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#go follow the artist + lmk if they want me to take this down
7ndipity · 6 months
Text
Mine
Namjoon x Reader
Summary: Joon gets easily jealous, but do you mind, really?
Warnings: Swearing, Joonie’s kinda possessive, very suggestive
A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! Sorry it took a few extra days, this month’s been a lot, but we’re finally starting to feel better! This one started off angsty in my drafts but somehow turned out way more suggestive than I planned (At what point should I start a blog for spicy fics? lmk)
Masterlist
Requests are open
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It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on in Namjoon’s head that evening, mouth pressed into a hard, thin line as he only half followed the conversation he was currently in the middle of, but you could feel the weight of his eyes constantly tracking you from across the room as you talked with one of the other artists that were at the event Joon had invited you to as his plus one.
You fought the slight urge to roll your own eyes as you caught his hard stare through the crowd, trying your best to ignore him for the moment and keep your focus on your own conversation.
This was starting to become a recurring situation between the two of you; if he saw you getting too close (in his opinion anyway) to another guy, or sometimes anyone at all, his stubborn jealousy would rear its ugly head, turning your normally sweet and understanding boyfriend sour and possessive.
He, of course, vehemently denied that that was what it was, that the other person was just giving him bad vibes and he was just looking out for you, although you couldn’t help wondering if/when he would notice that the those ‘vibes’ he kept picking up on was just their interest in you.
Almost as if on cue, you felt a familiar pair of hands land on your waist, thumbs rubbing soothing patterns against your sides through the fabric of your outfit, though it was unclear whether it was meant to calm you or him.
“Having a good time?” He asked, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. You didn’t miss the way his tone went up at the end in annoyance, despite his rather feeble attempt to mask it.
“I am, what about you?” You replied, tilting your head to look back at him.
“I think I’ve had my fill of socializing for one evening. Shall we go?”
“Do we have to?” You asked.
“I would like to.” He said, leaning closer. “I’ve also had my fill of other people stealing your attention from me.” He whispered in your ear, making you shiver.
The car ride home was unusually quiet. You noticed that he was still tense based on the way he was gripping the steering wheel, but you chose to leave it be, leaving him the responsibility to present the topic to you if there was something truly bothering him.
You barely made it through the door though before he was on you, catching you in a bruising kiss as he pressed you back against the wall.
“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” He mumbled against your lips. “Couldn’t stand the way they kept looking at you.”
“They weren’t.” You gasped between kisses.
“You don’t see what I do.” He said, trailing kisses over your jaw and down your neck to your pulse point.
“Who cares?” You replied, hands struggling to find purchase on his shoulders.
“I do.” He practically growled.
“You shouldn’t.”
Your response made his head whip back up to look at you. “Why the fuck not?”
“Because they don’t matter.” You said, cupping his face in your hands, feeling the heat of his skin against your palms. “I only want you, no one else. You believe that, right?”
He sighed, instinctively leaning into your touch. “Of course I do, I just don’t like people thinking that they can take what’s mine.”
“Yours?” You raised your brows at him. ”What, like you own me?”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not! You belong to only yourself. But-” He stopped, unsure of how to continue.
“But?” You urged, catching him off guard as you wound your hands into his hair and gave a quick tug.
His eyes darkened. “But you're mine.” He pressed another hot kiss to your mouth, stealing your breath as he spoke. “You’re mine and I’m yours. Only yours.”
You relented for the moment, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of him as his hands ghosted over your body, making you press even closer to him.
"Mine."
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chilichilichilipep · 4 months
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hii im the anon ( ^ω^ ) who requested the carlos x norris! reader and I just wanted to say that I LOVED the creative direction you took with the req I loved it more and more reading each day speaking 🗣️ for the public we’d love a pt 2 whenever you’re up for it 💪💪
AHHHHH IT'S FINALLY HERE! The love I received for the first part has been completely and utterly insane, I'm so glad y'all want a part 2. Thank you for being the voice of the people anon!
In A Room Full Of Art (I'd Still Look At You) – CS55
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Read Part 1 Here
Summary: Carlos races to your side when a golden opportunity comes your way
Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Norris! artist! reader
Warnings: Once again, longer than my whole schvantz, dastardly language, tears, fluffier than a cloud, verbose nonsense, google translated spanish, i pretend to have some semblance of an understanding of how the art world works when I 100% do not, not proofread, there's probably more so lmk if I missed something
Team Radio: Hi lovelies. I had such a hard time trying to follow up part 1. As desperately as I want this to be worthy of My Favorite Work of Art, I'm not quite sure that it is, but wanted to give it to you anyway. This legitimately look me ten straight hours to write when it probably should have taken two. I also experimented with mixing in an element of SMAU, but that's not something I plan on continuing because holy shit was it challenging. All of the photos are from pinterest, and the artists whose names I could find are David Mensing, Diane Leonard, and Karen O'neil. Once again, thank you for taking the time to read this absurdly long team radio before reading this absurdly long fic. Love, E
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"Carlos!" Charles hollered out of his rolled down window of his new Ferrari, "we were supposed to leave ten minutes ago!" The luxury car purred in the drive of the Ferrari headquarters in Maranello as the Monegasque driver waited for his Spanish counterpart.
Carlos appeared a moment later, hauling ass with his suitcase and garment bag in tow. Once the luggage was shoved in the car and Carlos had thrown himself into the passenger seat, Charles shifted into gear and the pair started their four and a half hour drive to Monaco.
Panting from the exertion of leaving in a rush, Carlos looked down at his watch. "We're cutting it close," he scowled, chewing anxiously at his bottom lip.
"It's gonna be fine, mate," Charles assured him, "Worst case we're fashionably late."
Carlos rolled his eyes at Charles' optimism, but not because he doubted him. Charles was already pushing the speed limit to ensure that being fashionably late was possible. The problem was that Carlos didn't want to be fashionably late. He wanted to be fashionably on time. He wanted to be fashionably early. It was your first major art exhibition, he wanted to be there.
Carlos shifted in his seat to more comfortably look out the window, taking in the blur of the Italian landscape that flew past him as he thought back to the night you'd found out you were accepted.
It was Carlos and Lando's final night in Monaco before jetting off to North America for the triple header, and Carlos had decided to take you on a date – a first date, he supposed, though it didn't really feel like it.  This relationship was definitely the most unusual he'd ever been in. In what felt like a blink of an eye, the two of you went from years of pining to all but confessing your love to one another, all while staying under the same roof. And after today your relationship would go from a live-in one to a long distance one. It was all kinds of bizarre and you both knew it, but at least for tonight he could sit across the table from you in a little restaurant by the sea and just…breathe.
The cool sea breeze played with loose strands of your hair as you smiled and thanked the waiter for your food, candlelight illuminating your gentle features. He was about to comment on how delicious everything looked when he noticed your smile falter as you glanced down at your phone, which lay idle amongst the candles and wine glasses on the table. You'd submitted your portfolio to the local modern art museum to be considered for their Emerging Artists Exhibition and had been waiting for a call from the gallery all day.
"Still nothing?" He asked, swirling his wine.
You shook your head. "No. I'm getting a feeling that they're not going to call me, and that's okay," you emphasized with a sigh, obviously trying to convince yourself too. "And for now, I would just like to sit here, with you, and enjoy the evening without thinking about it anymore. Is that okay?"
Carlos raised his glass to you. "Of course. Here's to a long overdue first date."
The breath felt like it was snatched from his lungs when you smiled back and raised your own wine with fingers that still had paint speckles on them. "Hopefully the first of many," you nodded before you both drank.
