jungkook poked his head past you and waved. “Hi! Nice to meet you.” He was using you as a shield to avoid directly interacting with these people he didn’t know. Just chiming in with polite nods as you introduced him to the table and sitting back to let you have this uninvited spotlight that was burning you like the sun did to vampires.

Pretty close, in all honesty.

“Aw, what a sweet guy. It’s nice to meet you too. I didn’t think your type was so young and cute.”

You almost made a face of distaste. “You thought my type was old and ugly?” Oop, there goes your sharp tongue.

“Nooo.” You tried not to flinch at the playful slap of your arm. “More mature, maybe? But this is better. You don’t have to be so serious. Look at his smile! I bet that’s what drew you in.”

You glanced at Jungkook and he appropriately smiled big at the right time. Somehow, he had obtained a plate of steak. How, you didn’t care. You narrowed your eyes just a sliver. Jungkook did not stop smiling but there was at least an iota of fear in those big brown eyes. Speaking of vampire, maybe you should suck the life out of him because he was being too fuckin’ much.

“Well, he was persistent to put it lightly. Might as well give him the chance to win me over.”

Jungkook beamed like a billion-kilowatt lightbulb. Or a crystal chandelier. It depended if you wanted to say the light came from his white teeth or sparkling eyeballs.

Fuckity fuck.

You wanted to rub your temples but refrained.

You would never recover from this.

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asked you later.

Oh, now he wondered if you’re mad. You didn’t even look at him, dragging him away from the crowd by the elbow. Hopefully you had stayed long enough but there had been so many of the same questions that you were either getting dizzy or murderous. Hm. Why not both?

“I’m not mad at you,” you muttered.

“You kinda sound mad.”

“I’m not mad but I’m gonna get mad if you keep saying I am,” you warned. “Don’t start a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“A what?”

“Where did you park?”

His voice became small even though he was right next to you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

The sun was blaring down on the open parking lot, it was annoyingly humid, you were socially drained, and this, not this. You spun abruptly, too much crashing down too fast, flinging Jungkook’s arm from you.

“No,” you hissed out. “No. Don’t you dare take it back. You wanna be crazy and drive me crazy, fine, do it, keep doing it, don’t stop, but own up. I’ve got enough push-and-pull jammed into my head and I don’t need you adding to it.”

It was so easy to simply give in to the rising anger, but you found yourself locked into Jungkook’s wide, taken-back eyes, drowning in them, deeper than the ocean, seeing how rueful he was.

“Don’t do that to me,” you sighed.

At least your voice didn’t crack. You didn’t want to be angry anyway.

You raised your hand to cup his cheek but paused, not knowing anymore what was what. Always been so sure until the world started getting flipped upside down by Jeon Jungkook. You always knew all of the things to do to make someone interested, all the things to say to make them swoon, and now you didn’t know anything at all because this guy showed up and jumped right in, not even caring about the damages, the fine print, or the past that lingered.

Why are you blaming yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened yet?

Jungkook leaned forward and completed the curve of his cheek into your hollow palm, now looking at you eye-to-eye with a curious expression.

The corner of your lips curved upwards.

You leaned forward, saying your next words very seriously.

“You. Are. Crazy.”

sunday.

You sat against the window, waiting for the document to print out.

No one was in the office. You had rolled over here out of sheer boredom, looking up at the gray-blue sky and watching shafts of sunlight phase in and out. Overtime to prepare documents for Monday. You hadn’t bothered to follow dress code, but there was a breeze today, so you wore brown plaid trousers and an old vintage t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The faded album cover of Papa Roach’s Infest. Your oversized black leather jacket was on the back of your office chair once again.

You spun in your chair, the print job long done.

Thought back on the week.

Day one, awkward dinner and the start of a rollercoaster.

Day two, clutching your phone and waiting for replies due to the spotty service of the subway.

Day three, washing machines and dryers and long conversations.

Day four, shitty day with a nice ending to more texts. Better service too.

Day five, cold rain and warm lips.

Day six, surprise! You have a boyfriend and everybody knows!

You got up and wandered to the copier. Stacked everything up and clipped the right parts together, setting it on your boss’s desk. Glanced at the time at your computer. The blank screensaver abruptly appeared, showing you your blurred reflection.

Your fingertips lingered on your chest, the soft, worn fabric of the shirt reminding you of night after tumultuous night of the past. Time that made you, you. Scars you made by holding on too tightly to pain others gave you. The thought of scars in others that you started and they held on to. Repenting, in a way, healing the hearts that came in your path with intimacy and the passion you were afraid to show Jeon Jungkook because what if, what if…

What if it actually matched well?

“You,” Park Jimin had said to you months ago, “You need someone who thinks of you as their whole world.”

“I don’t want that.”

“You don’t want it. But you need it.”

You didn’t have Park-Jimin-being-right on this year’s bingo card, fuck.

You clocked out and collected your stuff, turning off the lights as you left the office, black boots the only solid sound around you, pulling out your phone to check the address one more time.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” you asked accusingly.

“Um…?”

You gripped the sides of the denim jacket and yanked it off his shoulders, pinning Jeon Jungkook’s arms to his sides. He immediately yelped but you silenced him by stepping through the door and pulling him to you by the button placket, tracing the edge of his open lips with your tongue.

“W-Wait, noona, the d-door…”

“I don’t care.”

Kissed him, deeply.

That now familiar scent, closer, slipping your tongue between his lips, succumbing to the flutters. In, out, feeling him collapse under you and moan in his throat, hard body stumbling into yours, hand haphazardly smacking the edge of the door.

It closed behind you.

You rolled your body into his, closer than close with too many layers in between, tangling his arms in his own jacket, swallowing his gasp and feeling him wiggle determinedly to free his hands and then they were on your face, strong fingers fanning out over your jaw, his jacket falling to the floor, hungrily following your tongue and lips with his own.

Something addicting about the addition of metal to those soft mouth.

This was your forte, the ability to make fantasies come true, and you took it seriously, throwing your bag onto the table by the door and shedding the protective layer of leather. Pressed chest to chest, holding his head and tracing his lips, slow fucking them, running your fingertips over the curve of his ears and making him shiver, noting the three hoops along his left ear.

Pressed your hands down his chest, over the smooth ribbed white tank molding to his muscular torso, down, down, kissing past his lips, to that mole underneath, down his chin, his head tipping back, your name drifting above your head as you kissed down his neck, the sharp clean scent of his cologne getting stronger.

“I thought… we were… o-oh, g-going out…”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” you breathed into his collarbones, hot and low, nicking his skin with your teeth and making him shiver. “Right now. Tonight. Maybe tomorrow too.” Undid the button of his jeans with some effort, yanking him towards you again and molding your hips to his, thighs to hard thighs, and that stiffness wasn’t only a sturdy zipper. “Tuesday as well. Fuck it.”

“The whole week,” Jungkook gasped as you unzipped his charcoal jeans.

“Yeah, good, you’re keeping up,” you murmured and grabbed his head again, catching a fistful of his black hair, kissing him hard with your other palm pressed to his hardness. Your tongue tracing the edge of his lips, breathing into his mouth and swallowing Jungkook’s wanton moan, intoxicated by the moment.

You pulled back just to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor.

It took longer for it to float down than for you to get on your knees.

“Woah…!”

Hooked your fingers on the elastic waistband of his Calvin Kleins and tugged them down, exhaling over that thick length that popped out. He smelled clean, like he had just showered, and you half-smiled, approving, closing the distance to curl your tongue around hard taut skin.

“Ooooh… fuuuuuuuck…”

Tightly taking control, using only your tongue to scoop around his girth and flick against his balls. Kisses, licks, flutters of breath, all of it, sensation after sensation, layering on the heat, adding sweetness to the obscene, his twitching cock hitting your cheek as you pressed kisses to his balls.

“Let me show you something,” you hummed and swallowed his pride.

Jungkook gasped so loud that his hands shot up to his mouth, fingers laced over his moan, one inked arm and one tan one, tilting his head back as your lips closed around him, softly, your tongue cupping the head, caressing the underside, the slit, letting him throb against wet muscle. Pushed him up to the roof of your mouth and slowly, in and out, rubbing the base of the head against your lips every time you ascended, fanning your fingers over his crotch to hold the base and cup his balls in between your index and thumb. Steady and consistent, sucking him off with deliberate precision.

You had a lot of fancy skills to show off but, for this first time, might as well give him the stripped-down version.

Heh.

So you blew Jungkook at his front door in your bra and pants with his clothes half-on and struggling to breathe.

“A-Ah, so s-soft… and so tight… h-how…”

You didn’t speed up. Didn’t put in more force. Used your whole torso, not just your head and neck, to avoid strain, holding his hips to take him deeper but at the same pace, letting the orgasm build with his heart rate, running your thumbs over his balls, a gentle caress, closing your eyes to savor it. Hard and twitching, but you didn’t let him disturb what you had going on, extending out the minutes, saturating every second with flowing, unavoidable bliss.

What?

You could match his vibe with your kind of romance.

You heard Jungkook’s pitch hike and the muscles under your fingers all tensed up. You spared a look upwards, but he wasn’t looking at you, shoving his hands into his messy black hair, displaying his prominent triceps, and moaning to the ceiling, dragging his bangs over his eyes.

“Oh my God, I’m cumming, fuuuuck…!”

You pillowed your tongue around the head and his salty orgasm flooded your mouth, spilling out and down your throat, but you cupped what you could and coated the sensitive head, pleased to hear Jungkook’s shudder and whimper of ecstasy, gripping his hair and pulling. The close-fitted nature of his tank top left nothing to the imagination, the aftershock rippling up his chest, even his hardened nipples poking against the fabric.

You swallowed.

Jungkook moaned and his head fell back again, his eyes probably rolled back.

Gotta finish him off right.

You licked around him carefully, cleaning him off and keeping him hard.

“You…”

Cocked an eyebrow as you shifted your eyes up, his cock buried in your throat, pulsing your muscles around his length. His chin was on his chest, wayward dark curls hanging down, shaking wide eyes watching you with fascination, his shaking voice full of awe.

“You know… how porn calls it a mouth-pussy? I really thought that shit was fake and sounded stupid, but… you have a mouth-pussy.”

You blinked at him and tried not to snort out in laughter.

You just raised both eyebrows and flicked his balls with your tongue. A few seconds later, you pulled back and countered with, “Really? Mouth-pussy? That’s how you show gratitude for the best suck of your life?”

“B-But it’s true!”

You shook you head and waved a hand at him.

“Clothes. Off.”

Every hour, every minute, every second.

Full of sex.

Jungkook wasn’t lying. He wasn’t a virgin. He was a little too good at fingering to be a virgin. Well, you hadn’t had his dick yet but it was pretty obvious with the slow circles on your clit and the kissing of your collarbones. Clothes didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Most of them were left by the door. Your shoulder blades and ass touching the bed, his other hand along your back and tracing your spine as he kissed across your breasts, shyly shifting his gaze back to your face to constantly check if you were enjoying it, not quite confident that he was making your heart flutter. You smirked back at him, taking his hand and pressing his fingers to your wet slit, pushing them in yourself.

He breathed out with you, watching your face as the pleasure snaked out from your core.

Two of them, taking it slow, but you shook your head and pressed his down, your hard nipple against his lips, and he followed your lead, faster, harder, your inner walls clenching around him, sighing deeply as the pleasure flowed, soft licks and tracing tongue. You let him have it, the slower, more romantic pace, spreading your fingers over his sheets and thrusting into his hand, adding to the pleasure, and Jungkook’s eyes glittered, kissing from one nipple to another with a smile.

“Harder?”

“And faster,” you agreed, licking the air between you and him.

Hey, you weren’t a virgin either and you liked it rough.

He kissed you first, entranced by your tongue, harder, faster, your hips following his hand, entangled in this beat, and then it was back to your nipples, kissing sucking, sparks of sensuality over your skin, your hands diving into his hair. Heat. Roughness. Passion, catching your breath and your head falling back, inhaling his scent and the clean sheets, the orgasm flooding through you, delicately forming his name with your lips.

“Ah, Jungkook…”

You didn’t let it stop there though.

His hand moved to pull out and you clutched his wrist and pushed him back in, your nail catching his ring finger, collecting it too, gasping at the added fullness, and you pulled his left hand out from under your back.

Jungkook watched you curiously as your rode his right hand and turned his left, thumb down.

You fitted it around your neck and positioned it correctly, grinning devilishly at him.

He got the hint.

Slightly unsure at first but you built his confidence, comfortably laying back on his bed and spreading out your fingers, moaning softly for him, rocking your hips into his hand, climbing to the high again, stronger his time. His fingers pressed inwards and you breathed out, savoring the choking, the way time slowed down, the way the sensations heightened, your spine arching, low gasp like heavy smoke, immortalizing the moment in his memory, black pupils blown out in those beautiful dark eyes, leaning forward to run his tongue over your nipples.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, thrusting into his fingers harder.

Lids heavy, drowning in the pleasure, his tongue, his hands, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world, the tension between you and him, sweet and intense and overwhelming, just perfect, your exhale only a thin wisp now, closing your eyes and moaning to the ceiling as you came.

It was a hard, thundering pulse, much more powerful than before, your shivering pussy gripping his fingers and your hips bucking. Thighs snapping closed, whining as you felt the hardness of his tattooed forearm, your head snapping to the side the second he released you, the rushing blood knocking you down and making your nerves sing, strong flinches across your arms and torso. Gasping to catch your breath.

Wasn’t his first time choking, but maybe the first time he got really turned on by it, because Jungkook was ogling you like a three-star Michelin meal.

It was like that all night.

From the first time he entered you, one condom wrapper the start of many, biting the left side of his lip and shuddering – “H-How are you so tight…? I just f-fingered you – oooh!” – and you wrapped around him tightly, smirking a little too smugly, one arm around his neck and one leg on his shoulder. Your fingers petaled around the base of his head, cupping him in the flower of your touch. Your thigh against his hard chest still trembling from your kisses. You angled your hips and he slipped in deeper, groaning in disbelief, his brows furrowing at you.

“H-Hey!”

Your tongue pocketed in the side of your smirk and you fucked him right.

“Gah!”

Jungkook, too, fucked you right.

You lead the pace so he could bring the force of his hips. Ah, fuck, right there, like that, and you let him know, the cries tumbling out and mixing with his, rushing wave after wave pressing into you, filling you with his girth and his power. You brought the intensity, the flint to his flame, the break in his pride and Jungkook was looking down at you, shoulders flexed, jaw tight and eyes hazy, clear emotion swirling within them and you saw your own gaze fixated on him, wanting him more than you wanted the sex.

Oh.

Shit.

You gasped and dug your nails into his scalp, grasping the pillow and throwing your head back, not expecting the suddenness of your high, injected into your heartbeat and pushing all the air out of your lungs, veins ablaze with heat as your core clenched, inner walls throbbing all around him. Jungkook groaned, biting his lower lip and thrusting hard, the small mole underneath shaking just as hard as his shoulders, but he couldn’t hold back any longer, squeezing his eyes shut, muffled scream as he came, his head falling back, two tones the start of an ongoing, wanton melody.

“Holy… fuck…”

Well, more like unholy fuck but you didn’t correct him.

You kind of expected him to pull out and leave, but instead his head snapped back and he dived down, catching your lips and dripping sweat on you, making you both laugh. Kiss after kiss, all over your face, and you could barely sputter out – “Oi, you’re sweaty!” – but he didn’t care, kissing all over your cheeks and down your neck, your chest, slurping at your nipples, you narrowed your eyes at that but those playful eyes just sparkled with deviousness, trailing down, down.

Slowing.

Jungkook pressed his lips to your waist, looking up at you.

Your heart thundered against your chest and sparks danced over your skin.

Somehow at ease.

“What?”

You smiled down at him.

“I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

Your lips parted to give him a snappy comeback, yeah, well, I gotta go to work, but nothing came out.