The evening was full of laughter, good food, and stories told against the soundtrack of waves crashing in the distance and lapping against the stone walls of the harbor. Candlelight hummed around you like fireflies and caught the twinkle that was ever present in Carlos' deep brown eyes. It wasn't until the food had been taken away and the check was forthcoming that the two of you fell into silence.
"What?" Carlos asked, noticing how your eyes scanned his face over and over again.
"Just looking at you."
"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he joked.
"But if I paint you in my mind it'll last forever," you said back. Your voice was warm, but you weren't kidding. Carlos just watched you for a minute - the way you took in every feature, every pore and strand of hair, the way you memorized the candlelight slipping against the bridge of his nose and the curves of his lips. You really looked at him like he was art, he thought. All of a sudden he felt like his heart was cramming itself in his throat. He had never felt so much warmth from another person – he'd trusted his heart with one or two others throughout his life, but had never felt their hands cradle it, never felt their fingers handle it with such care – until now.
He wanted to smash your phone into a thousand pieces for ringing and breaking your gaze. When your eyes flicked down to the caller ID, you snatched it up quickly and jumped to your feet. "I'm sorry Carlos, I have to –"
"–go ahead, I'll settle the check and meet you." You nodded appreciatively before bringing the phone to your ear as you walked away.
"Hello? Yes, this is she…"
Once the bill had been paid, Carlos collected himself and strode out of the restaurant to look for you. After handing the valet his ticket, his heart all but splattered on the sidewalk when he saw you fighting back tears as you hung up the phone. He was at your side in an instant, gathering you in his arms and squeezing you tight. "What happened?"
"Um," you stuttered, trembling against him, "I'm really sorry, but I can't come to Abu Dhabi."
He pulled away from you, confusion weighing down his brow before revelation lifted it. "Do you mean…" he ventured, grabbing either side of your face with his large hands,"…are you saying one of your pieces got selected?" You laughed wetly and nodded.
Carlos' shocked expression tripped over itself into a massive grin and his eyes glittered with joy and pride as he kissed you. It wasn't a showy kiss, more like one that sort of slipped out of him before he could catch it. But you weren't complaining. And then –
Carlos was pulled from his reminiscences by his phone vibrating in his lap, convinced in that moment that the only thing keeping him from jumping straight out of his skin was his seatbelt. His heart swelled at your icon on the screen. "Hey, cariño, how are-" he stopped short when his ear was met with sobs.
"Carlos they don't know!"
"Who doesn't know what?" He pressed, relaxed posture forgotten and fear scraped across his face as he stiffened. Charles glanced over at him in concern.
"The fishermen!"
"The… the fishermen?" Carlos looked around, completely lost, as though maybe he would find a hint in the landscape outside.
"The fishermen in the painting," you bawled. "I don’t even know who they are and their likeness is about to be displayed in front of all those people for my benefit, and my life is going to change tonight because I painted them and they don't even know!"
Carlos relaxed back into his seat, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. "You're upset," he repeated out loud for Charles' benefit, "because you feel like you owe the fishermen in the painting a right to see it, but you don't know who they are?" Charles' eyes widened and his bottom lip jutted out in affectionate pity.
"Yes!" You blubbered. Carlos could hear Lando's voice trying (and failing) desperately to console you in the background.
"Mi vida, I think they'll forgive you." His sympathy was met with more wailing from you and more exasperated shouting from Lando. "Have you tried to rest today?"
"I don't want to sleep," you whined, "I couldn't even sleep last night, you think I'll be able to sleep now?"
"Mm," Carlos hummed. Things were starting to fall into place in his head. "Well, have you eaten recently?"
"My mum made some sandwiches."
"And did you eat any?" He prodded.
After a pregnant pause, you mumbled dejectedly, "I was…I was going to."
Carlos shook his head. "Y/n, go eat a sandwich and lay down, okay? It'll make the time go faster. I know it doesn't feel like it right now but I promise it will help."
You sighed. "Okay."
"Can you hand me to Lando please?" He waited patiently until he heard his former teammate's voice.
"Mate, you've gotta get here. She's loosing it," Lando moaned. "She's gone on three walks, three, in the last four hours, mum had to stop her from painting so she didn't ruin her nails, then she started painting again and ruined her nails anyway, and now she won't stop going on and on about these damn fishermen. I can't handle it, mate, I need help."
"Aren't your parents there too?" Carlos asked, and Charles' eyebrows twitched inquisitively.
"Yeah, but even mum is having a hard time controlling her!"
Carlos ran a hand through his hair. "Shit."
"When are you getting here?"
"Uh…" Carlos peaked at the map on Charles' phone, "We're going to get to Charles' apartment at eight."
"But the event starts at eight," Lando griped.
"I know, but we had meetings in Maranello until three and we have to go to Charles' to pick up Alexandra and get changed," Carlos reasoned. "Believe me, Charles is ready to break multitudinous traffic laws to make sure we get there as soon as possible."
"That was a big word for you," Lando sighed. "Alright, mate, be safe. Thank you for your minimal emotional support."
"Any time," Carlos chuckled as he hung up.
"Meeting her parents, huh?" Charles wheedled.
"Like I haven't met them hundreds of times before," Carlos shrugged, picking at the skin on his thumb.
"But then they were just Lando's parents, now they're your girlfriend's parents."
"Are you trying to stress me out?" Carlos spat, throwing his hand down to his lap and glowering at his teammate.
"Maybe a little," Charles smirked, nonplussed by Carlos' pointed gaze. "I'm bored, it's fun to fuck with you."
Carlos harumphed, crossing his arms grouchily, and Charles mercifully relented his teasing for the time being. The two men resigned themselves to silence, Carlos nodding off every few minutes and Charles humming softly to the radio as their surroundings grew more and more golden in the waning sunlight. "Charles?" Carlos mumbled sleepily from the passenger seat.
"Hm?"
"Thank you for doing this."
Charles' soft smile pressed a dimple into his cheek. "My pleasure mate. Wouldn't miss it. I've known her longer than you have, you know."
"I know."
"And at least now that you're dating her I get a co-driver for my road trip."
Carlos laughed breathily. "Glad we can be of service to each other."
"It's nice to see you care about something so strongly," Charles continued, flipping down his visor to avoid being blinded by the setting sun. "Besides racing, that is. Especially when the person is so worth caring about." Carlos didn't respond, but turned his head to look at Charles' profile with eyes more awake than they had been in the last hour. "But I'm sure you've already gotten the protective brother speech from Lando, no?"
"Lando, Max, Alexander, Daniel, George," Carlos listed, a smile tugging at his lips. "It's a wonder they've all managed to keep it under wraps, I don’t know why Lando told them all."
Charles chuckled. "Well then you probably don't need one from me. But know that if you needed one I would."
"I'd be offended if you didn't." Carlos stretched contentedly before closing his eyes again.
itsy/n
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Liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, carlossainz55, and others
Tagged: landonorris
itsy/n in honor of one of my pieces being selected for the Monaco Modern Art Emerging Artist Exhibition, I thought I would share the whole collection with you here! The fangirls lurking on my page might recognize a familiar face ;) Stop in to see it December 1-14!
412 comments
username brilliant use of color. Impressive!
username omg I can't wait to go!
lilymhe my wifey is about to be so famousssss
-> itsy/n we r a power couple fr
-> alex_albon y/n we will only come if you promise not to kiss my girlfriend
-> itsy/n would if I could but I can't so I shan't
username that painting of Lando literally has me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure
carlossainz55 beautiful 🧡
*Liked by itsy/n*
-> username um hello?? The heart??
mclaren loving the papaya and the painting of our boy! Looking forward to seeing you in the garage soon!
-> itsy/n the Norris household is a papaya household 🧡
danielricciardo how did you manage to make Lando actually look handsome?
-> landonorris  SHE PAINTED ME TRUE TO LIFE THAT’S HOW
-> maxverstappen1 there was definitely some artistic license taken
-> landonorris YOU ARE CHRONICALLY OFFLINE WHY ARE YOU LOGGING ON JUST TO BULLY ME
alexandrasaintmleux so so proud!! Putting it on the calendar now!
-> itsy/n muah muah muah
---
You plucked a champagne flute from a server's tray as soon as you walked in the door, Lando following suit behind you. A few other artists were milling around, a few of whom you knew and nodded politely to, but none well enough for their presence to put you at ease. Your little brother was your only company since your parents had been running late and suggested the two of you leave early, but even he wasn't enough to calm your nerves.
Carlos had wished you luck and told you that he and Charles hit some construction delays when you last spoke on the phone. Your lips told him to drive carefully even though your heart begged him to just get there. Your anxiety about the night ahead mixed with the ache of missing him made for a nauseating cocktail in the pit of your stomach, so you busied yourself with twisting each individual pearl that hung on the string around your neck and relishing in their polished coolness even through the tall black gloves you wore to cover the paint in your nailbeds.
"Maybe I should call him," you blurted out, taking Lando by surprise.
"What?"
"Maybe I should call Carlos. You know, to tell him he doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to." You looked to him for affirmation but all you got in return was a bug eyed stare like you had just sprouted seven heads. "I mean, it's just so public, you know? And he's so private, I don't–"
"–Christ, I forgot you were an idiot for a minute," Lando interjected before sipping his champagne.
You sighed, staring at the golden bubbles that shimmered from the base of your glass to the top. "You think I'm being insane, don't you?"
"I don’t think, I know," he jabbed playfully. "He's obsessed with you, y/n, he wouldn't have agreed to come to this if he didn't want to be seen with you in public. He's literally driving straight from Italy to be here. Just follow his lead if you're worried. Let his actions inform yours."
"When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been this way, you've just been too dense to notice."
"Attention," the museum curator piped up, turning all heads in the room. "Doors will open in five minutes!"
"Guess it's time to go find your painting," Lando suggested. You simply nodded, downing the rest of your drink and placing the glass on a passing tray before taking Lando's arm and heading off in search of your piece. You walked slowly, trying to be steady in your stilettos and avoid stepping on the hem of your dress. It was classic, strapless and jet black, and one wrong step would yank it down around your ankles. You shuddered at the mere thought.
Lando walked at your pace, allowing you to balance on his arm before he caught sight of your painting just around the next corner. His eyes darted to you – you hadn't seen it. "Wait here," he stopped you, unslinging his camera strap from his shoulder and jogging around the corner to where your painting hung proudly. "Okay, come here."
As soon as you rounded the corner he started snapping photos of your reaction when you stopped dead in your tracks, face to face with your little painting. It looked small against the blank white wall behind it, but something about it was mighty. The colors were bold and purposeful, making the paintings around it seem dull in comparison. It looked like it belonged there. Maybe if it belonged there, you could too.
"How cool is that?" Lando asked giddily, hanging his camera around his shoulder again and moving to stand beside you. "Look," he pointed, "there's even a little plaque with your name on it! They spelled your name right and everything!" Tears pricked your eyes at the sight and you tilted your head back to keep them from ruining your mascara.
"Shit," you muttered, too overwhelmed to do much more than fan your eyes and blink the moisture away. In the distance you heard the front doors open and what sounded like a good amount of people enter the building. Lando put a comforting hand on your shoulder.
"Bug, hey," he cooed, suddenly small. "You're gonna be great. And… I'm really proud of you."
"Christ, Lan, don't make me cry please," you hissed, but not without grabbing his hand and squeezing it.
The first familiar faces to file in were your parents, who gasped and gushed over you and your work and insisted on taking you photo in front of it. Obviously they'd seen it before, but now they were seeing it here.
"Fancy seeing you here!" Your head whirled at the unmistakable voice to see Max and Daniel striding toward you with a smile.
"Hi Moomin!" You exclaimed in surprise, throwing your arms around the dutchman while Lando greeted Danny. Max laughed at the nickname, which was for your use only and had been ever since you told him he looked like a Moomin when he was younger. "I didn't know you guys were coming!"
"Are you kidding? We wouldn't miss it!" Danny beamed, embracing you warmly but taking care not to mess up your hair or muss your dress.
You laughed. "Wild horses and all that?"
"Yeah, something like that," he chuckled, turning to Lando. "Are we the first ones here?"
"Yeah, but shouldn't be too long before the rest of them show up," Lando confirmed, hugging Max hello.
"What do you mean, the rest of who?" You asked.
"Oh nothing, nothing at all," Max quipped mischievously. "Can I get you some champagne?"
"Oh, yes please," you nodded vigorously. Max saluted you cartoonishly before heading off in search of refreshments.
"So," Daniel crossed his arms and looked at your painting with mock solemnity, "This is very lovely. Which one is Carlos?"
"None of them," You chuckled, "did Lando tell you?"
"Max did, actually. I'm really happy for you though, kid. Don't worry, he's gotten the big brother talk."
You laughed as Max appeared beside you. "You tattletale," you scolded him.
He handed you a champagne flute, "consider this my apology."
"Is he coming tonight?" Danny inquired.
"He's aiming to. He and Charles are trying to get back from Maranello as we speak," you answered. "I'm sure you know this but… we're not public yet or anything."
"Don't worry, I've been briefed."
You smiled before turning to your brother. "Lando? Will you ask Carlos his ETA please?"
"And you can't do it why?" Lando asked as he sidled over to you.
"I can't use my phone because gloves and I can't take off my gloves because paint." Lando sighed and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket to oblige. "Thank you," you smiled with mock sweetness and shifted uncomfortably in your heels, one of which had a very finicky strap that was acting up.
Over the next fifteen minutes you were joined by Alex, Lily, and to your surprise and delight, Lewis. You'd met him once before at Silverstone that year, but you were still in complete awe of him.
"I had no idea that all of you were going to come," you told them, aghast.
"Lando may have made an announcement in the grid group chat," Alex smirked. You turned to your little brother, who just shrugged bashfully.
---
Carlos and Charles launched out of their seats like they were spring loaded and retrieved their bags at record speed. "8:15!" Carlos barked as he and Charles thundered up the stairs of the latter's apartment building (the elevator took too long). "Fifteen minutes slower than what we were supposed to be!"
"It's not my fault there was construction!" Charles huffed. Even before they reached his unit, the door swung open to reveal Alexandra, looking effortlessly elegant, waiting to direct them in like an aircraft marshal. She was only missing the glowing wands and a Hi-Viz vest.
"Hurry!" She urged, railroading the two men inside. "Kiss me later, we need to move!" She chided when Charles tried to greet her, "Carlos, first door on the right!" The Spaniard waved in thanks over his head as he barreled into the empty bedroom and immediately started stripping down. He set about brushing his teeth and unzipping the garment bag containing his suit and dress shirt.
The next few minutes were chaos, heavy breathing and hustling footfalls only interrupted by the occasional "Carlos, have you seen my –" or "Charles, can I borrow–" or "shit, I just used your cologne, did you use mine?" before Alexandra asked if they were close enough for her to call the elevator.
Carlos' heart pounded as the three climbed into Charles' car and set off for Monaco Modern'Art. The pads of his fingers and the tips of his toes prickled with pins and needles, but he wasn't sure if it was from panting so heavily or excitement at the prospect of seeing you again. His heart thrummed against his ribs like they were harp strings and so much adrenaline coursed through his veins that he worried his teeth would start chattering.