Jungkook grinned, his whole face lighting up and dove between your legs, biting and kissing the inside of your thighs, attacking them with his menacing mouth.

“Hey! Oi! I’m sensitive, f-fuck!”

Even planting a fat wet kiss on your clit for good measure.

“Ah!”

Shoving his tongue in your pussy.

“YO!”

You gawked at his audacity, twisting away from him. Infuriatingly, he followed, scrambling for your ass.

“There was just a condom in there!”

“Ah, who cares,” said the one that clearly didn’t. “Kiss me.”

“Hell no!”

After cleaning up and pinning him down on his own bed and thoroughly scolding him, somehow you ended up making out with Jungkook and his fingers were in your pussy again. It sounded very wet and squishy down there, probably because you showed Jungkook just now much you liked kisses under your earlobe. His tongue against your skin, teeth nicking, sucking hard and making you moan and grind on his hand, pressing against his chest.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered in your ear.

Which was know you ended up grasping his headboard and his tongue between your legs, the piercing pressed against the left side of the outer lips. You kept your weight on your knees, but Jungkook grabbed your ass and tipped your hips at a different angle, your clit right on his tongue, his nose against your crotch.

“Fuuuuck, you smell so good…”

You could barely hear him but you felt him speak, gasping at the strange sensation of hot breath and swiping tongue, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive nerves. He had a much softer tongue, but there was consistency there and plenty of gusto. It helped, actually, to have his hands gripping your thighs, adding the amplifying pleasure of restraint. You rode his face, matching the movement of his tongue. One of your hands left the headboard. Trapped your nipples between your fingers and pulled at them, making Jungkook’s eyes go wide and watch eagerly, licking and sucking harder.

Layered and intricate, full of sensation and emotion, gazing down at him and smirking as the sparks turned into lightning and you soaked his face, shivering, tipping forward at the flinches of climax, swearing under your thin breath, panting, snapped tension draining you and wetly sticking to his lips, his tongue, his cheeks.

He shoved his tongue into your quivering pussy and you sucked in a breath, feeling your inner walls pulsate around his curling muscle, his low, gravelly moan filling what little air there was between his mouth and you, his satisfaction vibrating through your body and mixing with your afterglow.

You slid down his chest and kissed him again, tasting your subtle sweet-sour on his slick lips.

He wanted you to jack him off hard and fast, the fingers of your other hand splayed out over his chest, forgetting about anything else, time only a construct, your phones discarded by the door, and here, in this bed, there was only Jungkook and you, his cock pulsing in your grip, your foxy expression to his desperate one, his eyes rolling back in the intensity, biting down hard on the left side of his lip, the small mole underneath shaking in anticipation, the tendons of his neck popping out.

You raised your free hand and gently stroked his cheek with your knuckle as you punished his cock.

His lower lip popped out of his mouth and he groaned, rough and breathless.

“A-Ah, fuck!”

A hot stream of liquid dripping down the back of your hand, drenching you and him in the strong scent of sex. Thick and potent, and you leaned forward and kissed him deeply, tightly holding his jerking cock and squeezing it all out of him.

“You’re amazing,” Jungkook panted, even after getting up – once again – to attempt to clean up your collective mess.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sitting beside him. He was radiating heat. “I was never worried about that.”

“Hah… You’re… You’re crazy…”

You had obtained your phone and just now sent a message to your boss that you would be taking a sick day on Monday. You have plenty of those. “Speak for yourself.”

“I mean, you’re like… um… uh, oh! A semen demon…”

“What?”

You almost threw your phone in laughter. Actually, you couldn’t even hear Jungkook’s explanation for what the hell he meant by semen demon because you were laughing too hard, barely able to breathe. There wasn’t a normal explanation anyway – how could there be? – and you kept inelegantly snorting afterward at inappropriate times. Jungkook, for his part, seemed proud for making you laugh so much.

“You look so beautiful laughing.”

Your response was quick, immediate, and lighthearted.

“Shut up.”

He snuggled his still too warm head into the crook of your shoulder.

“Will you stay?”

You gave him a look and then showed him the sent text message on your phone. There was something special and perfect about the smile that lit up his face, clearly showing his devotion and clearly seeing yours.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

Jungkook skipped work too. Both of you ended up sleeping in.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x noona #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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sunniskyies · 3 months

Text

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞-𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐝 || 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐟𝐢𝐜

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Finnick Odair x original female character 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: All warnings can be found on the series' masterlist 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.97k 𝐀/𝐍: Another long chapter !! I don't expect people to read this, I'm just posting old stuff :)

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞-𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝟎𝟒 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟖

The scent of salt still clings to Eloise's skin as she pushes open the cottage door, droplets from her sunrise swim dripping onto the worn wooden floor. She had swum longer than usual, for once having a whole morning free of classes and work. It’s mid-morning now, and Cova sits wriggling on Cressida’s lap as she pulls out the cloth bound in her hair to reveal two large blonde ringlets. The little girl squeals joyfully, the nervousness for the day ahead absent in her smile. Marlowe sat at the small square table picking at a plate of runny porridge. She for once doesn’t complain as Eloise quietly approaches her and begins plaiting two braids into her long dark locks. She ties them together in the back in a half-up half-down style.

“You’re gonna be okay Marly. Don’t worry so.” She assures the girl quietly and lets the conviction of her words seep into her tone. Marlowe wouldn’t be going to the games this year or any other year, Eloise would make sure of it.

She looks over to Cova to see that her mother has also decided on a half-up half-down style, but instead of braiding it she lets the ponytail sit amongst Cova’s new ringlets.

“Wow, Mama!” Cova chirps, admiring herself in the reflection of Cressida’s dirty old hand mirror. “I nearly look as pretty as Eloise.” She looks over wistfully at the older girl. Eloise snorts.

“Yeah right. I’m as plain as they come, you and Marlowe are way cuter than me.” Eloise pinches Cova's cheeks, making her giggle.

“I put your reaping dress on the bed.” Her mother says, placing a plate of porridge in front of Cova with shaky hands. “There’s a pail of water on the stove. Wash the salt off yourself and clean your face.”

Eloise’s dark eyebrows knit together. “Do I have time? I thought I needed to go get errands done before we go.”

Her mother shakes her head but doesn’t elaborate. This happens often when she gets overwhelmed, so Eloise obliges. She stands on the sliver of grass behind their house and douses her body. She shivers, the sun well up in the sky but the air still crisp, as if the sun itself was mourning.

Back inside, Eloise’s reaping dress lays out on the bed. It was the same every year, but perhaps this time it would finally fit. It’s a long, sea-grey, sleeveless Gunne Sax dress with tiny floral patterns all over it. It was simple, perhaps a little frumpy, but Eloise didn’t care much. Staring in the mirror, Eloise saw how now that she had grown into her body, the dress hugged her somewhat nicely..

“It matches my eyes?” Eloise had said half-heartedly to Jenny-Grace once a few years ago before the reaping, comparing the colour to Jen’s one. It too was a Gunne Sax dress, but hers was soft spring green with pretty ribbon details.

“It does not match your eyes. That thing is mental illness grey. Your eyes are as blue as the ocean, everyone always compliments them. Grandma says you got ‘em from swimming in the sea too much.” She had responded. Eloise had flushed, and Jenny-Grace had burst out laughing.

“Can I do your hair now?” Her mother’s frail voice snaps her out of the memory, and Eloise turns away from the full-length mirror in her shared bedroom. Cressida stands with a matching sea-grey hair ribbon. Eloise had made sure not to get her hair wet this morning in the ocean, but she didn’t realise they were going to style it.

“My hair isn’t straight like the girls’, Mum.” Eloise laughs, gesturing to her long dark blonde curls. “You don’t have to doll me up.”

Her mother just spun her around to face the mirror again, running coconut oil through her ends, lifting a heap of curls and tying it in a matching style to Cova and Marlowe’s. She ties the ribbon in a long bow at the back.

“So you all match.” Her mother says in that whisper-like voice.

Eloise kisses her on the cheek gently. “Thanks, Mum.”

“Have you got your bracelet, Petal?” Eloise nods. She never takes it off.

Her mother gives her a soft smile, a rare sight. “Now, sit down on the floor.” She instructs, stronger now.

Confused, Elosie looks down to see her mother had extracted a handful of cosmetics from her pinafore pocket. Her eyes widened.

“Makeup? Mama, I’m only 17, and I’m not a television star!” Makeup in the districts was limited to the wealthy and adults. It was a luxury for those who earned it, not some sea-nymph who brawls at the docks and drinks beer with 40-year-old men. Her mother shakes her head, meaning that Eloise can’t argue any further.

So she watches in awe as Cressida brushes light swathes of the precious powder over her cheeks, careful not to hide the subtle freckles on her nose. Then she adds a kissable pink to the bud of her lips, and finishes off by applying dark paint to her eyelashes.

Looking at herself now, Eloise suddenly sees that vision of herself sitting with Caesar Flickerman, wearing a beautiful gown and a TV-worthy smile. Except it isn’t just a fantasy, she really can put the almost pretty face that was staring back at her onto that girl.

Behind her, Cressida let a soft sob slip from her lips. Eloise rips her gaze away, quickly wrapping the dark-haired woman in a tight embrace. “Thank you, Mama. I look great. Come on. Come on, we need to take the girls.”

Her mother sucks in a breath, letting Eloise help her to her feet. Together they gather up the girls, dumping porridgeless plates in the sink and tying the wriggling childrens’ laces. Holding hands, the four girls walk to the square where the reaping would start at 1:00.

It takes longer to get there than it takes when Eloise is by herself, it would be improper to scuff her shiny chestnut boots running around. By the time they make it to the square, it’s swarming with people. Tear-stained children saying goodbye to their mothers, older siblings guiding youngsters to the right pens. But a solemn air hangs everywhere, filling the children’s frail little lungs and choking out the warmth of the sunlight.

The girls take turns hugging their mother, and Eloise watches as she totters off to the parent’s area. Marlowe and Eloise hold each of Cova’s hands, the little one now swamped with nerves about her first reaping.

“Now Cova, remember what I told you? They’re gonna prick your finger for a teensy bit of blood, and then you’re gonna follow your school friends to the right pen, okay?” Cova looks dazed, nodding absently. Eloise squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“Look, I’ll go first, show you it’s not a big deal, m’kay?” She says, partly for the 12-year-old, and partly for Marlowe too. The poor girl had gone as white as a sheet, her dark eyes huge.

A few more kids get pricked, and then it’s Eloise’s turn. She holds out her finger as confidently as possible to the masked Peacekeeper, wanting to encourage her younger sisters. But in all honesty, Eloise has a slight phobia of needles. She grits her teeth as the needle punctures her soft finger, rough hands pushing her scarlet blood onto the page alongside a hundred others.

As she’s sent along, Eloise tries to look back at her stepsisters. But a wave of children sweeps her forward, blocking her view and forcibly dividing her off into the 17-year-old pen. She can only hope Marlowe and Cova found their way as she’s jostled around by nervous bodies.

Finally, everyone settles down, and Eloise cranes her neck to see the stage. An elegant podium perches at the prow of the stage like a ship’s figurehead, behind it a row of chairs hem the seam between the wooden stage and the Justice Building. The chairs' occupants appear, walking up the stairs and filing along to their seats.

District 4’s Victors line up in order of victory, 74-year-old Mags Flanagan at the head. She won the 11th games, Eloise recited automatically in her head. Next, Marino Bay, victor of the 42nd games. Eloise remembers seeing the 45-year-old occasionally, popping his head in for handfuls of advice at the academy now and then. Then follows Rio Fathom, 34-year-old victor of the 53rd games. Eloise doesn’t know much about him other than he only lives with his wife and has a fondness for rum. Behind him, Caspian Dune. A meticulously vain man of 26 who won the 60th games. He wasn’t not handsome, but Eloise found his beauty artificial and tremendously upkept, hair gelled into the perfect way, lips curved in a practised smile. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say he radiated egotism.

We, he would if it wasn’t the Finnick Odair who walked a few steps behind, the arrogance that bloomed from the young man overpowering anything Caspian could muster. Finnick Odair won the 65th games at a record 14 years of age, and this is his fourth year mentoring, despite him only turning 18 five months ago. Not that Eloise is counting.

He is constantly gracing the television screen, the ‘Darling of the Capitol’ always wearing the latest fashion with a new woman at his hip and a camera on his heels. He had won over the conceited people of the Capitol with one flash of his charming smile, and after he came back from the games as a Victor his person is the only thing the Capitol seems to want to talk about. How he looks, who he is with, the whole thing makes Eloise’s stomach turn. But unlike Caspian, Finnick is undeniably gorgeous. Golden skin and bronze hair, toned physique and an alluring smile, Eloise can see the appeal. She herself finds her eyes following him as he takes his seat at the end of the line.

There used to be more Victors, 3 or 4 more, lost to ‘old age’ or ‘health issues’, but Eloise remembers the hush-hush murmurs of suicide or substance abuse.

Once all the remaining Victors are seated, the thin figure of District 4’s Mayor Saltwick followed closely by the broad shoulders of Anemone Kale appears on stage. Anemone Kale is a ridiculous woman and is well known for fully embracing the role of District 4’s escort. While other Capitolites get surgical enhancements to have colourful skin, replicate animals or other gruesome body modifications, Anemone has gotten scales, gills, and skin colouration done until her head and shoulders resemble that of a mermaid. No one in District 4 admires this look, but the woman seems to believe this is a groundbreaking beauty standard in the seaside district. Because of course, they are fishermen! What do you mean looking like a fish isn’t attractive?

The two of them barely sit in their designated seats when the large clock at the top of the Justice Building heralds 2 o’clock. The Mayor stands once again and makes his way to the podium. Eloise zones out as he rambles on about the history of Panem, his annual reprimand fading into the background. She finds her gaze sliding back over to Finnick, reclining in his chair with his leg resting comfortably over the other and arms draped about him. He looks so at ease, she thinks to herself, no sign of the drunken mess she had seen yesterday.

His gaze seems to be roving over the faces of the children, and for a moment, his sea-green eyes seem to rest on her ocean-blue ones. She instantaneously looks away in fright.

She swore he had recognised her at the docks yesterday, but did he? They had never met before, so surely he must’ve gotten her confused with someone similar… Then why did it feel like he was staring at her? Eloise scoffs at herself. He is a hundred kids and a stage away, he can’t possibly have located her eyes! But when Eloise looks back, she could’ve sworn his gaze caught on her again.

Her reverie is shattered as the crowd around her begins to clap and the Mayor, apparently finished, steps away and is replaced by a bustling Anemone. ”Happy Hunger Games!” Anemone practically sings, the microphone whining uncomfortably. “Now for the selection! May the odds be ever in your favour!”

Trotting over to the girls' bowl, Anemone rifles through the pool of tiny white envelopes. Each paper contains the name of a child, a daughter, a sister, a life. The one Anemone holds in her silk-gloved hand now contains the name of a doomed child, a lost daughter, a missed sister. Anemone leans back into the mic. “As always, ladies first!” She drawls, pawing at the black seal of the paper slip.

The mass of children and parents stills, watching with bated breath for the name that is to be announced. The fear that surrounds Eloise is stifling, but she can’t deny the validity of it. Regardless of the blood that runs through their veins, Marlowe and Cova are her sisters, and the thought of their rosy cheeks and curious eyes being sent to slaughter aches deep within her. ”Florence Bay!”

A wave of relief washes over Eloise. She isn’t a friend or a loved one, and that is the best outcome. But the same can’t be said for everyone. From behind Anemone, Eloise can see that the Victor Marino is stiff, hands clutching the armrests, eyes wide. Then she realises. She must be his daughter, Eloise grimaces.

About thirty heads in front of her, she can see the young girl pushing her way through the 16-year old pen, her curly brown locks tied in two loose plaits down the back of her eggshell blue pinafore. The girl stumbles up to the stage, hesitantly joining Anemone at the front, glancing at her father, who somehow looks more terrified than her.