When they finally pulled up to the museum, thirty five minutes later than he wanted to be, Alexandra smacked his shoulders from the back seat. "Go, go, go," she fussed, "we'll see to the car, you just get in there!"
---
"Shit," you mumbled to Lando, gesturing to a man and a woman pacing around with notebooks. "Those are extremely important buyers."
"Important buyers, you said?" Lewis asked, and you nodded. He smiled in a way that was almost mischievous and gestured for you to follow him. He stood a few feet away from the buyers in question and crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly serious. "Y/n, I have to say I find this painting really moving," he professed loud enough for them to hear. You stood next to him and tried not to smile at how insane your life felt in that moment (THE Lewis Hamilton was trying to help you market your painting!). "Can I ask you what your inspiration was when you made this?"
"I'm so glad you asked," you responded, trying to sound professional while still giving him an honest answer. "The impetus behind all of my work is finding beauty in the mundane, but even more so it's to capture the universal human desire for community, both in subject and in observance."
"Can you expand on that?"
"Well, take this painting for instance. You have three fishermen in their boat at dawn. You don't know if they're talking to each other, or if they're friends, or if they're even facing each other. But they're together. It's very much my intention to leave their relationship up to the beholder. However, regardless of what the beholder thinks about the fishermen, their point of view is quite far removed from the subjects. As an artist, I want to be in the boat, but I'm not."
Lewis nodded encouragingly, eyes alight with genuine interest as he listened. You could see your parents and friends in your peripheral trying to pretend like they weren't listening too.
"If you want to take it even further," you continued, "the very act of creating this painting is a plea for understanding. I find beauty in mundane things like three random fisherman just doing their job, and I want people who view my work to understand and relate to my gaze. As you can probably tell, I don't have a particular way with words, my brain scatters and my mouth just tries to catch up, but my brush," you gestured to your painting, "is a little more eloquent."
You were so engrossed in your conversation that you didn't notice a certain Spaniard rounding the corner in search of you.
"Forgive my intrusion," one of the buyers interjected, and it was all you could do not to grab Lewis' arm with excitement, "but I happened to overhear a bit of your conversation."
Carlos stood just out of your view as you guided the buyer closer to your painting, speaking animatedly with him about god only knows what. The driver just watched you for a moment, trying to paint you in his mind like you did him. The problem was, he wasn't an artist. All he knew was that in a room full of art, he would still stare at you. The way your eyes fizzed with passion as you spoke about your work, the brilliance of your smile, the cadence of your voice…
Carlos' breath hitched when the stranger shook your hand and left you, and he elected to seize his opportunity by the throat by maneuvering his way through the crowd until he was standing directly behind you. "I think the one you did of me is better, no?" He murmured just loud enough for you to hear. You whirled around so quickly that it even startled him and threw your arms around his neck with a gasp of surprise.
"You're here," was all you could manage as you vice gripped his suit jacket in your fists and he held you flush to him. Suddenly you wobbled, the wonky strap on your shoe finally coming loose. "Shit, sorry," you laughed as he steadied you, "my shoe…"
Wordlessly, Carlos guided you to a bench in the middle of the room and sat with you, swiveling your legs to face him and taking your ankle in his massive hands to adjust your shoe. You heard Lando snap a photo. "Carlos, you don't have to."
He looked up from your ankle strap with those big cow eyes that made your heart melt. "Don't have to what?"
"Well," gestured to his hands on your leg, "There are people around, I don't want you to feel like…like…" You trailed off, words swallowed up by the intensity of his gaze. Then, softly, innocently, he was kissing you. In front of everyone. You smiled against his plush lips until he pulled back to look at you.
"Whatever happened to hi, how are you?" You joked, leaning in to squeeze his hand.
He smirked. "Hi," he whispered, "how are you?"
itsy/n
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Liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, and others
Tagged landonorris, carlossainz55, lilymhe, alex_albon, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo
itsy/n I'm honestly blown away by how many people came by tonight. Anyone who knows me knows that showing my art in a museum is my biggest dream and I can't believe it came true tonight. Hard to believe my little painting of some little fishermen would change my life. A huge thank you to everyone who came to support me, especially my baby brother (I love u Lala) who has always been my fiercest ally, even when I took over half his apartment with my scribbles and dirty laundry. Oh and thank you to my boyfriend for making us carbonara after this <3
username BOYFRIEND??
username miss ma'am a HARD LAUNCH??
landonorris bug that photo was for MUM AND DAD ONLY
-> itsy/n maybe next time you'll think twice before refusing to take a nice photo with me
-> landonorris or mabye I'll think twice before setting you up
-> carlossainz55 I think that ship has sailed mate
landonorris I am literally begging you to delete that last photo
-> itsy/n no :)
charles_leclerc so glad we could be there for your special night, y/n! Now that everything's finally out in the open maybe we'll see you wear some red in the Ferrari garage next season
-> landonorris you back the fuck up rn
-> alexandrasaintmleux or at least maybe we can do a double date soon?
-> itsy/n as long as the couples are alex x y/n and carlos x charles I'm into it
-> username she's one of us fr
username I cannot handle this rn HALF THE GRID CAME?? AND SHE'S HARDLAUNCHING WITH CARLOS??
-> username lord I see what you've done for others –
-> username I want her life so bad
carlossainz55  mi hermosa artista 🩵
carlossainz55 if my boyfriend duties continue to consist of fixing your shoes, dancing with you, sitting for portraits and making you pasta then you're going to have a very hard time getting rid of me
-> itsy/n good thing I don't want to get rid of you
-> landonorris ew.
-> itsy/n get tf out of my comment section you crumb
lewishamilton that was so impressive, y/n. Thank you so much for having me!
-> itsy/n thank you so much!
-> landonorris quit fangirling
georgerussell63 Carmen and I are so sad we missed it! Next time though!
-> itsy/n I'll let it slide just this once
maxverstappen1 I feel like a proud big brother tbh
-> itsy/n Maxie I'm older than you
-> danielricciardo can I be the proud big brother I'm actually older
-> itsy/n yes
-> maxverstappen1 okay so I guess we're all just going to ignore how nice I was being
-> itsy/n I'm sorry moomin I love you
-> username MOOMIN
carlossainz55
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Liked by lando.norris, itsy/n, charles_leclerc, and others
Tagged itsy/n
carlossainz55 Mi cielo, y/n, I am so proud of you. Your talent burns so bright and I feel so lucky that I get to sit back and watch you shine (and occasionally fasten your shoes). You are the star of the show and you deserve all the recognition in the world. I've always thought that, but now four years later I can finally tell you. Glad your annoying kid brother knocked some sense into us.
itsy/n te amo mucho, chili ❤️🌶️
-> username OMG ITS HAPPENING
itsy/n for anyone wondering if we were truly clueless for four years before we got together, we were not dating in the last two pictures
-> username girl…
-> lilymhe mama I can't believe you let him look at you like that and still thought he didn't like you
-> carlossainz55 I also can't believe she let me look at her like that and still thought I didn't like her
-> carmenmmundt and the cheek kissing, I mean my god
username STOP IS SHE PAINTING CARLOS IN THE THIRD PIC
lewishamilton congrats you two! 💜
alex_albon It's about time!
landonorris FINALLY THAT WAS A VERY DIFFICULT SECRET TO KEEP
-> oscarpiastri you told me literally three days after it happened
-> charles_leclerc you told me the day you found out
-> alex_albon same
-> maxverstappen1 you told me about it before it was even official
-> itsy/n so what I'm hearing is that you didn't keep it a secret
-> landonorris I KEPT IT A SECRET FROM THE WORLD!! Just maybe not like… my teammate and stuff
-> oscarpiastri I thought I was your world
landonorris also don't think I didn't see you call me annoying. You better watch you back (this is a threat) 🔪
-> carlossainz55 noted
charles_leclerc so happy for you both
-> itsy/n thank you Sha :)
-> charles_leclerc I will take it back if you keep calling me that
-> alexandrasaintmleux the amount of times this man almost spilled the beans
-> charles_leclerc why am I being attacked
username when will it be me
username I cannot get over Lando setting them up that's so tender
ferrari welcome to the ferrari family y/n! ❤️
-> landonorris YOU CAN'T HAVE HER
-> mclaren we're inclined to side with Lando on this one
lando.jpg
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Liked by daniel3.jpg, carlossainz55, itsy/n and others
Tagged itsy/n, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, lilymhe
lando.jpg the big arteest and her many muses. Proud of you bug, pls don't make me regret setting you up.
alex_albon why is it that my girlfriend has made it to the jpg account and I haven't been featured at all
-> lilymhe skill issue
-> username GIRL–
username Carlos and y/n kissing in front of her painting is simply too much to bear
itsy/n Lala this is so sweet
-> lando.jpg bitch if you call me Lala on the internet one more time
lilymhe y/n I love youuuu we look so good
-> itsy/n I love you moreeeeee
-> alex_albon so Carlos and I are chopped liver apparently
-> carlossainz55 seems to be the case
-> username these 4 on a golf date when
*liked by itsy/n*
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eelnoise · 3 months
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for me, only
zoro x gn!reader (lmk if i missed something) 18+ NSFW c/w: cock worship, cock slapping, cock SUCKING, balls on ur face, zoro fucks your throat then gets fluffy a/n: this shit has haunted me for days. the way i need his cock and balls on my fucking face? dont even wanna talk about it @bby-deerling @themushroomofdeath @sleepymarimo @kaizokuniichan u go :-)
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You watch intently, transfixed by the way Zoro’s fingers slide beneath the waistband on his pants. Eyes follow even the smallest movements he makes, and though you’ve seen him - been with him this intimately before - each time enchants you as if it were the first.
He’s stunning - equal parts enticing as he is intimidating. So devastatingly breathtaking, a composition of paint strokes on canvas so exquisite and striking that would cause even the most mastered artists to fall to their knees. And you’re the one who gets to touch, to inspect and admire such a masterpiece to your heart’s content?
You count your blessings, thanking whichever nameless force that binds you to him, and as the length of his cock bounces free, so thick and ready and glistening with beaded pre-cum, your eyes widen in admiration and desire. “Yknow, I think it’s longer than my head,” you say off-handedly, the racing thoughts from within your mind subconsciously boiling over into words.
A snicker from above, and your eyes jolt upward to see Zoro smirking deviously at you with a brow twisted in intrigue. His teeth peek from behind his lips, and when he takes a step forward you know that you’re in for… something.
He reaches out toward you, his hand enclosing around your chin with enough force to keep your head in place as he considers your curious expression. “You wanna test that theory?”
You feel your lips bend into a grin of your own, a fire igniting in your chest at whatever he had up his sleeve when your eyes meet one anothers. “Yeah, I do.” 
“Good answer,” he replies, a noticeable bite in his tone. Before you can even think - Zoro’s hand falls from your chin to your shoulder, and with a jolt are you pushed to your knees. He knows to be gentle enough not to truly hurt you, a push and pull of long established relationship dynamics that come as second nature between you both without a second thought. Your eyes are locked the entire time, the anticipation sparking hot and sharp as he maneuvers you with ease into where he wants you.
Zoro hovers above you while you watch on, attention wavering between his face to his cock and back. You’re not quite sure if he’s joking, or what he has up his sleeve, though anticipation’s proof pools between your thighs regardless. He grasps his cock in one hand, holding it just above your lips tantalizingly, achingly out of reach despite your need to taste him. The other hand snaps to the back of your head, pooling enough hair in his fist to hold you in place, just tight enough to silently warn you. ‘Do not move.’
“Open.”
At once, your mouth opens, tongue lolling out eagerly. A soft groan escapes him and his cock visibly twitches in his hold at your obedience. “Eager, huh?” Zoro breathes out as he inches closer, the musky, sweaty essence of him fills your nostrils, driving you crazy with desire, and instinctively you lean upward in an attempt to meet his flesh with your tongue. 
Zoro pulls you back into place, clicking his teeth in faux disappointment and peering down at you with amusement. “Not yet,” he scolds, the devilish grin still carved into his visage, “we're measurin’ first, remember?”
“Fine,” You huff, frowning in half-jest as he pulls you away from what you want most. He hums, satisfied with your docility - the sound echoes in your ears, an enticing ring that collides with your senses so sharply and so abrupt that you’re rendered nigh-helpless.
The way his darkened expression blends with the flush to his cheeks, displayed before you as if an idol, tall and broad and begging to be revered - it’s intoxicating.
And he knows you’re weak for him.
Zoro splays his cock across the length of your face suddenly, his length falling against you with unexpected force. You’d never considered how heavy he is until the burden quite literally weighs your head down, but your eyes are blown wide with lust that he can feel.  
Smirking deviously, Zoro leans back a bit and watches as your expression changes from surprise to pure arousal, clearly unable to resist the sight and sensation of his dick that rests upon your face. “Looks like it is bigger than your head,” He muses smugly, teasing you with a wickedly tempting chuckle. “But it looks good on ya.”
He takes his time rubbing himself across your face, finding the sight of you covered with his cock insatiable. "Fuck, look at ya," Zoro coos lowly, mushing the head of his cock onto the outside of your cheek and leaving a trail of pre-cum in its wake. "So pretty n’ perfect under my cock like this." 
You whine, desperate and dripping from his praise, a deep-seated sigh flowing warm from your open mouth. Your breath spurs him downward, making sure to tap each of your cheeks with it on his way before leaning back again. "You want a taste that badly, don't chya?” Zoro chuckles. “Then here, have one." You feel Zoro press his heavy balls onto your chin and slide them upward over your mouth, toes curling at the warmth on your skin and the taste on your tongue as you inhale his scent more deeply. 
Zoro groans, his eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and amusement as he watches you drunk on him. "You’re so greedy," he says, his voice dropping lower and taking on a more dominant tone. He slowly moves his hips back and forth, grinding himself against your face more before pulling back slightly and holding his cock just out of reach of your lips. "C'mon now, beg for it." Zoro demands as he playfully smacks your tongue with the tip of his cock, voice firm but filled with desire. "Tell me how much you me in that pretty little mouth of yours."
"Please," You mewl, a pleading and almost pathetic look in your gaze. "I need it! I need to taste you so badly, Zoro! More than anything..”
Smirking at your desperation, Zoro grabs onto your chin firmly, forcing your face up to meet his “You want it? Then you're gonna have to beg for it properly. And don't think you can just say please once and be done with it, either,” He leans in closer, tightening his hold on the mass of now messy hair between his fingers. “Keep saying please until I'm satisfied.” As Zoro holds you captive with one hand and demands your undivided attention, he presses the tip of his throbbing erection against your mouth. 