Eloise feels a churning deep in her stomach at the sight of the Victors, a nervous flutter that slowly fills her whole body with a electrified buzz. Was it the way the Victors held their heads high? Was it the strong limbs and weaponry skills they all harboured? Or was it the knowledge that each one of them had entered an arena with 1/24 odds and came out with glory dripping from their names?

Eloise stares up at the female tribute, trying to picture her sitting on stage in the beautiful gown and the whole of Panem watching, but she can’t. The poor girl looks green to the face, and by the pitiful way she stands, she resembles more of a scared newborn giraffe than a fierce warrior. That girl will die for sure, and Eloise feels the strange sensation one usually gets when seeing a dead person. Unfortunately, Florence seems to know this as well, and frantically looks around at the other girls in the audience when Anemone speaks again.

”Now, as is customary, we will call for volunteers!” The escort’s voice rings out to be met by silence.

A handful of heartbeats go by, roaring in Eloise’s ears like an earthquake despite the deafening silence that stretches out, until;

”I volunteer as tribute!” a strong voice calls out.

For a second Eloise wants to look around to see where the voice comes from, before she snaps back to reality. It is her arm in the air. Her voice that had called out.

She has paused in her moment of realisation, and now everyone in the square is looking around for her. Eloise feels dizzy. But Anemone just lets out a small cough, prompting Eloise to come up and swap with Florence.

Eloise jerks into action, her legs taking her through the crowd of murmuring girls and into the corridor between the girls’ and boys’ pens. She vaguely registers Peacekeepers plodding behind her as she walks toward the stairs. There, she passes Florence walking back down to her section. Up close, Eloise can see the tears swimming in her eyes, her cracked lips forming a hasty ’thank you’ before the Peacekeepers push her onwards.

Eloise does her best to hold her head high, not wanting to look weak. She still hasn’t fully grasped the situation she’s in right now, but she knew how many people were watching this moment and on the television replay tonight. Sizing her up.

Before she knows it, Eloise finds herself standing before a sea of people, hundreds of familiar eyes trained on her. Heart pounding, her vision stretches and warps at a swell of disorientation that starts stirring in her head, and Eloise has to clasp her hands behind her back to steady herself. The cameras can’t see this, of course, but the Victors lined up behind her surely can see the way her fingers involuntarily squeeze the blood out of each other, white knuckles tangled together.

She is so out of it that she almost doesn’t hear Anemone asking her name over the roaring of blood in her ears. Eloise steps slowly up to the microphone for fear of her knees buckling beneath her. ”Eloise Thorne,” She says, managing to steady the hoarse tremble that threatens to crawl into her mouth before she speaks.

”Splendid!” Anemone trills and Eloise steps to the side of the flamboyant escort where she has seen so many girls stand before her. Never before did she actually think she’d be here herself. They were just daydreams, weren’t they?

”Let’s give Eloise a show of our support!” Anemone all but gushes, her enthusiastic claps slowing awkwardly as she finds herself the only one clapping. Hesitantly a steady smattering of applause fills the square, but Eloise can’t bring herself to search for the undoubtedly applause-less figures of Jenny-Grace and her family, she doesn’t need to look at them to see the looks of horror and disappointment on their faces.

”Now for the boys!” Anemone continues, her heels clicking on the hardwood as she strides over to the glass bowl that holds the names of hundreds of wide-eyed boys. Another wave of that stifling atmosphere swamps the plaza, and even the breeze holds its breath as Anemone’s gloved hand flits through the bowl before decidedly plucking an envelope as if it were a particularly juicy treat and not the name of an innocent boy doomed to death.

The sound of paper rustling seems to echo throughout the surrounding buildings as the escort click-clacks her way back to the microphone and slips open the paper sleeve. ”August Reed.” Anemone announces.

Eloise’s body goes slack, her previously knotted fingers dropping to her sides in disbelief. The name sounds distant, as if being read underwater, until she realises she is swaying. She swallows.

Squaring her feet to steady herself, Eloise searches the crowd for the sweet curly mop of August’s hair. She sees it, bobbing as he slips between bodies and trips over feet before he finally emerges from the 15-year-old section, brown eyes as round as saucers locked onto Eloise’s. She winks and tries to project reassurance into the smile she shoots at him. He still looks tense, but the cloudy glaze seems to clear from his eyes when he realises she wasn’t already sizing him up for murder. He pads up the wooden steps and hastily crosses the stage, the beady eyes of the crowd finally leaving Eloise and looking at the boy instead.

Eloise’s fingers twist together again when no one volunteers in the young boy’s place. No academy kid raising their arm to say ‘Leave him! Take me instead!’.

They numbly stand a mayor-length apart as the haughty man drones on about the Treaty of Treason. Eloise isn’t listening though, her mind thinking about poor Jenny-Grace Reed in the crowd losing her best friend and her brother in less than ten minutes. Eloise begins to feel the weight of her actions sinking through her shoulders and clenching her heart. Her life that once stretched out in front of her now curls up, forming an impenetrable door that everyone else has the key to but her. Because she already knows what she has to do.

She has to get August home.

Once the Mayor finishes his dreary recitation, he gestures the tributes to clasp hands. But without hesitation, instead of accepting August’s outstretched hand, she reaches over and pulls him into a tight hug. While tense at first, August quickly melts into her familiar embrace, her arms seemingly the only thing holding him together in that moment. The crowd lets out the breath they were holding, a gentle hum of relief, pity and regret all stirred together.

The anthem of Panem begins to trickle from the large speakers mounted around the square, and soldiers dressed in white take this as a call to action. The Peacekeepers usher them into the Justice Building, unsympathetic gloved hands prodding and pushing them down opposite hallways.

Finally, at the end of the hallway, the Peacekeepers lead her into a secluded room and shut the door behind her. Looking around, Eloise can’t help but gape at the wealth cloying to every inch of the room. The walls were covered in wallpaper, white ducks and tiny seashells on a background of blue, velvet sofas and chairs, deep chocolatey wood and a shimmering crystal chandelier.

Eloise walks up to the window and peers out. The crowds have almost dissolved, Peacekeepers shouting orders around muffled by the glass but still audible. Eloise can’t bear to look at those large families going home for the afternoon, so instead she sinks into the sofa.

She thinks about Magnus, the closest thing to a father that she can remember. And all the rest of the crew, who will tell them why she won’t be there on time for her shift? Will word of mouth get around?

And her stepsisters. Eloise doesn’t worry too much about them, even without Eloise’s wages they will get by okay. In all honesty, Eloise has always believed that she’s a bit of a black sheep, with curly hair instead of straight and blue eyes instead of brown. Her mother passes more for Marlowe and Cova’s mother than she does for Eloise. Maybe it’ll even be better this way.

And Jenny-Grace. Eloise winces internally. She won’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up to say goodbye, it must be uncomfortable to say goodbye to someone you want dead, if only to keep your brother alive. But Eloise understood, she would choose the life of her sisters over her best friend, because at the end of the day, Eloise was Marlowe and Cova’s protector. And Jenny-Grace was August’s.

The door to the luxurious room swings open, two distraught sisters streaming in followed closely by their stepmother.

“El!” The girls both shriek, grabbing her shoulders.

“What were you thinking?” Marlowe wails “You didn’t get called!”

“You’ve gotta tell them you’ve made a mistake!” Cova cries, her words jumbled from the stream of tears and snot, and the sobs wracking her body.

“Shhhh. It’s gonna be okay.” Eloise says, pulling them both into a tight squeeze. “I’m just going on a little trip. You know I’m super strong, I’ll be back before you know it.” Eloise lies, not wanting to tell them about her decision to sacrifice herself in exchange for August’s survival.

“But it’s so dangerous! What if you… what if you…” Marlowe blubs into her dress.

“You saw that little girl up there? Florence?” Eloise says, pushing the two girls back so they could see her face. “She’s your age, Marly. Wouldn’t you’ve liked it if someone took your place? You saw the way no one volunteered for her! She’s just the same as you, just as deserving of life as you.” She reasons. Marlowe just shakes her head strongly.

“But you’re deserving of life too!” She whispers hoarsely. Eloise does her best to smile.

“Yes, and I will come back. Go on now, you two. That Peacekeeper needs you to leave.” She deflects, the Peacekeeper who appeared at the door now asking them to leave. Hesitantly, the girls oblige, leaving the room with shouts of ‘I love you!’ and ‘Please stay safe!’

Defying the Peacekeeper, her Mother stays behind, pulling Eloise into a quick, tight hug.

“Stay safe.” She whispers, not a tear in her eye. “I love you.”

Eloise studies her, the confusion must be written all over her features. Surely her mother, too fragile for even the mundane, should be breaking down at an event like this? Eloise’s eyes widen.

“You knew.” She gasps. “Forfeiting the errands. The hair. The makeup. How did you know? I didn’t even know!”

Her mother just shakes her head, lost for words as always. The Peacekeeper is tugging at her shoulder, demanding she leave. Her mother blows her a kiss before disappearing out the door, pushed by the Peacekeeper.

Other than Jenny-Grace, who wasn’t going to come, and The Wayfarer’s crew, who were currently out at sea, there was no one left to say goodbye to Eloise. She sits back down on the couch, letting her body sink into the squishy pillows. I wonder if I lay here, I’ll sink all the way in and stay there forever, Eloise thinks idly, before surprisingly, the door swings open again.

Annie, Noah, Vera, Jasper and Mako flood into the room. Eloise springs up.

“What are you guys doing here?” She exclaims.

“We’re here to give you some last-minute advice.” Annie says, hands on her hips “Why’d you not tell us you were going to volunteer?”

Eloise lets out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t know I was going to.” She croaks. Annie’s eyebrows furrow and she quickly pulls her into a tight hug, the others following suit until they are all hugging each other. Eloise had never thought about her classmates as friends before, but right at this moment, she felt like she was going to miss them terribly.

“Get to the Cornucopia first.’ Vera sniffs “You’re fast.”

“Yeah,” Noah agrees, “find a trident. Or a spear.”

“Get water!” Annie adds.

They all start bombarding Eloise with advice, even as three Peacekeepers start forcefully dragging them out.

“Think of us when you’re on TV!” Jasper calls, halfway out the door.

“Don’t die!” Annie calls, already out in the hallway being carried by a Peacekeeper.

Eloise laughs, not necessarily a happy one, but a laugh nonetheless. Don’t die, she thinks to herself. If only it was that easy.

She found herself thinking once again about Jenny-Grace. Sweet, lovely Jenny-Grace, who always sneaks peppermints into kind customers’ brown bags, and spends hour after hour patiently waiting while Eloise runs around doing god knows what. Sweet lovely Jenny-Grace who always wears yellow and smells like coconut and the sea and freshly baked bread. Eloise’s face turns stony as she thinks about how she must feel, watching her beloved little brother sent off to death. She couldn’t imagine seeing Cova or Marlowe like that, and Eloise knew more than ever why she needed to do this.

Her solitude is interrupted by another group of Peacekeepers entering the chamber. They wordlessly guide her out of the room and down a different hallway. Eloise squints as sunlight hits her eyeballs, and finds herself being led towards the Capitol train station.

Realising with a pang in her chest that this is the last time she will ever be in District 4 again, Eloise lets her eyes drink in the scenery. The smell of salt and summer flowers, and the warm, albeit weak, sun on her back.

As they enter the station, Eloise is shocked to see the eyes of a thousand camera lenses clicking and flashing in her face. Trying not to be disoriented by the shouts and whistles, Eloise does her best to smile as she’s escorted onto the flashest train she’s ever seen.

Inside, Anemone Kale sits on a plush blue sofa, but Eloise doesn’t have time to look around before a familiar mop of dark curls clamber aboard after her. August’s eyes are glazed, and Eloise wastes no time crossing over to him and wrapping him up in a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry, don’t worry.” She soothes, already feeling the tears soaking into her shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? I’m going to keep you alive. I’ll keep you alive.” She repeats these whispered words, hugging her best friend’s brother until he takes a deep breath and steps away.

“You can’t… you can’t do that,” He whispers, averting her eyes. Eloise understands it’s one thing to politely refuse a cup of tea, and another to refuse your own survival out of politeness. You can’t do it.

“Yes, I can.” She insists. “I’ll keep you alive until the very end.”

“What if… we’re the final two?” August whispers with a shudder. Eloise shakes her head.

“Then I’ll die. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She says, resolutely. If not to convince herself, then to reassure August.

“Children, why don’t you go to your rooms and have some downtime, hm?” Anemone interjects awkwardly, obviously overhearing their conversation. “I’ll call you both for supper in a few hours, and you can meet your mentors! How exciting!” She gestures to a hall that must contain their rooms.

Eloise and August don’t share this excitement, shooting each other a look as they walk out of the luxurious main room in silence. Eloise gives August a shoulder squeeze before they disappear into their separate rooms.

Eloise walks into a space larger than her entire house and immediately beelines for the bathroom as a wave of nausea rolls through her. Quickly gathering up fistfuls of golden coils, Eloise collapses in front of the shiny toilet bowl just in time as she revisits her porridge. It doesn’t help that the train pulls out of the station halfway through, making her lurch and grab on tightly to the toilet.

After her body adjusts to the movement, she staggers over to the sink and washes her face and mouth, watching numbly as the precious powder her mother had lovingly applied just over an hour earlier washes away down the drain. Tears prick in her eyes. Why did she volunteer? She wasn’t Annie Cresta, she didn’t want to kill anyone! Looking into the gold-inlaid mirror, Eloise saw the face of her fantasy staring back at her, the one who sat in front of Panem and revelled in her victory.

Eloise hears a scream escape from her mouth at the sight, and stumbles back into the shower and ripping her dress off as fast as she could, shutting the door and blasting the water. Eloise had never taken a hot shower before, only ever bathing in metal tubs. But she had used the outdoor showers at the docks meant for blasting sand and grit from you with cold seawater, so finding the right button wasn’t difficult.

A rainbow of bottles and pots sit on shelves around the spacious shower, and Eloise finds herself studying them. Unlike at home, the Capitol seem to have bottles of different soaps for different purposes, instead of just one singular bar. Despite the life-threatening situation Eloise is currently in, girlish curiosity wins over and she begins reading their labels and lining up several bottles on the floor that sport different titles. She shuffles them around into the correct order according to the instructions on the back and begins washing her hair and scrubbing her body head to toe. Delightfully, she finds one of each that smells like coconut, and closing her eyes, Eloise can almost picture herself at home while her mother mixes ointments in the kitchen.

She steps out of the shower 45 minutes later, cleaner than she’s ever been. She wraps her wet hair up in one of the towels and another around her body while she rummages through the chest of drawers in the bedroom. It’s full of soft, fine clothes and that same girlish joy from before hijacks Eloise’s hands as she shuffles through them. If she is going to die in a matter of weeks, she might as well enjoy this luxury.

She chooses a soft white blouse and a pair of jeans. Jeans! Denim is unheard of in the districts, and the Capitolites don’t see much fashion in them. But Eloise finds them very comfortable.

She sits on the side of the bed and looks out the window, running a coconut-scented lotion through her hair in an effort to remind herself of home. It smells more artificial than the stuff her mother makes, but Eloise doesn’t mind. Outside, the train seemed to be racing through a huge expanse of red dirt, cacti and lumps of rock are the only undulations on the surface. This is nothing like home, ELoise thinks, picturing the soft sand and expanses of water that rule her beloved District 4.

Eloise must’ve fallen asleep, because she wakes up to a sharp rapping on her door. “Dinner time! Hurry now!” Anemone’s insufferable voice pierces through the door.

Groaning, Eloise sits up from the uncomfortable tangle she had fallen asleep in. It must’ve been a few hours, because her hair is soft and dry and stars twinkle outside her window. Slipping her feet into the fluffy slippers provided for indoor use, Eloise shuffles down the hall and is welcomed by a deep mahogany table ladened with more food Eoise has even seen in her life.