"Please... Please..." You repeat over and over while he continues to assault your tongue, the wet slap of your saliva against him interrupting your cries of wanton desire. “Tastes so good, need it all~”
Your eyes lock onto his, and with a nod as all the warning you’ll get, he allows you the pleasure you seek and slides his cock into your mouth. As you begin to suckle on him, taking him deeper into your mouth and feeling his length fill and stretch your jaw sends waves of bliss down your spine, you find that you are completely pacified, bent to his desires and adopting them as your own.
As Zoro slides further into your eager mouth, he watches your face intently, studying every nuance of expression as he takes note of how well you are taking him in. "Fuck, just like that," he says softly as he leans back slightly, giving you more room to take him deeper into your mouth. "You gonna swallow everything I give you?." He queries firmly, knowing that there will be no hesitation or resistance from your party.
Nodding your head, you accept your role as Zoro’s cum receptacle with a muffled moan of indulgence. Your tongue works furiously, tears beating at your eyes while sucking his thick shaft deep into your throat, eager for every drop of his salty seed. "Mmmph~!"
Zoro tugs at your hair, using the strands as leverage to work you up and down his cock at his own speed. He ruts his hips into you, growling and panting in absolute satisfaction as you slurp and gag and drool, relishing in the messy and sloppy way you sound as he hits the back of your throat. 
His other hand finds your head as well, holding it tightly between each of them and thrusting into your mouth as he chases his dawning high. His breath is shaky and ragged, and he uses you as far as your mouth will allow him - his balls smacking against your chin in a rhythm that will inevitably prove impossible for even the swordsman to master.
With a groan and a drawn out exhale, Zoro digs his nails into your scalp and cums.His cock fills your throat with hot, thick seed, and he watches with satisfaction as he sees your muddied expression. He knows what he does to you, and there is nothing you would resist doing for him at this point. His hips buck slightly as he releases his load, sending wave after wave down your waiting throat. He grunts softly as he empties himself into you, feeling the warmth of his cum filling your mouth, and he revels in the knowledge that he has marked you as his own. 
"Swallow all of it.”
You do as you're told, swallowing around him and making him hiss as you drink up his mess. He twitches in your mouth, determined to ride the sensation out to its fullest. Zoro smiles down at you then, releasing you from his hold, and as he pulls out of your throat, he rests a large warm hand on your cheek. You can feel the affection radiating from him, and your heart backflips in your chest.
He strokes you with a gentle caress of his thumb. “Y’alright?” He murmurs, his face softening at your messy hair and swollen lips. “Didn’t go too hard, did I?”
“I’m great~” You purr, peering up at him with heavy lidded eyes. He doesn’t miss the seductive tone of your voice, instead smirking at you once again with a twinkle in his eye.
“Good,” Zoro helps you to your feet and pulls you flush against him, locking his lips to yours in a hungry, wild, yet passion-filled kiss. “‘Cause I ain’t done with ya yet.”
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starsstuddedsky · 6 months
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Slice of Love
Haechan x reader
summary: birthday cake and boyfriend material
genre: fluff, non idol au, not really angst but haechan is so dramatic
warnings: swearing, food/dessert, i dont know anything about art, pls lmk if i missed any
wc: 1.8k (who is she???)
a/n: finally wrote something short and sweet :) it's been so long since i've done that lol. this is heavily inspired by 7dream cafe cake-making and my full belief that none of these boys should be unsupervised in the kitchen. thank you to @chocolatemilk139 for being my beta as always <3 (even though you didnt edit anything smh)
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It’s not horrendous.
Donghyuck stares at the cake in front of him. The process started well: he made the tester cake last week week that the council (also known as his friends) approved with generous support (“wait, what’s actually kind of good,” from Jeno, “it’s edible,” from Renjun, “the hint of orange really sells it,” from Jaemin, “it’s not burnt so it’s already better than anything I could make,” from Mark, “you didn’t buy this?” from Chenle, and Jisung, who just stared at him with wide eyes). 
No, the problem isn’t the batter. He slaved over it all last night and chose the two cakes that rose most evenly in the oven. Everything but his tears went into making them. 
“Wow,” Renjun says, leaning over the counter. “You fucked up.” 
Donghyuck smacks him, leaving a trail of lavender buttercream on the wool sweater. 
“Hey, that’s going to be a bitch to get out!” Renjun cries. 
“Cry me a river,” Donghyuck says, “which is a good song, but also, you deserve it. It’s not that bad.” 
Renjun raises his eyebrows but Donghyuck raises a spoonful of extra frosting. Renjun backs off. 
Despite his strong defense, Donghyuck fears Renjun may be right. Though the cake stands tall, crumbs mix in with the frosting on the sides. What was supposed to be an artistically plump edging around the base of the cake and around the top corner looks like it exploded out of the piping bag (because it did, popping the cap off several times). In his head, the center would be filled with flowers and hearts and all sorts of pretty shapes in all sorts of pastel colors—but by the time he got to the center, he’d fully given up on piping bags, meaning he had to get creative for the flowers. Instead of flowers, he made blobs of frosting pushed off a spoon. In some spots he accidentally mixed the colors together, a green one shade away from brown, not at all like the field in the pictures on his Pinterest board. 
Jeno appears next, wandering out of his room. He misses Renjun’s warning glare, though Donghyuck doesn’t. He steps right next to Donghyuck, tilting his head. “What is this supposed to be again?” 
“What do you think?” Donghyuck asks evenly. 
Oblivious or uncaring, Jeno pauses to ponder. “A really ugly version of Shrek’s swamp?” 
“Get out.” 
“Get out of ma’ swamp!” Jeno attempts a Scottish accent, authenticity as questionable as the flower field in Donghyuck’s cake. Jeno retreats with Renjun on the couch, dodging Donghyuck’s frosting spoon. It would be a waste of the delicacy on his stupid dri-fit t-shirt, which he wears even when he doesn’t work out. 
“It’ll be fine,” Jaemin says. “It’ll taste good, which is the important part.” He sits at the counter, the only one to offer moral support while Donghyuck decorated. But his attempts at comfort are in vain; Donghyuck doesn’t just want the cake to taste good, he wants it to taste perfect, to look perfect, for all of it to be perfect. It’s the least you deserve. 
Donghyuck ignores the banging on his door, letting one of the guys let Chenle and Jisung in (no one else would threaten to break down a metal door instead of waiting the five seconds it takes to unlock the door). 
“We come bearing food!” Chenle shouts, plastic bag singing in his hand as Jisung follows precariously carrying a stack of pizza boxes. Far more food than needed, but Donghyuck won’t skimp out on you. Chenle tosses his bag full of snacks on the table, crossing the room to see the ‘masterpiece’ Donghyuck spent the past week hyping up. 
“Dude, are you seriously going to give that to YN?” 
“Are you trying to get dumped?” Jisung asks. “Ow!” he cries when Chenle smacks him. 
“Your welcome,” he says, “though he sort of has a point, that looks like literal shit.” 
“Does it really?” Donghyuck pouts. 
Chenle points at one of the browner spots. “You’re telling me that’s not a piece of shit?” 
“They were supposed to be flowers.” 
Jaemin, Renjun, and Jisung manage to cover their laughs as coughs but Chenle and Jeno let out a bark of laughter. 
“Yeah, you’re screwed,” Chenle says, clapping him on his shoulder that sags even lower than his normal bad posture. “You could call Mark and get him to pick up a cake on his way.” 
“He’s bringing YN,” Donghyuck says glumly. “Besides, I already told YN that I would make it myself. I’m not going to be a failure and a liar.” 
“It’s really not that bad,” Jaemin says, ignoring the chorus of dissent from the rest of the guys. “It’ll taste good!” 