Everyone else is already seated, and 4 pairs of eyes glanceup at her arrival. A curious pair of sea-green ones meet with hers, and the breath leaves Eloise’s lungs. Quickly avoiding his gaze and trying to suppress the rapid thuds of her heart, Eloise sits down with her head lowered. Distracting herself with spooning meat, vegetables and the fanciest bread onto her plate, Eloise is awestruck at the mountain of food available. This table could feed a large family for over a week!

Anemone doesn’t seem to register her shy demenour, smiling at Eloise’s polite ‘table manners’ as she takes small, unenthusiastic bites. She must be bored by now of starving children shovelling food in their face, Eloise thinks bitterly.

“It’s August, right? And… Eloise?” A velvety deep voice asks from across the table, and Eloise could feel eyes on her. It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. Glancing up for the briefest amount of time, Eloise nods, and sees August doing the same.

“And you're a Career, huh? What’s your weapon of choice?” Finnick presses. Eloise fidgets slightly.

Eloise isn’t usually shy, but all she wants in this moment is for the Victor’s attention to leave her. “What? No! No, I’m not a… I’m not…” Eloise begins, but trails off when a flash of white catches her attention. August was cutting a slice of ham away, his wrist sporting a string of cowrie shells.

“August? Is that?” Eloise starts at the sight, and August’s dark eyes meet with hers in confusion. Eloise gestures to his wrist, and August’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Oh! Oh, yes it’s Jen’s.” The usually bubbly young boy says, devoid of his usual spark. His eyes seem to glaze over. “She gave it to me. For my token.”

Eloise (Who has now forgotten that a certain someone is across the table, unanswered) takes in a breath. August notices this, and he gives her a sad smile.

“She told me to send her love. And, and that she wanted to come say goodbye, but she- she-” August says, searching for the words.

Eloise smiles. “It would be too difficult,” She croaks. “I understand.” A weight seems to leave August’s frame at that, and he sits a little higher in his chair, his eyes less dark.

Sensing a silence, Anemone begins rambling on about the schedule of the next few days, spurring on their mentors, Finnick and Mags Flanagan, to begin coaching. The two of them ask various questions about weaponry, survival skills and other Games-related trivia. Finnick ends up taking the lead, but his rapid-fire questions seem to be aimed at Eloise, who finds herself often pinned under his intense stare.

Thankfully, August is all too happy to answer the questions for Eloise, generously raving about her abilities at the Academy and her jobs in the community.

“My grandmother loves her.” August says. “She says El always gives her the freshest bread. And she is so brave! You must’ve heard about the time when the Peacekeeprs caught her r-”

“Want some more salmon, August?” Eloise interrupts quickly, shooting August a glare. He flushes, looking sheepish.

“Yup!” He squeaks. Finnick’s eyes roam over to her again, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘Go on?’. Eloise averts her eyes again, shaking her head slightly. Damn it, August!

A swarm of Avoxes come out, clearing the messy table in a couple efficient seconds. Behind them, another group follows, arms carrying trays spilling over with various deserts. The two tribute’s eyes practically pop out of their head.

Awkwardness forgotten, Eloise eagerly joins August as he piles his plate high with slices of cakes, puddings, sweet sauces and fruits. A bowl of fruit sat near Anemone catches her eye, and she gingerly reaches over and plucks a piece from it, rolling it around in her hand.

Calling it a bowl of fruit is generous. In reality, it was a bowl full of fresh, pink peaches. Eloise slowly takes a bite, and is transported back to the narrow grass lawn behind her tiny house overgrown with various fruit trees. She pauses, her mouth about the soft flesh as she drinks in the scent for a long moment, her eyes looking up at Anemone.

“Are these from District 4?” She asks, holding up the fruit.

“Yes, they are.” Mags answers instead. Her voice is frail, but not the way Cressida’s is. Hers is delicate like a spindly sapling, whereas Mags’ is frail after a long life of courage and strength. Eloise meets her friendly gaze.

“Me and Finnick brought them from home. We didn’t want to leave them to rot. Aren’t they just the most delicious peaches you’ve ever had?” She smiles, taking one for herself. Eloise’s breath hitches.

𝟎𝟏 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟒

"Mother, do we have to do this? It’s our food; we shouldn't share it with other people. Especially not him, he was stinkin’ rich!" 13-year-old Eloise whined. Cressida stood at the kitchen table, gently filling an old Blue Eye beer crate with juicy pears, bunches of grapes, and nectarines from the orchard garden outside. She then filled a small wicker punnet with handfuls of sugar-snap peas, tying the peas' flowers into bunches along with other wildflowers from outside, and nestled them in between the fruit until the crate resembled a glorious gift basket.

"Yes, Petal. It is a kind thing to do. Their poor boy just got back from the games," she sighed with a smile, popping a pod of peas into Eloise’s pouting mouth.

"But they don’t need it!" Eloise insisted. Her mother frowned.

"How did you know that they don’t need it?" she asked. Eloise's brow furrowed.

"Because they can afford food easily! They don’t need us to give it to them!" she responded adamantly.

"Yes, maybe you’re right. They do already have food. But a gift is more than its contents; it’s showing the other person love, and that you care about them," Cressida hummed, settling a few jars of her coconut lotion in the crate too. "That little boy has been through an ordeal; wouldn’t you agree that the thing he needs most right now is some care?"

Little Eloise thought for a long moment and then nodded. "Yes, I understand. But what are they giving us in return?"

Her mother, finally finished, handed Eloise the punnet of peas while she carried the crate on her hip like a basket. Eloise opened the door, and they began walking away from the house.

"Nothing, dear. The kindest souls are those who perform good deeds without expecting anything in return, simply because kindness is their nature. Even when it goes unseen," she responded. "Does that make sense?"

Eloise nodded. They were heading somewhat out of town, and after 20 minutes of walking, the two girls reached the iron gates of the Victor's Village. Eloise was almost speechless by the gleaming white houses that lined the road stretching out ahead, and pictured herself returning from the Games to a house like that.

"Come on, Petal. We don’t want them to see us, remember? We’re not here to be attention-seekers; we’re just being generous," Cressida said. She had already placed the gifts in the gateway and started walking away. After another moment of awestruck staring, Eloise tore her eyes away and began to follow her mother back home. She had just turned the corner, out of sight of the Village when she heard a door open. Ducking behind a huge ivy bush that climbed the wrought iron fence, Eloise peered into the Village.

A young boy exited his house in the distance and seemed to notice the crates at the gate. Curiously, he began to walk over. He knelt down, inspecting the crate of fruit for a name, a note, anything. Not having found one, he looked up, confusion etched on his soft features as he glanced around for a sign of the kind gifter. He looked down at the crate again and plucked a peach out. Rolling the sweet fruit around in his hands, a small smile began to spread over his lips.

Eloise Thorne had never seen a boy like him before. Not like this. The boy’s tan skin was soaked in golden morning sunlight, a breezy white shirt hanging off him. His bronze hair was tousled, and Eloise felt like she could just reach out and touch it. It looked so feathery, falling into his eyes when the boy had looked around for the gifter. She could see his eyes, the softest shade of sea-green. Eloise had never seen eyes that colour before. Her heart skipped a beat at the happy expression that molded his features, his lips upturned at the corners as he studied the peach, his brow furrowed gently.

She had done this, Eloise realised. She had made this boy smile like that. Euphoria filled her body, and she gazed eagerly out at the boy, her eyes drinking in every inch of his pretty face.

Butterflies tried to flutter up her throat when the beautiful boy looked up once again, searching for the gifter. She jumped back out of fright when his eyes landed on the bush, and with one look back at Finnick, she sprinted down the road and after her mother.

Every month after that, Eloise took it upon herself to fill an empty Blue Eye crate with whatever fruit was in season in her garden. She picked bunches of flowers, jars of jam, handfuls of carefully selected seashells. Her mother watched on fondly, knowing full well why her silly daughter was so eager every month to carry out her delivery.

"It’s just a nice thing to do!" 15-year-old Eloise had protested once, Cressida laughing at the oblivious girl.

She never let the gorgeous Victor see her, of course. She sneaked over to the Victor’s Village ridiculously early on the morning of the 1st, 2nd, or 3rd of each month to drop off her delivery before her morning swim, sometimes pausing for a moment behind the bush to try and glimpse him.

Finnick would always try to catch a glimpse of his “Blue-Eyed Gifter” too, waking up early at the beginning of the month and hurrying outside. But every time, he was only greeted by a crate full of thoughtful gifts, the closest thing to a name in sight being the large Blue Eye label printed onto the wood.

Eloise never admitted it to herself, but her surge of admiration for the young Victor led her to take on her intense lifestyle. She begged and begged Remus and her mother to let her drop out of regular school to attend the combat academy. Her parents were at first horrified at the idea.

"Why would you throw away your education for fight training? You’re not going into the games!" Her mother had whispered hoarsely, her hands gripping the table.

"Mother, please! I’ll study at home and at work; I’m smart! But I want to be strong so I can work a proper job here in District 4!" She had begged. Remus scoffed.

"We’ve already let you take up those shifts at the grocer and that savage job at the docks. Why should we do anything for ya?"

Eloise frowned. "Let me? I give you all the money from those jobs!"

Magnus, darling Magnus, had started teaching Eloise combat in secret a few weeks back, and it became apparent she had a talent for it. He had suggested attending the Academy, and Eloise was set on it. Think about all the Victors that came from here! Eloise had daydreamed.

Every reaping, Eloise caught sight of the golden boy in broad daylight, and every year she wished for his sea-green gaze to notice her. Every lesson at the Academy she hoped he would be there to lead a lesson, but was always disappointed by Marino Bay or Rio Fathom instead. Every month, she fantasized about leaving a note with the delivery, a name, or a place to meet, before blushing out of embarrassment and deciding against it.

Eloise has never acknowledged to herself that she has a crush on Finnick Odair.

𝟎𝟒 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟖

Right now, a boy with golden hair sits across the table from Eloise, watching her intently as she studies the fruit in her hands.

“Yes, they’re very delicious.” She mumbles. Could these be the ones I dropped off yesterday?

They all finish eating in comfortable conversation, August now fervently asking questions about survival skills to Finnick, who responds with equal enthusiasm. After everyone is stuffed to point of discomfort, Anemone tutting dissapointedly, Mags instructs them all to go down to the television where they will watch the reapings. Eloise feels nerves bubble up as they begin to move to the long, crescent shaped couch. These were the kids she was going to have to kill.

August and Eloise fill a large bowl with popcorn, cookies and slices to nibble on as the holographic television powers on. They sit next to eat other, watching intently as Ceasar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith open the program, excitedly revelling at what an amazing Hunger Games that had before them this year.

The begin showing the reapings switching to a shot of the glistening town square of District 1. Naturally, two 18-year-olds volunteered, a tan girl called Starla and a muscular boy named Nikolai.

“Careers.” Finnick says, “They are going to be your biggest competition, unless you ally with them.” He shoots a quick glance at Eloise, who realises with a jolt he thinks she is a Career too. And, well, she is, really. But not like them. They have spent their whole lives preparing to kill, she has spent her whole life preparing to survive.

District 2 is next, and unsurprisingly two more Career volunteers. What is surprising, however, is the 14-year-old girl who was lightning-fast to put her hand up. Once up on the stage, the cameras zoom in on the young girl.

“Woah,” August breathes.

She is gorgeous. Possibly the prettiest girl Eloise has ever seen. Unlike the tan skin of District 4, this girl has pale skin and bleached, ice-white hair which she wears cropped around shoulder-length. Like Eloise, her pin-straight hair was put up in a loose half-up half-down style, and the cameras manage to pick up the menacing line of silver earrings adorning her ears. She has dark eyeliner on, and she looks ready to kill. For a 14-year-old, she’s unbeliveably fit. She must’ve been training her whole life.

Speaking into the microphone, she reveals her name to be Minthe Vercoe, and the 17-year-old next to her is Bennett.

Everyone in the room is silent, all of them knowing that that girl, despite her ridiculous age, would be the biggest threat. But Finnick obviously doesn’t do well with defeat, and pipes up.

“Don’t worry about her. From what I’ve heard, you are plenty strong enough to hold your own against whatever she’s got, Eloise.” Eloise blushes at that remark, and shakes her head softly. She tries to restrain the butterflies in her stomach that begin to dance at the sound of her name on his lips.

From District 3, an uninspiring duo of 15-year-old Clarke and 16-year old Wyatt. And then it is District 4.

Eloise watches as Florence Bay is reaped, and she watches her very own hand shoot up in the air. Eloise has never seen herself on video before, and is secretly pleased to see how put-together she looked walking up to the stage. She sure didn’t feel it in the moment.

She sees herself introduce her name, surprised again to hear how steady her voice was. She can see her arms behind her back, and knows the way their fingers must be twisted.

“For a second there I though your fingers were going to drop off!” Finnick says from along the couch. Eloise whips around to lock eyes with him, a smirk playing on his features, and unbelievably a laugh slips out of her mouth.

“You saw that?” She winces with a giggle. Finnick nods, seemingly pleased to of finally made her react for the first time all day.

“I did. Although I was quite distracted by old Marino almost passing out from relief. Thanks for saving Flo, by the way.” He grins with a wink. The dancing butterflies in Eloise’s stomach have started a rave.

The TV shows August’s name being called, the camera panning to the nervous young boy walking to the stage. Thankfully, the camera focusing on August takes the attention off of her, where on the side of the screen you can just make out the way she sways slightly from shock. Caesar and Claudius ‘ooo’ and ‘aww’ when the two Tributes hug at the end, and Finnick and Mags comment on how this was a good start as the program continues on. Eloise actually agrees with them, to anyone else she must look like any other Career tribute.

A 12 and a 15-year-old are reaped from District 5, and a 17 and a 13-year old from 6. None of them look particularly menacing.

But from Dsitrict 7, a little 13-year-old girl named Bronwyn captures Eloise’ attention, reminding her painfully of Cova. Her District partner, a handsome 17-year-old boy named Kam.

District 8 hosts a pair of jittery tributes, wheras District 9 reaps two tough looking lumberjacks. A girl the same age as Eloise called Ivy, and a 16-year-old boy.

Out of the remaining 3 Districts, 6 underwhelming kids are reaped, obviously there due to tesserae withdrawal. Eloise feels pity stir in her stomach at the sight of the malnourished children, but pushes it down. If she wants to save August, she has to think like a Career. And an Career would only see those little mites as easy pickings.

Anemone clicks off the TV. “How thrilling! I’m going to head to bed now, it’s awfully late. Kids, I’ll fetch you for breakfast tomorrow. Get some rest now!” She sings, standing up and shuffling off in her mermaid-shaped dress. Eloise rolls her eyes dramatically, and from the loud snort across the sofa, Finnick must’ve seen it.

“Well. How do you feel about that lot?” He asks the two tributes from his relaxed sprawl at the end of the couch. “I think you two have a good shot! Pick your allies carefully and listen to me and Mags, and odds are you can come back alive.” He says, his sea-green eyes once again subtly looking at Eloise

The butterflies turn to black, goopy mush in her stomach. “I’m not coming back.” Eloise shoots back tersely, harsher than she meant to. She stands up abruptly. “August is. I’m going to bed.”

Eloise escapes from the now stifling room, chased by three pairs of curious eyes, flinging herself on the bed as soon as the door shuts. Embarrassment at her statement battles with the flustered feeling Finnick gave her in her mind. Why’d he keep looking at her? Why does she not know what to say around him? She hates herself like this, she’s usually so calm and in control. Red-faced, Eloise tries as hard as she can to push that boy from her mind.