Donghyuck shrugs. He can’t explain it, at least not so that they can understand him. He knows perfection is a subjective definition that he’ll never be able to fulfill but he strives for it anyway. If it isn’t perfect then why would he do it at all? Even if it’s his first time attempting this level of artwork, he should at least be able to make something that looks okay, or recognizable. 
And you—you deserve more than a dry store-bought mess and more than a half-assed attempt at love. You’ve only been together for a couple months but he’s determined to prove himself. A birthday was the perfect opportunity, even when you’ve known him for years and spent plenty of birthdays with him. This was his chance to show you the boyfriend material he’s made of, except instead of black velvet or creamy silk, Donghyuck thinks this cake is the work of a neon yellow polyester shirt worth less than $2 at the thrift store. 
“Mark just texted that he just parked,” Jaemin announces. He glances at Donghyuck. “You ready?” 
Donghyuck glances at himself. His hands are covered in frosting that’s dried and crusted, spread up his arms. His Kiss the Chef apron protected his shirt and most of his pants from the damage, but the mess is the least of his concerns. There’s nothing he can do about the disaster (he’s given up calling it anything else) in front of him. Shrek’s Swamp or a toilet bowl, it’s definitely not a flower field and it’s definitely not what you deserve. But it’s all he’s got. 
The final punch hits with a gentle knock at the door. Donghyuck crosses the room to his doom, stepping past his silent friends who bow their heads in respect for the walking dead. He pulls open the door slowly. He sees your shoes first, white sneakers you spent three hours with a Sharpie decorating, full of hearts and stars and unmistakable flowers—daisies and chrysanthemums and lavender, more than he can name. 
You wear your favorite jeans, loose bootcut that tighten at the thighs, hugging you in all the right places. A loose shirt hangs from your shoulders, one of the bands you always play for him with lots of bass and visceral lyrics that romanticize suffering. A family of silver earrings dangle from your ears, and he recognizes each of your favorites, the miniature swords, sparkling star shaped studs, a curly twist of metal that wraps around the higher part of ear. You look perfect. 
Donghyuck has always loved the way you smile, a gentle turn of your lips, like the happiness belongs to only you. You lean forward, pressing a short kiss to his lips, a peck more than anything. Donghyuck stares at you, eyes wide. You gesture to his apron. “Just following the rules.” 
He smiles though it fades as soon as he sees the frosting–no, the evidence of his failures, spread down the black fabric. “Happy birthday,” he says, wishing he could put more heart into it. A tiny frown furrows in your brow but you don’t question him. 
He steps back to let you walk in, trailing behind you as the rest of the guys wish you happy birthday. Mark catches up easily, clapping a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Jeno sent me a picture.” 
Renjun hugs you, which Donghyuck belatedly realizes he never did. 
“I brought the food,” Chenle announces. “Don’t go thanking anyone else for my efforts.” 
“Our,” Jisung corrects. “You barely even carried anything.” 
“That’s because I had to drive,” Chenle says, waving his hand. “And don’t even get me started on the pizzeria, you better appreciate every molecule because—”
“Thank you, Chenle,” you say. 
“Thank me,” Donghyuck says. “It was my detailed instructions that perfected absolutely everything about today, which reminds me, did Mark behave?” 
You turn back to face him, linking your fingers with his. “Yes, babe, he followed your script. He almost cried because the barista messed up the order and he didn’t want to be annoying but he said you said ‘if anything goes wrong, I’ll kill you,’ and meant it.” 
“And I did,” Donghyuck says. He nods at his best friend for his service. 
“Now.” You squeeze his fingertips. “Where’s this cake you’ve been so excited about.” 
Donghyuck doesn’t try to hide his face. There’s no use delaying the inevitable. He lets go of your hands, leading you to the crime scene to lay the final verdict (the judicial system of his brain is in need of some reformation). 
You reach the counter and freeze. A list of concert dates greets Donghyuck, your back facing him while you study the cake. There’s no name for the opposite of a masterpiece, no artist that wants their worst creation recorded in history. 
He inches closer to you, peeking at your face. He recognizes the expression, the narrowing of your eyes, the way you flatten your lips. He’s been to enough art shows and spent enough time with you studying for art history to know what you analyze art. 
“It’s not Van Gogh or Monet,” he says, “it’s not even that asshole guy who made the Bean.” 
“Mm,” you hum, “no, you’re not any of them.” 
“It’s an ugly cake,” he says, “I know. I tried, I really did, but apparently you actually do need a decade or two of experience to make a decent cake, which is totally unfair, like, I spent more time on it than my research project, and this only looks marginally better than that.” 
“It’s amazing,” you say, “reminiscent of the expressionist era.” 
“Really?” 
“No,” you say, turning to grin at him. “But you made it, so none of that matters. Maybe it doesn’t look like what you thought, but seriously.”  You rest a hand on his arm. “It’s perfect.” 
He meets your eyes, sees sincerity and not an ounce of teasing. No, it wasn’t what he wanted for you, but that doesn’t really matter. Perfection is subjective and to you it’s perfect—why did he ever think it wouldn’t be? 
He grins. “Perfect?” 
You step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a hug, ignoring the frosting that must be smearing across the band member’s faces. 
“Perfect.” 
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a/n2: thank you for reading! as always, i appreciate any feedback :)
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xoxitgirl · 4 months
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⊹ ࣪ ˖ seasons challenge ⊹₊ ⋆
I saw this on YT community while scrolling so lmk if y’all know who posted it originally—for context they said it was from sammy’s group or something! but basically it’s creating a season for your manifestations and I thought this was so genius!!! the post was a little different like using your “season” as an umbrella affirmation. like I got everything I wanted in season one. or i have all my desires from season one.
the way I’m using seasons, I’m breaking them down into eight episodes (maybe more) but if you could direct your life, how would it go? if your life is a production, what would you change? how will your whole season transform you?
for those who don’t know, I am a designer. my season will revolve around expanding my business, having photoshoots, being able to travel more, fashion-related opportunities, selling my clothes to hella celebrities, etc.
since this is a challenge I feel like rules are mando—
no stopping!
no looking to the 3D for change—you are the director of your life!!! everything in your season happens because of you, fuck the 3D. your goal is to maintain the storyline of your season. allow your mind to lead and your body to follow—because it ALWAYS WILL.
live each day as if you’re living out your season—for example; in yours you become a successful artist. everyday you’re drafting new art pieces, networking with other artists, posting your pieces, or just vibing because not everyday as a successful artist looks the same! that gives you an opportunity to create your dream work dynamic. when you think, “I’m being stupid I’m never gonna be a successful artist.” take a step back and ask yourself, how would you think if you were living through your season? you would immediately go, “actually I already am a successful artist. any thoughts that don’t align don’t mean shit. I was meant to be a successful artist and I am.”
put into action
now heres where the fun part comes, this is optional but i feel like it would be hella fun to prepare yourself in the 3D. I strongly believe that the mind leads and the body will always follow so for the season premiere, get ready for your life to change! clean/redo your room, change your hair up so it matches this new season, start focusing on your lifestyle changes. you could even start journaling/drafting season two. if you’re a no effort person then this step can be ignored but doing things in the meantime allow me to take my desires off the pedestal/acknowledge that my desires always come through self.
I hope y’all like this idea, I actually started this challenge last nightt so I will come back with an update within the next month!!!