She strips down to her undergarments and crawls into the cool sheets of the bed, but sleep does not find her. Eloise has spent the last 4 years of her life sleeping in a warm heap with her two sisters, and the feeling of sleeping alone in this air conditioned room is too much. She tries humming a lullaby to no avail. At one point she even jumps out of bed and does a short workout. Still nothing.

So Eloise fishes a tank top and pair of soft cotton shorts from her drawers. Slipping out of her bedroom, Eloise finds her legs taking her all the way down the train, right to the end where she discovers a smallish lounge room surrounded by windows. A plush, curved couch hems the end of the traincarriage, and Eloise slumps exhaustedly onto it, chin propped up on the back of the sofa and watches the train ride through the night. She studies the darkened landscape, trying to picture where on the big hand-drawn map at her old school they were.

Her thoughts inevitably wander back to Finnick. She wonders sleepily if he’s asleep right now. I wonder how he got his hair to look like that, Eloise thinks drowsily, sleep pulling her into a dreamscape of golden sunrays and sea-green waters.

#ph☆ebe's scribbles #hunger games fic #finnick odair fanfic #hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair #the hunger games #fanfic #fanfiction #finnick odair x oc

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euphorajeon · 1 year

Text

a/n: you = jeongguk, i = reader

You are known as someone who always dresses in dark, cold tone of the color spectrum. Black, grey, navy, maroon, you name it. So imagine how surprised I feel when you show up in front of me looking like a nice, warm day in the middle of summer.

“Hi!!” you say, grinning like a child in a candy store. You let out one of your adorable giggles through the smile, crescent eyes barely visible under the strands of your hair. It still baffles me how you make my heart skip a beat by doing just the bare minimum.

Maybe my questioning gaze is too obvious that your grin dims a little. “I look weird, don’t I?” And your inquiry makes me splutter out a rushed no so you don’t entertain that thought further. How could you think that, when all I could think about is how radiant you look?

“You look like a sunflower,” I say around a smile, relishing in the way the corners of your lips start turning up again.

“Because of the yellow jacket?” you say, hand reaching mine to entertwine our fingers together.

You’ve always liked the entertwine-kind of handholding, instead of the holding-kind handholding, I don’t know what it’s called but yeah, you know my point. You said it makes you feel safe, lets you feel my fingers in between yours, reassures you that I’m not going anywhere. I wish you’d stop worrying about stuff like that because I’m here to stay.

“Yellow jacket, black hair, blue jeans.. all that makes me think of a painting of sunflowers with the sky as the background.”

“Does that mean you think I’m beautiful?”

The wide grin is back, and it’s obvious that you’re only teasing, but I do.

I do think you are beautiful.

You don’t need to wear bright clothes to be beautiful. You don’t need to give me big grins to be beautiful. You don’t need to hold my hand to be beautiful.

Because everything about you is beautiful, from the way you scrunch your nose to the way you talk to the way you think to the way you love me to the way you let me love you even when you think you are the worst version of yourself.

You’re beautiful for so many reasons but I decide to keep it to myself and only give you an affirmation on your statement earlier.

“You’re beautiful too,” you whisper, hand tightening its hold on mine, and I don’t correct you this time, letting you think for a while that I agree with you even though my mind says you’re lying and only saying that because I said the same thing about you before. No. You made an effort to be different today, so I should too, right?

I never told anyone but my favorite thing about you is your smile. It literally looks like an emoji and it just lights up the dark corners of my brain whenever I see it. Sometimes your smile is so wide it makes your eyes form into crescents, crinkles appearing around your eyes. Sometimes your smile is accompanied by a nose scrunch. Sometimes it is with a hearty giggle, and sometimes it just appears as a simple, close-mouthed one. Either way, I will still like them all.

Right now, though, your smile is the shy kind, partially hidden by your ginormous yellow jacket that you managed to drown yourself in. It hides part of your cheeks too, but I can still see the beginning of a blush coming.

Even your shy smile can wake up the heart of a dying star, can you imagine what your wide smile would do? It could light up an entire galaxy, and the universe would be grateful to have a human being like you to exist within its arms.

For now, I’ll just let you know that I like your smile so that I can continue watching it appear on the pair of your lips. One day, a star would be re-awaken and you’ll realize that it’s because of you.

“I like your smile.”

And you grin, bright as a star, and I fall in love all over again.

august 20th, 2019

masterlist | secreto

#bts #bts jungkook #fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts au #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook drabble #jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine

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ashtonisvibing · 5 months

Text

"Take a fucking break already"

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Alternate Universe: None

Ship(s): Intrulogical

Character(s): Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders

Warning(s): Suggestive language

Originally Published: Nov. 23, 2023

Author's Notes:

fluffy intrulogical :}

pronouns check

logan - he/him

remus - he/him, it/its

if you liked what you read, consider giving this a reblog, please! it'll let more people see my work!

[plain text: if you liked what you read, consider giving this a reblog, please! it'll let more people see my work!]

Full Story:

Logan was certainly no stranger to overworking himself. He was pretty much the brains of the Mindscape being the embodiment of logic, he took up all of the work that made sense for him to do. Make schedules, plans, and lists, proof read the scripts that Roman wrote, store information that Thomas acquired. He even made sure that Thomas actually took proper care of himself in terms of hygiene and keeping the house clean. Although that self care was never extended to himself. He always had far too much to do, how could he possibly take a break? Everything would crumble if he didn't continue to work.

Right now was one such time where he was refusing to let himself stop working. He hadn't slept at all the night prior due to fixing up a script that Roman had brought him. This one had needed so much trimming and correcting that he decided to skip sleep all together. And now that he was planning this week's schedule he was just running on caffeine. He'd gone much longer without sleep before. His current record was four days straight before his body had made him pass out. Admittedly by that point Thomas was barely functioning without his logic working correctly, but it was better than his work not getting done. One hand was threaded through his dark brown and grey hair while the other held a blue marker, scribbling away on the whiteboard schedule sat on his desk, sometimes being switched out for an eraser to make a quick fix. Trying to find a balance between being productive and letting Thomas relax was a constant pain that he hated having to figure out but it was necessary, he knew that. He learned his lesson about leaning purely into productivity and how horrible that can be to one's mental health. As much as he hated trying to figure out the balance, he didn't want to make that mistake again.

Logan was about to reach over to his nearly empty mug when a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders, a chin resting itself on the top of his head right after. He immediately knew who the arms and chin belonged to. There was only one person that had the figurative guts - although sometimes that was literally false - to come in and disturb the logical side in his work. "What is it, Remus?" He sighed, glancing back at the side behind him.

Remus let out a whine as he gently pulled the other back from his slouching position, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout. "Berryyyyyyy, I'm lonelyyyyyyyy! You didn't crawl to my bed last night, I had to sleep all alone without my favorite scientist to cuddle."

"I'm sure you were fine." Lo let out a small hum as he tried to go back to work. Curse the duke for his strength though, he made sure the nerd couldn't move. "Remus, I need to get back to work. I'm sure Thomas is waiting on this schedule and I can't exactly be late with it." Remus simply shook his head and kept his grip firm. "Remus." Logan's tone became stern, one that was really only used in bed when Re was being especially bratty. It usually did the trick and got the other to listen, but he shook his head again.

"Not gonna work this time, Lo. I'm gonna make you stop working, and no amount of lowering that buttery smooth voice of yours is gonna work." Re snickered a little as he left a kiss on Logan's cheek, who simply gave a roll of his eyes. "Aww, c'mon berry, don't be like that." Suddenly he poofed himself underneath the desk, right between the other's legs, hands resting on Lo's thighs. "I can help you get nice and relaxed~ Wouldn't be the first time I sucked you off from under the desk~" His hands gently rubbed at the nerd's inner thighs.

While Logan's breath did hitch slightly at the thigh rubbing, it didn't break his composure enough. He pulled Remus' hands away and gently held them in his own as he looked down at the other with a genuinely serious expression. "Remus, not now, please." Despite his nature making it seem otherwise, the duke knew limits and boundaries. And he knew that this was a boundary being put up. Logan was clearly not in the mood for anything sexual. It seemed that he had to switch tactics. So, pulling his hands away from the other's to give himself some leverage, he hoisted himself up from under the desk and into his boyfriend's lap. His arms gently wrapped themselves around Lo's neck as his own vibrant green eyes looked into the midnight blue's of the other.

"Alright, fine, nothing sexual, got that. But you gotta take a break." One of the duke's hands reached up and pulled Logan's hair out of its ponytail so he could gently play with it, earning a soft and content sigh. "You're always working yourself nearly dead. Yeah yeah, we're not real, it's only been a night, blah blah blah. What about Thomas then? Think he does any good when you're all exhausted? He can barely function when you've overworked yourself. Seriously, should've watched him try to make some toast with slices of paper. That wasn't even my idea, he did that all on his own! Would've burned the place down if Virg didn't jump in all panicked." He paused his talking to leave a small kiss on his boyfriend's lips. "Yeah, it's been one night of no sleep. But I like to think I know you well enough. One night's gonna really quickly turn into two or even three if I don't stop you now. So can we just cuddle for a while? Please?"

And there were those puppy eyes that Logan could never resist. He knew exactly what Remus' tactic was. Get him all nice and relaxed, pull the puppy eyes, and he'd be unable to keep working. It had happened a couple of times before. And it would happen once again. Despite his workaholic brain telling him that he needed to keep working since Thomas was waiting for the schedule, his own logic kicked in. He needed a break. And what better way than cuddling his boyfriend? So Logan let out a sigh as he leaned forward and gently leaned against the other, arms wrapping around Re's waist. "Alright, fine.. That sounds quite nice right now.." He chuckled a little.

Remus' lip turned into a soft smile as he left a kiss on his boyfriend's head. "Alright, let's g- Woah-!" His words were caught off as he was suddenly lifted up into the air and carried off to the bed. He sometimes forgot how strong Logan can actually be. His yelp as the pair were suddenly flopped onto the mattress was mixed with the nerd's laughter, a yelp that soon turned into laughter as well. The pair laid there and laughed together until there was barely any breath left in their lungs, in which they just laid in shared silence as they tried to catch their breath once again. Lo's head gently rested against his boyfriend's chest once again as they both held each other tightly.

They did little else for the rest of the day. Sure they ate when needed, but that was done in bed. Logan certainly needed a break from his work, and there was truly nothing better than a day of simply doing nothing but cuddling and talking about anything and everything with Remus. The duke did the majority of the talking like the chatter box he was. But Lo was more than fine with that. He always loved hearing his boyfriend's voice. While he knew he'd eventually have to return to his work, he would be happy to lay here listening to Remus speak for the rest of time.

#ashton is writing #sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #sanders sides fanfiction

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theferricfox · 1 year

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eruri for eruri😏 guess what? it’s hurt comfort again🧍🏻❤️ please ignore this if it’s triggering, bc it has to do with physical abuse and sh

Erwin saying something along the lines of “I won’t judge you. You can say anything, and I won’t abandon you.” in response to burns (ones from cigarettes) on levi’s arms that erwin sees, and thinks at first that they’re self inflicted. it turns out that was a method kenny used to discipline him. 🥲

GEE!!!!

Such a good ask. Made me dig deep for this one to pull some stuff I'm not so great at writing and also RIP my search history now.

CONTENT WARNINGS!!! Physical abuse; child abuse; implied self-harm (just for a second); cigarettes and smoking; scars.

It’s summer, and Erwin is stunning in a plain white T-shirt and casual pants on their day off. Levi loves when he wears short sleeves; the swell of thick muscle rolling down his arms, the sight unimpeded by fabric, is enough to make Levi’s mouth water. He wants to kiss his way up and down those arms, trading the electric sensation of Erwin’s skin on his mouth for delicate, teasing open-mouthed kisses.

The sun is high and bright, lending a vibrant tone to the Survey Corps HQ grounds. It also makes it unbearably hot, and Levi fights a wince as another bead of sweat trickles down his back. As is his habit, Levi wears a long sleeve button-up shirt, cravat tied at his throat, and dress pants. He’s dressed this way every day since he came to the Surface, but it has never been this hot; the newspapers are calling it a record summer. Levi very much hopes it is not.

Erwin walks next to him, talking endlessly about the next expedition, just one short month away, and Levi finally jabs his elbow playfully into the man’s waist.

“C’mon now, we’re on our day off,” Levi grouses. “The least you could do is enjoy it without talking shop. If not for your sake, then for mine.”

Erwin laughs in that deep and hearty way that sends Levi’s heart galloping and pats him on the shoulder.

“Sorry. I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s too damn hot,” Levi complains in response. He makes to roll up his sleeve, checks himself, and places his arms back at his sides.

Erwin pauses just a beat too long, and Levi knows the question that is pressing at the edge of his mouth. He sets his jaw and looks resolutely ahead, ignoring the blue eyes boring into him.

“Would you like to go back inside?” Erwin asks. His hesitant tone makes it clear he’s still struggling with how to broach the subject at the front of his mind.

“A shower would be nice,” Levi says instead of actually replying. “I need to get the sweat off of me.”

The men steal away to Erwin’s quarters, locking the door behind them and Levi makes for the bathroom. He’s stopped by a hand at his elbow, and he turns to see that same look in Erwin’s eyes that he had outside.

“I know you have something to say to me, so you might as well just come out and say it,” Levi says, a little more angrily than he means to.

“It’s just…” Erwin hesitates, chews his words for a moment, then breathes. Levi can’t recall a time he’s seen Erwin this nervous. “I’ve just realized that you always wear long sleeves, Levi. Even when we’re in bed together. I know the most intimate parts of you, but I don’t know what you look like under those shirts.”

Levi feels himself tense from his toes to his jaw and realizes then that he hasn’t exactly been clandestine about the fact that he never wears short sleeves. How many times has he been in Erwin’s bed, sleeping or fucking or just talking without any clothes below his waist but a long-sleeved grey shirt covering his chest and arms?

Erwin, to his credit, has never once asked about it before today. He’s always taken this fact as perhaps some other peculiarity about his lover, like his need for cleanliness or love of tea. For his easy acceptance of such a quirk, he deserves an explanation, Levi thinks, though it terrifies him to think of what the consequences of this knowledge will be.

Still, Levi guides Erwin to the bed and motions for him to sit down. Erwin pauses for the briefest of moments before he sits on the edge of the mattress, hunched slightly as he leans his forearms onto his legs and waits.

Levi moves to stand in front of Erwin – now eye level with him – and hesitates. He’s never shown his arms to anyone on the Surface. In the Underground, it didn’t matter. He was one among many like this, but up here? It’s impossible to know how Erwin will react, and the uncertainty has his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.

Slowly, Levi unties his cravat and slips it out from under his collar, folding it and setting it aside on the table. He takes a deep breath and undoes the top two buttons, pauses, and then undoes the rest as he searches Erwin’s face for any hint of a reaction. Erwin remains still, his expression impassive but intent. Sliding his shirt open to reveal his chest, he sees Erwin’s eyes widen slightly, watches him lick his lips and shift slightly in his seat.

Levi knows there’s no going back now. He’s committed, and he has to see this to the end, whatever that may be. So he slips one arm and then the other from the sleeves of his shirt, sets it aside, and stands in front of Erwin, exposed as he’s ever been to anyone. Heat swelters in his face and chest as he watches Erwin look at him and really see him for the first time.

He wants to run. He almost, almost, wants to run right back to the Underground and hide in the darkness, away from this embodiment of the sun sitting before him, his mouth slowly falling open to gape at the dozens of circular scars covering his arms from wrist to shoulder.

By now, they are so old that they no longer have the raw pink puckered appearance they used to, but the ragged look they lend to his skin is such a contrast to the perfect pale flesh that he shows to the rest of the world that his arms might as well belong to someone else entirely. Nearly every inch of them is scarred, save for his elbows, and the sheer quantity of them should still be shocking to him, he thinks, if he hadn’t counted them endlessly into nonchalance. Two hundred and seventy-three.

Slowly, gingerly, Erwin reaches a hand out to take hold of one of Levi’s wrists and he recoils slightly, seized by instinct. He regrets the reflex immediately, seeing the look in Erwin’s eyes as he pushes himself to relax his muscles and lets his arm become limp in the other man’s grasp.

Erwin pulls Levi’s arm up and out, slowly rotating it to see the scars strewn on the other side, and his face twists into something like misery as he runs one thick finger along the marred flesh, feeling the ridged start and end of every scar as his fingertip passes over it. There’s a particularly nasty one that causes Erwin to pause his trail; it digs a small pit into the meat of his bicep, the skin left behind like a bruise that never faded away. The touch of it makes Erwin gasp and those beautiful blue eyes lift to stare into Levi’s, the silver gone cold and dull as he’s struggled to keep his composure. He watches as Erwin’s mouth works open and then closed again several times before a dry rasp whispers into the air between them.

“Are these cigarette burns, Levi?”

Always so fucking direct. Of course Erwin would just come right out and say it instead of trying to dance around the question. Levi can’t decide if it’s a mercy that Erwin didn’t make him say the words out loud himself.

“Yeah,” he responds quietly. He wants to look away, he needs to look away from Erwin, but he can’t. He’s trapped, held in place by the man’s gaze.

“Did you do this to yourself?”

Levi clenches his jaw and finally pulls his eyes away to look at the wall. He doesn’t know how to respond. Either answer would open the door to so many questions, ones that he doesn’t want to answer, and he isn’t sure he could answer them, not with the devastated look in Erwin’s eyes sinking into his chest.

Clearly, Erwin takes his silence as an affirmative because he sighs heavily and hangs his head, still holding onto Levi’s wrist. Absently, Erwin’s thumb rubs gentle circles along the perimeter of one of the scars. He seems to be gathering his thoughts and, as much as Levi is happy to let him do that for the rest of eternity so that he doesn’t have to have this conversation instead, the silence is so stifling he thinks he might suffocate on the spot.

“Can you tell me why?” Erwin says at last. “Why do you have…so very many burns?”

The question catches Levi off guard. Erwin didn’t ask him why Levi did this to himself; he’s asked why he has so many. Thinking about it, Levi realizes that answer would probably hurt Erwin more and that means that, as usual, he’s being a selfish bastard; taking the brunt of the pain for himself to try to alleviate that of others.

“Please,” Erwin says as Levi remains silent. His eyes raise again, and he’s pleading with all the power of the sky in those irises. “Please Levi, talk to me. I won’t judge you. You can say anything, anything at all, and I promise you I won’t abandon you.”

The words freeze Levi’s blood in his veins. Leave it to Erwin to know what’s on Levi’s mind without his having to say a single fucking word. Beautiful, bold Erwin, looking as broken as Levi feels, being this exposed.

Levi closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t. I didn’t do this to myself.”

Erwin’s expression shifts, so subtly that most would probably not have noticed, but Levi knows him. He knows him so well that he spots it easily, the relief that settles quickly into the knowledge that someone did this to Levi, and the rage of that realization, and the conviction to make that person pay. Erwin’s jaw works, and Levi knows the next question, so he continues to talk instead of having to hear it.

“After Ma…after my mother died, I was raised by a man who apparently knew her. He was the one that taught me to fight, to steal, to do whatever I had to to survive. And when I didn’t do what he said, or got caught stealing, or lost a fight, he would punish me.” Levi swallows thickly, fighting the desperate urge boiling within him to pull away from Erwin, grab his shirt, and leave. “His favourite method of punishment was to burn me with his cigarettes. ‘A very reliable method of punishment,’ he used to say. ‘Leaves a mark every single time so you’ll never forget it.’”

“And he…clearly thought you needed to be punished often,” Erwin says quietly.

Levi shrugs.

“For a while, it was every day. If I cried, he’d do it again, usually in a place that he’d already burned and was healing. I learned to just grit my teeth and endure it, since the crying just made it worse.”

Levi takes Erwin’s hand from his wrist and moves it back to the deep scar on his bicep, pressing both their fingers into the pit as though together, they could fill it and make the flesh whole again.

“This one.” Levi pauses, breathes, gathers himself. “This one…I tried to ambush him when he came to the room I stayed in. I was sick of him kicking the shit out of me, sick of him, and so when he walked in the room, I snuck out from behind the door and attacked him. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking; I was still just a brat, maybe eleven or so, but I had stayed up all night planning how I would do it, you know?

“So I get him in the side with my knife, just a bit and he just grabs me by the throat and lifts me up like I weigh nothing at all and slams me into the floor over and over again until I pass out. And then I wake up to this searing pain in my arm and he’s got the cigarette there and he’s holding it steady, not just a quick grind into my skin like he usually does.

“It hurt like hell, and I’m screaming and trying to wriggle away but he’s tied me down and I can’t move at all, and he just lets the cigarette burn against my arm, twisting it every once in a while, and the whole time he’s saying, ‘Who the fuck do you think you are, runt? You think you’re tough shit, huh? Ungrateful bastard, after everything I’ve done for you. This time I’m really going to teach you a fuckin’ lesson.’”

Levi lets Erwin’s hand go and their arms fall together with a feeling of finality that’s settling into the room.

“He kept me like that, tied up for a week, I think. No food, just little sips of rancid water. He’d leave me in the room in the dark for hours or days – I don’t know – and whenever he came back, he’d dig the scab out of my skin and burn it again so that he was burning into muscle by the fourth or fifth time. At one point I just told him to kill me; I didn’t want to deal with that pain anymore, and he said I didn’t deserve to die; that would be too easy for me.”

A heavy pause settles between them and Levi lets himself soak in the shame he feels at his admission. Surely now, he thinks, Erwin will ask him to leave. He’ll forbid Levi from his bed, only conceding to speak with him as colleagues. He won’t be able to stand looking at this man, despite his strength now, as anything other than disgusting; a repugnant, damaged cur unworthy of the sun he’s been gifted.

Levi doesn’t anticipate Erwin grabbing his arm and pulling him in, wrapping thick arms around him, nor does he expect the man holding onto him to shake with grief.

“I’m so sorry, Levi,” Erwin whispers into his neck. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Thank you for telling me.”

For a short moment, Levi is dumbstruck, lost in the emotion swelling within him at the embrace. His arms hang dumbly at his sides as he struggles to reconcile what’s happening. Slowly, he reaches up to wrap his arms around Erwin, resting his hands on broad shoulder blades.

“You…aren’t disgusted with me?” Levi asks, and he curses himself for how shaky his voice is. “You don’t want me to leave?”

Erwin pulls away, moving his hands to cup Levi’s face and stares at him intently.

“Leave? Levi, I love you. Nothing is going to change that. And certainly not a few scars.”

Erwin gently pulls Levi’s face towards him and kisses him so slowly that Levi feels his breath catch between them. That captured breath hovers between their lips, pregnant with shame and grief, as Levi pulls back to speak.

“It’s not a few, Erwin. It’s two hundre–”

He’s silenced by another kiss, this one deep and passionate, with Erwin’s tongue pushing into his mouth and pressing against his own. Levi moans into the kiss even as the back of his head continues to scream his insecurities.

“I don’t care how many there are,” Erwin says when they part, panting and connected by a trail of spit. “Those scars aren’t ugly. They don’t make you a bad person. They’re proof that you’ve lived. You’ve lived and come through some terrible things as the man I love, and I will always love you, every day, for the rest of my life.”

Levi lets himself absorb those words, so foreign sounding in his ears, and struggles to hold back tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. He leans forward, resting his forehead on Erwin’s, and chuckles.

“You’re such a hopeless romantic, you know that?” Levi whispers.

“So you’ve told me,” Erwin says through a smile.

Levi lets Erwin pick him up and put him on the bed and undress him, and the look in Erwin’s eyes as he finally – fully – sees him is enough to make his heart burst in his chest. Levi accepts Erwin’s kiss, so loving and tender, and finds himself reveling in the touch of plump lips trailing to press against his jaw, down his neck, and across his collarbone. His breath catches in his throat when Erwin lays small, barely-there kisses on his scars, pressing his tongue into the deep one on his bicep.

Erwin turns Levi’s arm, kissing every scarred inch he can find, apparently determined to mark every scar with love, and each touch of those lips sends electricity through Levi’s body like he’s never felt before. His fear washes away slowly, as steadily as a stone worn smooth by the passing of a river, and it’s replaced by a warmth that makes him feel as though he’s pressed against the sun.

And indeed, when he looks down to see Erwin’s golden hair traveling across his abdomen, the phantom sensation of lips trailing down his navel, he thinks that part of the sun is here with him right now. And this piece, beautiful and tender, loving and accepting, belongs to him, and he is the luckiest man alive to have plucked this little bit for his own.

#tw: cigarettes #tw; cigarettes #erwin smith #levi ackerman #eruri #give me eruri or give me death #tw: mentions of physical abuse #tw: mentions of child abuse

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they-them-that · 7 months

Text

Reviewing and Ranking the Hatsune Miku x Pokemon Designs because I'm a procrastinator lol

(pictures from @hapuriainen)

Review:

Grass: It seems like they were going for the Sword and Shield look with the jersey motif and I think it's smart to blend that with cheerleading. That being said, I wish it was... grassier? It feels a bit like wasted potential as the look is too focused on the region over the type. I like the elements of the design though.

Fire: I love the idea with the stockings but that's about it tbh. Her hair is supposed to look like fire but it doesn't come off that way and her bangs are disjointed from her pigtails. The colours are too muted and I feel like not enough effort was made to make her blue hair blend in with the rest of her colour pallet. The idea is there but it ended up being pretty underwhelming imo.

Water: definitely the best of the starter types! I love every part of the design and it all blends together perfectly! I especially love the design of the swimsuit! Simultaneously sporty and dainty!

Flying: absolutely gorgeous and I can definitely see Articuno in her design! I love the light and silvery colour pallet so I'm a bit thrown off by that strong blue tone in the tie and glove. I think those should've been the same grey as her hair or maybe the hair ties (which I find a bit too dark but is alright).

Electric: a really cool and new idea that doesn't follow the expectation of a Hatsune Miku design! I really like the cartoony elements of her design but it does come across as a bit simplistic. The hat also feels too big and doesn't really look like she's wearing it? It also looks too feminine for the rest of her appearance imo.

Trainer: she blends right into the world of pokemon while still being Hatsune Miku! I especially love the signature trainer hat with headphones and the colours of her skirt being her actual colour palette. It's not too plain or overdone, it's just perfect!

Poison: Obsessed! It diverges from Miku's typical design expectations and creates a character that I'd actually love to see in pokemon! Her design is just so cool and exotic and the colours are so bright and fun. Those shoes are sickening!!

Ground: the concept of this design is a bit weak imo and the whole thing feels pretty flat. The clothes feel very basic that it comes across as a half-assed, generalized idea of a nomad. The shoes especially ruin the look for me..

Ice: really cool design (pun not intended)! I like the geometric shapes and the androgynous business attire. I'm not too sure how I feel about the green accents though (although the red on the bag makes it better but it's also weird that it's the only place with red so idk if that actually fixes it) and I wish the long pigtail bits weren't there and it was just the short hair. The pants could have more details too but overall, a really interesting design!

Normal: super cute, I especially love the glasses! It's a "normal" outfit which I assume was the intention so even though the saturated colours and simple outfit may keep it from being a favourite, I do think it's a strong design!

Ghost: it is a really cool design but to me, it doesn't give me "Pokemon". It feels like it's just a Hatsune Miku design that is ghosty and not enough innovation was put into actually merging the Pokemon aesthetics into this. Even as a stand alone Hatsune Miku design, there isn't actually a lot to it.

Bug: So precious! I love the simplicity and creativity put into this design. It's just perfect, head to toe!

Steel: love it! Every part of its execution is well done and I love the soft colours! It's simultaneously a cool and sweet design that I can just keep staring at!

Fairy: it's definitely cute and I like the idea of making her this gyaru school girl. It would've been cool to see something more extravagant for a fairy type look but it's still nice.

Rock: I love the princess design, she looks like she can be a gym leader or elite four member! It's so beautiful and the look is still great even without the dress and frills. I wouldn't understand how Miku can move with those things on her knees though lol. I also think the blue legging should've been black or have that blue present elsewhere in her outfit.

Dragon: I love a lot about the look but there are parts that also make it a bit disappointing. The shirt and pants in particular really wash out this look for me, they're so plain and bright (I hate that she's wearing a collared shirt). I feel like this should've gone all the way with its extravagance and medieval vibes, especially since it was the final revealed design and it's with a legendary Pokemon.

Dark: a stunning design that I didn't expect to be paired with Obstagoon! I love the slick shapes and the big fluffy hat and umbrella to contrast it (also the umbrella being a microphone is so clever)! The choker and shoulder straps make the look too modern but it's still overall really pleasant.

Fighting: Love the design and I'm obsessed with the colour palette! She looks so cool and I love the way sirfetch'd's leek was taken advantage of. My only nitpick is the shoes being a bit out of place from what's overall a slick design.

Ranking (lowest to highest):

18. Ground

17. Ghost

16. Dragon

15. Fire

14. Grass

13. Electric

12. Fairy

11. Flying

10. Ice

9. Rock

8. Fighting

7. Normal

6. Dark

5. Steel

4. Water

3. Bug

2. Poison

1. Trainer

#hatsune miku #vocaloid #pokemon #hatsune miku x pokemon #pokemon x hatsune miku

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darklove9314-blog · 2 years

Note

nessian as parents

Author's Note: I decided to do a prompt where Nessian's daughter is going on her first date. I hope everyone enjoys it!

"You'll run a hole in the floor if you don't stop pacing." Nesta told him, placing the pearl earrings in her ears, tracing the delicate arches of her ears as she examined them in the mirror, trying to concentrate on anything else except her own nerves.

Today was the day that their daughter, their precious baby girl, who seemed like she was just a baby a while ago, was now going on her first date, and Nesta couldn't be anymore nervous for her. Especially when it came to Cassian.

"Daddy!" Their youngest daughter, Maia, called coming into their room as Cassina scooped her up in his arms.

"What's wrong, baby girl?" Cassian asked as Maia's shoulders slumped slightly.

"Audra kicked me out of her room so she could get ready for her date.” Maia explained, looking disappointed that she didn’t get to watch her sister get ready.

“She’s just nervous, Maia.” Nesta assured her as Maia’a hazel brown eyes met hers.

“She didn’t have to be so mean about it.” Maia pouted as Cassian ran a hand over her hair,

“Sometimes people say or do things they want to be left alone, Maia. It doesn’t mean your sister doesn’t love you or want to share in these moments with you. Maybe next time she’ll let you watch, maybe she’ll even let you help, like how mommy lets you help her with her hair sometimes.”

“But Audra is very picky about her hair, daddy” Maia reminded him, making him chuckle softly.

“That she is.”

Nesta glanced at the scene, smiling slightly at the family that they had created together, putting the last of the clips in her hair, before she turned to Maia.

“Did you want mommy to do your hair?” She asked as Maia’s eyes widened in excitement at the thought.

She raced to Nesta as soon as Cassian set her down, Nesta scooping her youngest into her arms as she sat her on her lap, gathering up her golden brown hair as she did her daughter’s hair in the dutch braids she adored so much, talking excitedly about the day she had in school, before Nesta heard the door to her and Cassian’s bedroom open, their eldest daughter emerging nearly making Nesta shed tears at the sight of her baby girl partaking in this milestone in her life.

Audra’s blue-grey eyes flickered to Maia on Nesta’s lap as she went to her younger sister, kneeling down in front of her, touching her braids.

“Nice braids. They suite you.” Audra smiled, sympathy in her gaze.

“Mommy did them.” Maia told her, glancing down at her hands to avoid eye contact.

“Well, they look beautiful.” Audra assured her with a smile as Audra’s eyes flickered to her,

“Thanks. You look beautiful too.” Maia told her, a small smile on her face.

Nesta sent a glance up to Cassian, her heart feeling so full as Cassian looked at his girls feeling like this was the life he was meant to have, the one he had been craving all his life.

A knock sounded on the front door as Audra turned towards it, sitting up as she fixed the wrinkles on her dress.

Cassian went over to her, his tone serious,

“Remember to always be aware of your surroundings and if you feel uncomfortable or if this girl does anything you don’t want to-”

“That I can always say no.” Audra repeated to him, memorizing his words from their previous conversations.

“And -”

“And that you and mom are only a call away if I need something.”

Cassian smiled, “That’s my girl.”

“I should really get going, I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.” Audra smiled, going over to her mother and Maia and giving them a hug and telling them that she loved them before giving Cassian a quick hug,

“Love you, dad.”

“I love you too. Have fun on your date.”

Audra smiled at that going to the door to go meet with her date as Nesta carried Maia up to him, Maia clinging to her neck.

“It seems like they’re growing up so fast.” Nesta mused as Cassian turned, tucking both Nesta and Maia into the embrace of him and his wings.

“They are, but we’re still going to marvel at every moment we have with them. Even if it does make us tear up a little.”

He pressed a kiss to Nesta’s temple, running a hand over Maia’s hair as he smiled at them.

“How about we all build a blanket fort in the sitting room and tell tell some stories?” He suggested to them as Maia smiled excitedly at that idea, Nesta glancing up at him with a grin as they made their way to the sitting room to make some more memories.

#nesta archeron #nesta #cassian #nessian #nessian family #nessian as parents #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #anon ask

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paperbunny · 8 months

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S2, E1: The Arrival, Pt. 2

Not a meta, just a tribute.

[Starting at 22:22] Ep 1, Pt. 1

('Allo 'Allo 'Allo) Muriel is perfect and I am so happy that everyone instantly loved her.

(General Omens) The matchbox says "Out of his mouth go burning lamps and sparks of fire leap out." Job 41:19 This is interesting because it doesn't seem like it applies to Gabe or Jim, unless the sparks are the prophesies that he says, which seems redundant since those were pretty clearly prophetic and don't need any extra hints. Crowley as Aziraphale did shoot flames from his mouth, though. The extended passage is all about the Leviathan which could be a reference to Crowley the Serpent but I hope it's a more interesting forewarning of Guardian!Aziraphale when he gets to work upstairs. It could just as easily be a warning about the power of God as wielded by the Metatron though. Important but not clear to me where to point it.

(General Omens) The coffee cup on the wall of the shop outside (above the outdoor seats, near the "or") has orange flame-like whisps instead of white or light grey that one would expect to signify steam. Ominous coffee business. The coffee shop is blue whilst the record shop is orange. Opposing colors.

(Nina the Mirror) Interesting that the coffee shop is called Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death, considering the lack of liberty Nina clearly has in her personal life. Nina and Aziraphale both taking up for others whilst trapped themselves. Sure, Az is technically unemployed, but he's certainly not free.

(General Omens) Not sure if there will be more to the story about the coffee shop being essentially USA-themed, such as a Greasy Johnson tie-in, but for now it just seems like another little UK joke about things getting set in the US or otherwise America-coded for the sake of mass marketing.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) He wants Crowley to be calm, he wants himself to be calm. He's also not familiar with the effects of espresso. And neither he nor Crowley are acting like it's at all unusual to be hanging out together, though they've not been together in this shop it seems. Eccles cakes? *pointed look at Crowley* Some eccles cakes please. He's just as nervous to show Crowley as he is about the problem itself, but not telling Crowley isn't even on the table. Because Crowley is there allll the timmmeeee and is an integral part of his world, too, of course.

(Nina The Shit Stirrer) How's your naked man friend? NINA. You know that this little book man has never brought this slinky goth fellow into your shop and you have no idea what their business is. But you just HAD to mention the naked man in front of Aziraphale's man-shaped friend. And she was so happy to do it. Has she seen the Bentley and Crowley coming and going? How much does she suspect? Is she poking that situation because of the volatility of her own?

(General Omens) "You're a dark horse Mr. Fell" First Dark Horse mentioned, of at least three.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) Immediate embarassment! Where was that embarrassment when it was the WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD? But no, in front of Crowley suddenly you're shy.

(Domestic Moments) The tone of "go back a long time" is so sweet. They really aren't trying to hide much at this point, despite aggressively refusing to Address The Situation. And how nice that Crowley gets to be introduced. No "friends" no obfuscation. No labels, either, but there's a real tide change even so. And Nina does a cute little curtsy-ish move in response. Maybe she has a sense about how long "a long time" could be.

(Crowley With A Purpose) He's so happy that he has actual news. Is he happy that there's something to do, or that something bad might be happening to Gabriel? Both? The IMMEDIATE interest in getting into the bookshop. I can't imagine that he thinks Aziraphale would be harboring a recreational naked man for sexy reasons, but he certainly isn't laughing about it either. He asks Aziraphale if he can help, and poor Az seems to have had whatever his plan for a soft launch of the problem was completely obliterated by Nina's bomb dropping. Also that coffee cup was SO EMPTY.

(Domestic Moments) Despite Az clearly getting his plan for easing Crowley into the problem messed up, they are off to the shop. Whole plate of eccles cakes in hand, and no "after you" needed at the door. This is a well oiled partnership opening doors and holding things as needed. Nina watches them steal her plate. Why is the closed sign stuck on with tape? It's like he's not even trying to pretend he is ever open.

(Maggie the Strange) She stops Mr. Fell to thank him, while he's clearly in a rush, and he tries to give her eccles cakes. No intro for Crowley this time. Was her purpose just to make sure we noticed the Eccles Cakes? Because we did. Everyone is upset that he just stole the whole plate. People need to slow down on the "not going to parties" and "not being that kind of teenager" meaning that she's some inhuman being, because some of us were also not that teenager. More talk of names. Maggie gives her a record because it's the same name, Nina hasn't accepted Maggie giving her name yet. She's still Skinny Latte.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) (Domestic Moments) Why are you closing all the blinds, sir? Jim!Gabe has been in here for awhile with the blinds open, so maybe it's more about the reaction of Crowley that's concerning? Crowley who has his own place for his glasses, who seems entirely at ease in the shop, and who says "Do we know a Jim?" we! I love that we. And the casual conversation. Go on and guess. I know a storm comes later, but we really did get so many soft, romantic moments.

(Heavenly Scandal) (Domestic Moments) So much of the Jim!Gabe is scandal but also tied up in the sweet domesticity. Crowley is pissed and scared but neither lashes out at the other in a real way. Aziraphale isn't scared of him, just worried about the whole mess. Jim!Gabe already trusts Az enough that he looks to make sure there's nothing wrong when Crowley first confronts him.

(Domestic Moments) The warm yellow-ochre walls. I thought people were exaggerating the yellow thread through the story but no. That's pretty intentional looking. I don't know if it's Az's favorite colour, but it certainly seems to be a color that makes him feel at home. Is there more than one room up here? Is this the room that Jim!Gabe ends up staying in? No bed up here it seems, though I don't know if our collective hearts could have handled A&C standing alone in a room near a bed. Az doesn't seem against the idea of getting rid of Jim!Gabe at first, just unsure of what to do. Crowley immediately is ready to dump him in Dartmoor. Az can't bring himself to not help. Would he go to Gabe to help him? Likely not. But once the person-shaped-being is in your care, is it your fault if harm comes to them?

(Husbands at War) This fight is well-trod soil. Neither seems legitimately angry at the other, but rather they fall immediately into defending their side in well-worn territory. Az wants to stay and help/fight/fix, Crowley wants to not make themselves a target/save their peace/refuse to get involved. There's strong arguments for both sides and we have our seeds of future conflict. Az tells him if he wants to leave he can, and that reaction from Crowley, "Is this how you want to do this?" as though this is one of a few versions that the argument takes.

(Bookshop Omens) The eccles cakes. Four of them. Next to a horse. Four horsemen? What are the cakes about!?

(Existential Crisis Crowley) His peaceful existence is at risk. He's so mad he's recognizing his own lack of control and tries to self-regulate. Did you learn that from a Richard Curtis film, Crowley? Or does Az have a self-help section?

(Nina the Observant) She sees Crowley smoking before the people on the street seem to. Everyone stops and watches though. There's no way that there isn't some kind of low grade miracle on this street that prevents these strange events from sticking in the brains of the passersby. Man smokes and yells and then is hit by lightning. Everyone watches and no one seems to retain it except Maggie and Nina. Also Nina I'm pretty sure those aren't auto locks. There's no sign of anything auto about the regular looking deadbolt.

(Heavenly Scandal) Why do I like Uriel so much? Michael does have the best claim to be Supreme Archangel Pro Tempore, as Duty Officer. I love the bureaucracy. It's great. Micheal is basically pulling a Dwight Schrute move. Saraquel is the one Muriel went to. Is Saraquel not an Archangel? Or are they just a more approachable one? It doesn't seem like they have a dog in the fight over who is the next SAAPT.

('Allo 'Allo 'Allo) Muriel is a scrivener, which immediately makes me think of Bartleby the Scrivener. I've been told that the job of scrivener comes up in games and stuff enough that it might not be a direct reference but it seems pretty pointed to me? Maybe it's just English Nerd Brain. The story tracks though, potentially, for where Muriel could be headed. From google, about the meaning of Bartleby: "...as the narrator is forced to admit, “Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive resistance.” Refusing to kow-tow to the demands of his employer, and working to his own individual rule, Bartleby represents a challenge to capitalist, corporatist ideologies." Part of Bartleby's problem, from what I remember, is living in a place with no joy or interaction, and realizing that he can actually say no. Isn't that eerily similar to Muriel?

(Heavenly Scandal) Uriel looks at Micheal like, you want to be in charge so you get to touch the Material Object. Michael is not thrilled.

(Existential Crisis Crowley) He's sitting in that street, in his car, looking like the Saddest Boy-Shaped Husband. He's not having a good time, and now his little corner of peace is in high danger. He looks SO SAD. I didn't notice how sad he looked on previous watches. It's interesting to me that C always uses the honorific for Beeze. Lord Beelzebub. He also slides riiiiight into being cool and collected as soon as he realizes he's not actively in trouble. It's not a kidnapping, it's an offer. Watching him squirm immediately when he realizes this is about Gabriel is pretty fun. Crowley the suave, chill snake is just a flimsy cover for Crowley the clingy movie dork who uses affected disinterest as a defense mechanism. He's still one of Hell's best (ex)employees though. He's not suprised that Beeze wants to use his talents, but he is surprised that it's coming with an offer of a reward. "Doesn't seem like the kind of thing you're likely to say". Neither of them actually say anything solid. Hell is clearly better with contractual language.

(General Omens) Crowley says Extreme Sanctions don't exist. Beeze says they do. This remains to be seen.

(Nina The Mirror) More being mean to Maggie for no reason, then trying to make it up.

(Maggie The Strange) Maggie doesn't drink. That isn't weird. The "No Judgement" that feels awkward is a little strange. Especially since she waits til Nina is in the middle of a sip to say it.

(Maggie/Nina) They have a *moment*. It's a nice little conversation but doesn't seem very weighty. Not what you'd expect from a meet-cute.

(Husbands at War) I liked the use of Loverboy here. I seem to be in the minority. I hope it comes back again in S3, but I thought it was sweet. He's hauling ass to get back to his Angel. When it comes down to it, he's a good old fashioned loverboy. He always comes back.

(Eldritch Tendancies) I know things were a bit different in S1 but there seems to be NO concern about hiding from the human folk. Just explode on the street and then magically power-on the whole cafe. No big.

(Maggie The Strange) (Nina The Observant) Why doesn't Maggie seem to have the same level of awareness that Nina has? Also, one of Lindsay's texts says "I'm a real person. I Matter. Why don't you care about me?" Is someone not real? When the text is on the screen, the camera is on Maggie. [38:53]

(Domestic Moments) Aziraphale you petty bitch. He is just sitting in the chair waiting. Crowley sails in (does he have a key or did Az leave it unlocked for him?) and then suddenly Az puts on his glasses and starts pretending to look at his random papers. Our stage is set for the Dance of the Repressed and Afraid. This scene is so much funnier now that I've noticed that Az is clearly being a bitch on purpose. And that he is possibly delighted to have the chance to make Crowley do the dance, since Az clearly has done all the Dances lately.

(Husbands at War) The dance erases the tension and lets them move on without actually resolving the fight, but that's not really an issue here because Crowley has new intel. They immediately shift into planning and figuring things out. When it comes down to it they are both always on eachother's side. Az is nervous about doing a miracle, and it does sound like they've never done one together. Why they do it together this time isn't totally clear upfront but I guess it keeps the power used smaller on each side and shielding him from the other side helps prevent red flags being raised.

(Jim!Gabriel) He and Crowley don't like eachother, in this moment. Crowley is being "nice"-ish. But they make great faces at eachother.

(Husbands at War) Az suggests splitting the miracle and Crowley listens. Later we see Crowley not listen and steamroll Az. Unfortunately this isn't a great argument for listening to Az, since the teeny tiny miracle does NOT fly under the radar. There's a lot of wide angle or fisheye lens used here. And the chair Jim!Gabe is sitting in is on top of the portal. That might be a red herring, might not. Portal isn't active, but it could explain why alarms went off in heaven but not hell.

(Good For Me) I noticed the portal being under the chair. Also note that the rug is currently a general faded beige-y rug. Also Jim!Gabriel offers his hands crossed, left offered to Az and right to Crowley. They look distasteful (?) about it and awkwardly reach across to take the "correct" hand.

(Husbands At War) Crowley tests the waters, so to speak, and pokes at the air to feel the miracle. Az is happy that things seem to have worked. He reassures Jim!Gabriel and Crowley is still only in the fight to protect the Oasis, not Jim!Gabe.

(Heavenly Scandal) Michael seems to be ignoring the klaxon alarm on purpose? And Uriel is like, if you want to be Assistant To The Regional Manager, then you need to fix this. The miracle shows up as pink, and Saraquel is the one operating the globe thing. They refer to Aziraphale as a former angel, and there's no reference to Crowley. I really don't think that heaven or hell knows or understands much about the Az-Crowley situation. They clearly know there's something odd there, but I don't know what their impression of it is.

End Ep 1.

Ep 1, Pt. 1

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #aziracrow #ineffable idiots #ineffable dumbasses #meta #good omens meta #metatron #meta tumblr

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monthofsick · 1 year

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No second chance for a first impression

Nov(emeto)ber 2022, Day 2: Hiding it (or at least trying to)

OCs: Calvin, Cassandra

This one's a bit of a slow burner. I'm often too impatient to draw out the nausea part, but the "desperately trying to hold it in" trope seemed so fitting for today's prompt.

TW: Vomit

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Sometimes, the unwritten laws of social behavior made the simplest things incredibly complicated. It was such a fine line between friendship and romance, easily crossed with a single step. But for some reason, it was commonly seen as the most drastic of changes. All of a sudden, there was so much more at stake and the shift in dynamic created a ripple effect, strong enough to tear an entire circle of friends apart.

And still – Calvin couldn’t deny that he liked Cassandra. Liked her in more than just a friendly way, and it only got worse over time. She was obviously gorgeous, but the real issue began after he got to know her better when she wasn’t with Natalia. Nat and Cas were high school besties – an unlikely friendship between the glamorous queen bee and the nerdy art fanatic. Maybe the obvious difference in popularity was the reason why Natalia’s personality rubbed off on Cassandra way more than the other way around.

Cassandra was strong, undoubtedly, but Calvin wondered if the in-your-face confidence and feisty attitude were acquired traits to hold her ground next to a natural born diva. It was exciting to discover her creative and quirky side. Her dreams and plans and favorite things. The countless craft projects she had started, but never finished. It was like pieces of a puzzle coming together until everything made sense.

If only there weren’t so many pitfalls if Calvin dared to make the first move. If Cassandra rejected him, their interactions would inevitably become awkward for all eternity. If she was ready to take the leap, but they would eventually break up, their friendship would be doomed. And no matter if their relationship worked out or not, it had the potential to shatter their friend group.

Long story short, Calvin wasn’t quite ready to go all in, but he still used every opportunity to spend time with Cassandra. So when she invited him to her little sister’s school performance, he was over the moon. Due to the limited number of seats in the auditorium, every family was only allowed to bring one friend, and Cas had chosen him – not Natalia, him. Calvin decided to dress for the occasion with a dark grey jacket, a petrol coloured sweater and black chinos.

A good first impression was especially important since the whole thing felt a bit too close to meeting his future in-laws for the first time. Calvin’s anticipation was soon overshadowed by increasing anxiety. As he finally arrived at their meeting point in front of the school, his stomach was in knots. It didn’t help that Cassandra looked absolutely stunning in her light blue dress with puffy sleeves, an empire waistline and a short, yet very voluminous skirt. Just in case she needed anything more than her unicorn hair to stand out from the crowd.

Doing his best to hide his nerves behind a smile, Calvin approached Cassandra and her family. Her parents were formally and modestly attired, a stark contrast to their daughter’s preferred clothing style. Calvin had worried that he might be overdressed, now he almost regretted not showing up in a complete suit.

„Hey, Cal, over here!“, Cassandra waved as she noticed him. „Mom, Dad, this is Calvin.“

„It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Petrakis“, Calvin greeted and shook their hands with a firm grip, hoping his palms wouldn’t be sticky. „Thank you for having me.“

„It’s a pleasure“, Cassandra’s mother replied. Her tone was polite, but it lacked cordiality.

„You look younger than I expected“, Mr. Petrakis remarked. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Calvin felt a drop of sweat running down his back.

„Oh, yes, I get carded all the time“, he laughed and scratched his head.

„Our daughter told us that you are a very responsible and hardworking young man.“ Mrs. Petrakis‘ facial expression was impossible to read, but for some reason, her seemingly kind words made Calvin even more uncomfortable. „We hope you can have a positive influence on our Cassandra. She seems to believe that a solid education is out of fashion.“

„Or a solid marriage“, Cassandra’s father added. Calvin felt a lump in his throat. His intuition hadn’t deceived him, this was uncomfortable as hell.

„…or maybe we could not have this conversation right now.“ Cassandra’s smile had turned from genuine to forced in record time. „Let’s go inside before the buffet is empty and the best seats are taken, shall we?“

„You can tell me more about your academic ambitions later“, Mr. Petrakis said and gave Calvin a pat on the shoulder. „Now let’s watch our beautiful Carissa sing. She even has a solo part.“

Calvin and Cassandra exchanged one last look before they followed her parents into the brightly lit school building.

The variety of savory, sweet (and rather greasy) treats looked enticing in theory, but Calvin wasn’t hungry at all. Maybe it was because his nerves hadn’t been given a chance to calm down yet. He grabbed one of the tuna sandwiches and a large cup of water, hoping no one would notice that he spent most of the time drinking instead of eating. The white bread was soggy and bland. Calvin was glad when they finally entered the auditorium and took their seats. Cassandra placed herself between Calvin and her parents.

„Sorry, I should have warned you“, she whispered into his ear.

„Nah, it’s fine.“ The last thing Calvin wanted was to make her feel even more embarrassed than she probably already was. If he ever wanted to be more than just a friend for Cassandra, he had to get along with her parents anyways. Problem was, he didn’t feel fine at all. The small triangle of toast he had consumed refused to settle in his stomach. He took the last sip of water from his cup, but that only made things worse. Maybe drinking so much hadn’t been a good idea. Calvin felt the liquid sloshing around in his belly, accompanied by a gurgling noise.

For a moment, Calvin thought about taking a trip to the restroom. But then again, the performance was about to begin and he really didn’t want to squeeze by Cassandra’s parents and the other people in their row. It would probably get better on its own if he just focused on deep breaths and tried to relax.

The big show started only moments later, validating Calvin’s decision not rush off to the toilet. He shifted around in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. A stern‑looking lady on stage gave an overly long speech before the choir finally entered the spotlight. Cassandra nudged Calvin with her elbow and pointed at a girl with long black hair. Calvin nodded, hoping he hadn’t winced in pain. The slight push had hit him like a blade in the intestines, followed by a series of cramps.

Calvin placed a hand on his abdomen. There was definitely something going on beneath his palm – a constant bubbling and boiling under the bloated, sensitive surface. He felt queasy and began to doubt if it was actually just his anxiety.

At last, the choir broke into a rendition of Imagine, drowning out the angry growls Calvin’s stomach produced. But even though the students created beautiful harmonies, the strong sensory impression only fueled his nausea. Calvin clung to the mantra he repeated inside of his head – inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. It didn’t make him feel any better, but at least it gave him something to focus on.

Two songs later, things had only gotten worse. At this point, Calvin felt his shirt sticking to his back. Why did he have to wear so many layers anyways? He couldn’t tell if he was just warm or feverish. Another jab hit Calvin‘s side and he could barely hold back a moan. Fighting hard not to show any signs of his growing discomfort, Calvin leaned towards Cassandra as she brought her lips up to his ear.

„Next is Carissa’s solo.“ Her breath tickled as she spoke. Under different circumstances, it would have probably turned him on. Now it messed with his senses even more. He made a sound that resembled mhm, then stared at the stage again. His stomach heaved like an elevator, riding straight up towards his throat. To Calvin’s horror, it actually brought up a mouthful of warm fluid. He instantly swallowed it back down, but it left a bitter taste and a mean sting.

Calvin felt like the excess water inside of his belly was foaming as if he had ingested washing powder. There was no way he could leave right now, just before Carissa’s big performance. On the other hand, there was no doubt he would be banished forever from the Petrakis household if he ruined their beloved daughter’s solo by puking all over the guy in front of him. He had to hold it in, even though it seemed like a losing battle.

The sweet melody of Somewhere over the Rainbow filled the room. Carissa was illuminated by a single beam of light. Her voice was enchanting – clear, bright and innocent like that of an angel. Calvin took a peak at Cassandra and saw that tears welled in her eyes. She was often annoyed by her younger sister, but she still loved her. She was proud. Just thinking about her anger and disappointment if Calvin destroyed this special moment felt like punch in the gut.

Maybe it was the mental pressure on top of the nausea that caused his stomach to cramp again, sending up a surge of vomit. Calvin clamped his lips together and forced the foul tasting liquid back down. It caused his stomach to churn and twist even harder. The acidic taste of spoiled tuna made his mouth water for all the wrong reasons. No matter how often Calvin swallowed, the saliva would rapidly fill up again. His abdominal muscles wouldn’t stop tensing, determined to initiate the purging process.

Never had a song felt so much like an excrutiating eternity. Calvin’s breath had become shallow, he barely dared to move his body at all. When finally, the last note faded out and the audience gave a well-deserved applause, it took every bit of Calvin’s strength to share an enthusiastic smile with Cassandra. He knew that she expected some kind of glowing reaction, so he clapped and nodded and prayed internally that it looked like he had thoroughly enjoyed the show. Cassandra seemed to buy his act, probably due to the bad lighting.

There was no time for relief. The next song followed immediately, and so did another gush of sick. It flooded Calvin’s mouth and assaulted his tastebuds with the flavor of rotten fish. Swallowing suddenly seemed like a complicated exercise and he needed several attempts until he finally managed to choke down the regurgitated mess. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do it again. Standing up didn’t seem like a managable task either. The movement was probably enough to make his entire stomach contents burst out of him.

Calvin didn’t have much time to think of a rescue plan. His belly was fed up with his stubbornness and convulsed painfully. Now it was a much bigger wave that rushed up his esophagus. Out of sheer desperation, Calvin bent over like he was feeling for something on the floor. His cheeks bulged out, but he couldn’t clutch his mouth with a hand – he needed one to pretend he was fumbling around and the other one to reach for the cup he had emptied before. The only dam between him and the storm tide were his lips, pressed together as tightly as he could.

Careful not to make a suspicious movement, Calvin brought the cup to his mouth, begging that it was big enough to contain the flood. Then he finally parted his lips and let the vomit pour into the container. It wasn’t as much as he had feared, but he wasn’t done yet. Another stream of liquidy puke shot up his throat and it took all of Calvin’s body control to let it out with nothing but a muffled hck. The cup filled up quickly with milky fluid and shreds of tuna. Calvin knew that he had to stop now if he didn’t want to risk that his receptacle would overflow. Unfortunately, the stench of his own sick was enough to make him gag again. The fact that he was doubled over so much that his face was hidden between his legs, didn’t help either to fight the force of gravity.

With his eyes pressed shut, Calvin brought up a thicker mush of tuna paste and toast lumps. They plopped into the pool of vomit, causing it to rise even more and more, filling up his cup to the brim – but not enough to break the surface tension. Calvin took a few breaths through his mouth before he was certain that nothing else would come out of him. As carefully as humanly possible, he placed the barf cup under his seat and wiped his mouth. The nasty brewage had smelled absolutely sickening when it had been right under his nose, but since it was mostly water, he hoped that the odor wasn’t strong enough to alert his seat neighbors. Calvin braced himself before he casually sat up again.

The first thing he saw was Cassandra, staring at him with wide eyes.

She knew. She had noticed. Of course she had – it was an impossible mission to throw up discretely in a row of seats. Calvin’s cheeks radiated heat and he couldn’t bear to look at her any longer. He felt thoroughly defeated and humiliated. Wrapping his arms around his aching stomach, he sank further into his seat and waited for the nightmare to be over.

It didn’t take long for the nausea to creep up at Calvin again. There was a glimps of false hope when the last song ended, but then he still had to endure the exuberant applause, an encore, a closing speech and even more applause. When the show was finally over, Calvin’s stomach was at his throat. He had no idea how to face Cassandra or keep up the facade in front of her parents. All he wanted to do was to flee the scene, head home and curl up under his blanket for at least a week. On top of that, Calvin felt horribly guilty for leaving a brim-ful cup of puke for the unsuspecting cleaning crew, but now that the lights were on, he couldn’t pick it up without everyone noticing.

With legs that felt like pudding, Calvin trudged behind the overjoyed family. Mr. Petrakis couldn’t stop praising his daughter’s immaculate performance while his wife had to mention that Cassandra used to have quite a pleasant singing voice as well. When the parents were already heading towards the exit, Cassandra suddenly stopped.

„Can you guys wait outside for a minute? Nature’s calling and I gotta listen.“

„Sounds like a good idea.“ It was quite the challenge for Calvin not to chime in too quickly. If he looked anywhere near as awful as he felt, his attempts to keep up a happy face and a relaxed posture were destined for failure anyways. Gladly, Mr. and Mrs. Petrakis were still busy reveling in parental pride.

Cassandra grabbed Calvin’s wrist and pulled him along. To his surprise, she headed past the restrooms, down another corridor towards a flight of stairs.

„Uhm… haven’t we just missed the turnoff?“ It was supposed to come off as a joke, but Calvin’s voice sounded awfully strained. Walking made his stomach spiral out of control and it wasn’t long before he had to blow chunks again.

„Have you seen how crowded it is? Sorry, but I don’t think you’d make it if you had to wait in line. Plus, there’s no way I could sneak in with you unnoticed.“

„Wait… why would you do that?“ Calvin paused as climbing the stairs only fueled his inner turmoil. He simply didn’t dare to keep his mouth open. A sickly groan formed back in his gullet as his belly spasmed again.

„Why wouldn’t I? You’re sick. Obviously. Would be kinda shitty to leave you alone like this.“ Once they had reached the second floor, Cassandra steered Calvin towards a small niche with three garbage cans. „Here we are. Go ahead and lose the rest of your lunch. The other restrooms are locked at night, so you don’t have much of an option.“

„But… someone will have to clean it up… I feel bad enough for the barf cup under my seat.“

„Don’t worry so much. There’s a trash bag inside, they can just dump the whole thing.“ Cassandra pushed him towards the large buckets, then put her hand on his back to bend him over. Calvin sighed and gave in. The idea of throwing up in the open made him feel exposed and vulnerable, even though no one but Cas was around. However, it was definitely better than hurling all over the floor. As soon as Calvin brought his head closer to the containter, intense nausea exploded in his stomach. He jerked forward and retched sorely.

„Come on, get out the poison.“ Cassandra slapped him between the shoulders, forcing out an even more violent, yet still unproductive heave. Suddenly, Calvin felt Cassandra’s breath on his cheek. Her soft lips were so close that they almost touched his skin. Her long lashes tickled his jawbone. Then she whispered with a low, sensual voice: „Seafood platter.“

Calvin’s stomach lurched instantly and projectiled a massive wave of puke out of his mouth and nose. The trash bag crackled as it was weight down by the copious amount of liquid. Cassandra stayed close to Calvin, firmly rubbing his back.

„There you go“, she soothed him. „Vomit it up, babe.“

It was the first time Cassandra had called him babe, but Calvin didn’t have much time to rejoice. He coughed harshly as a thick mass crawled up his throat and slipped over his tongue. Calvin cringed in disgust as spongy chunks of bread plunged into the lake of sick below him. With his arched back convulsing against Cassandra’s palm, Calvin gagged until he brought up watery bile, clinging to his lips and nostrils in long, slimy strands. He continued to dry heave and spit until his stomach finally realized that it was empty.

„Fuck… I’m so sorry“, he panted, hands braced on his knees.

„What are you apologizing for?“ Cassandra dug out a packet of tissues from her bag. „Can you turn your head a little so I can wipe your face?“

She carefully cleaned away the stubborn strings and stains, then she let Calvin blow his nose. He couldn’t hold back a retch when he felt soft chunks coming out of his nostrils.

„Hope I didn’t spoil the evening for you“, Calvin rasped and straightened himself.

„Don’t be ridiculous. That super secret tactical chunder was impressive as hell. You didn’t spill a single drop. Even though I’m pretty sure no one would have judged you if you just went to the restroom instead.“

„I didn’t want any of you to notice.“ Calvin’s head felt even warmer than before. Good thing that his dark skin made it harder to tell when he blushed. „You know, this was my only chance at a first impression and… y’all were so thrilled when your sis had her solo, I didn’t want to ruin the moment. And then it was too late.“

„You know what?“ Cassandra’s lips quirked up only the slightest bit. She wrapped her arms around Calvin, careful not to squeeze him too tightly. „That’s actually super sweet.“

Calvin’s heartbeat accelerated, but this time it wasn’t caused by nausea. Her touch and her closeness were both comforting and exciting. He wished he could take Cassandra home and cuddle up with her in bed until he felt better. If only her parent’s weren’t waiting outside.

„Thanks for, you know, taking care of me.“

„No biggie. I would have probably puked as well if your parents greeted me like this.“ She smirked and looked up at him. With the height difference between them, Calvin could have easily rested his chin on top of her head. „Come on, let’s tell mom and dad that you have to cram for a big exam. Best way to get away quickly and impress them with your dedication.“

„Sounds like a plan.“ Calvin was still shaky on his legs, but with Cassandra’s hand holding on to his own, it was a lot more tolerable. Maybe the outcome had been worth all of his efforts.

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Archive of our own: Up all night to get Bucky

tumblr: birdnamedenza

#submission #tw emeto #tw vomit #novemetober 2022 #nov(emeto)ber 2022 #fandom: original characters #nov(emeto)ber #novemetober #2022 day2 #prompt: hiding it (or at least trying to)#um i feel so called out by the first fucking line :')#i can taste how fleshed out these characters are and i love it #insufferable parents so true #anyway this is a nightmare scenario and i adore this fic #cassandra is an absolute force to be reckoned with for being un-phased by this and she has my utmost respect!#birdnamedenza

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