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it girl ⊹ ࣪ ˖
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mrs-bucky-barnes106 · 7 months
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❥ Lover Chapter 1: You Need to Calm Down
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au: college (Rutgers University iykyk :)
trope: strangers to lovers
pairing: basketball player!bucky x artist!reader
chapter summary: reader bumps into a handsome stranger, misses her bio lab, and has a breakdown reflecting on her unsuccessful past relationships with athletes :/
a/n: just setting things up here peeps!! i'm so excited for the lover series and to see where it'll go. stay tuned, follow if you want to get updates. lmk if u wanna be on the taglist (never done this b4!!). i'm genuinely so excited for this. it's probs going to take me at least the rest of this year to finish, but it'll be so worth it eeee okay byeee go read the fic hehe
wc: 1.7k
series masterlist
౨ৎ
You rushed around your tiny apartment, gathering your iPad, pens, and a protein bar, looking down to spare a glance at your watch.
"Damn, it's 7 A.M.," you groaned loudly, throwing your head back in exasperation. Typically, you would still be sound asleep at this ungodly hour. But your counselor had forced you to sign up for bio lab this semester, saying you didn't have enough science credits to graduate. As an art major, you shouldn't legally have to take science classes, especially now that you were in college.
You had to be out the door by 6:45 every morning now to get to the lab on time. The professor started at 7:15 sharp and locked people out if they were late by even a minute, giving them a 0 for the day's work. It took you 30 minutes to get to campus on the transit. Now, you would never make it on time. Your grade was already suffering; you doubted it could afford to take another hit.
You flung your tote bag onto your shoulder, grabbed your phone and keys, and slammed the door to your apartment, barely locking it before you barreled down the stairs at the speed of light. You weren't watching where you were going, narrowly missing the wrought iron handrails.
Suddenly, a blur of tan skin and loose clothes was coming at you like a missile. Before your body could catch up with your brain, you tackled the stranger headfirst thanks to your momentum.
"Watch where you're going, ya big lug!" you pushed him down, using the motion to leverage yourself up.
"Hey! You say that in the street, it's a knockout, little lady!" he slurred, his breath reeking of smoky Patrón. "Why you takin' shots at me?"
"Ugh," you pushed him off yourself, disgusted by his inebriated state. It's 7 A.M. in the fucking morning, dude, get a grip, you thought. Glancing down at your phone, you realized it was now 7:10. You suddenly found it hard to breathe, seeing as you would never make it in time.
The stranger noticed your change in complexion despite being wasted, and his eyes softened infinitesimally. "Hey, are you okay?" his voice seemed genuine despite his drunken state.
"I...I have to go," there were tears in your eyes, threatening to spill. You didn't know why you were so upset since you didn't even care about the class. Everything was just so overwhelming today.
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You ended up missing your class. There was a delay in the transit since one of the operators was down, causing you to be an hour late to the lab. By now, there was no hope in banging on the door and begging your professor for mercy. The lab would go on for about another hour. Your grade was undoubtedly drowning in the pits of hell at this very moment.
Downcast, you slumped down against the wall next to the classroom door. You could hear the muffled chatter of the students inside, seeming to taunt you about how you couldn’t join them.
You rolled your eyes at the sound of your stomach grumbling. Reaching into your tote, you pulled out your sad granola bar, unwrapped it, and bit in. Somehow, it tasted both chewy and dry at the same time. Oh well, beggars couldn't be choosers. You finished the bar in three big bites, tossing the wrapper back into your tote.
Next, you reached for your iPad, deciding to get started on the new art assignment you were so excited about. Somehow, you always managed to complete your work for your art and even your English classes within three days of receiving them. Biology was the opposite of your forte, and it often took you days to finish a single lab report.
Breathing out a sigh, you let your head fall back against the wall. There was no point in dwelling on the subject that was the bane of your existence. You only had to endure two more months of the class until it would be summer vacation. The season during which you came alive.
Your neck started to hurt from your uncomfortable position, so you lifted your head off the wall. Turning to your iPad, you contemplated what you would draw for your assignment. The directions were peculiar, stating that you had to depict somebody you observed in your life that you weren't well acquainted with—basically, a stranger. You found the task a little creepy. You surely wouldn't want some rando drawing you for their art assignment. However, as the artist, you were in control.
Your thoughts wandered to the stranger you bumped into this morning. Although he wasn't the cause of your delay (you had your oversleeping to blame), you still wanted to hate him for annoying you on an already terrible morning. Thinking back now, however, you weren't too upset about the encounter. From the little you remembered of his face, he was handsome. A dickwad for bumping into you and being drunk at 7 in the morning, but a handsome dickwad, nonetheless, who seemed to be built from six-and-a-half feet of pure muscle.
Fuck it, you decided to draw him. Not like he would ever know. You barely even knew he lived in your apartment building, and his operating hours were clearly different from yours. With luck, you would likely never run into him again.
An hour later, you added the finishing touches to your rendering of the hot stranger. The classroom door swung open as the lab finished, and you hastily put away your iPad and moved out of the way to avoid getting trampled by all the impatient students leaving the lab.
You weren't fast enough as your best friends Wanda and Natasha spotted you and, unfortunately, your drawing.
"Ooh, Y/N's got the hots for someone," Nat crooned in an annoying singsongy voice.
"Keep it down, would you!" you glanced furtively at the other students leaving the class. You didn't want any of your peers thinking of you as a creep who drew random guys she didn't even know the name of.
"Ohmigod, is that James Barnes?" Wanda cried out.
You turned your iPad screen off, wondering why you didn't sooner. "Do you guys know what whispering is?" you cried out, exasperated by their exaggerated, coquettish displays.
"Y/N, I promise I ain't tryna mess with your self-expression. But you know that stressin' and obsessin' 'bout somebody else is no fun," Wanda said, tilting her head thoughtfully as if she was onto something. "You should ask him out! Doesn't he live in your apartment?! I always knew you guys would be so cute together."
"I am not stressing or obsessing over anyone!" you fumed, indignant at her false accusations. "And I am certainly not asking anyone out! Until you said his name, I didn't even know who he was, for Christ's sake."
The girls' jaws dropped.
"What?" you ran a hand down your face, giving them a major eye roll at their dramatics.
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO BUCKY BARNES IS?" Nat's voice was annoying and high-pitched.
"Only the hottest basketball player who goes to Rutgers! Y/N, he's your next-door neighbor," Wanda looked as if she was concerned for your health rather than your knowledge of your neighbors.
"So what? You need to calm down! You're being too loud," you put a finger to both of their lips, their faces exploding in outrage at the gesture.
You grabbed your tote and marched down the hallway toward the student commons, your friends hot on your tail.
"Hey, can you not step on my skirt?" you whipped around to find Nat's face in yours.
"Sorry," she gave you a sheepish smile, taking a small step back, her eyes wide.
You huffed before turning to continue your trek up to the cafe.
"Why are you mad when you could be glad?" Wanda tried for a light tone.
"I'm not mad," you let out through gritted teeth.
"Um, that is the definition of angry, girl," the sarcasm in Nat's voice rubbed you the wrong way.
"Yeah, your fuming worse than a bull that saw red," Wanda added, and the girls chuckled. That was it.
You whirled around abruptly, causing your friends to almost run you over. You took a deep breath before you could say something you would regret. "You guys need to just stop. Like can you just not?" you began, trying to keep your voice steady and low. "Do either of you remember Brock from last year? Remember how he was a basketball player too? Yeah, do you also remember how he broke my fucking heart? Left me on read, never hung out with me, and ended up fucking another girl while I was standing in the pouring rain, waiting for him to show at our first date at a restaurant I could never afford. I'm done with athletes, okay? They're all jerks, especially basketball players, and I will never be someone's sidepiece. So don't bring it up again."
You turned sharply on your heel, leaving your friends speechless and rooted to the spot. Once you turned the corner, you wiped away your silent tears. No use crying about it now. This was old news. Your anti-athlete rule kept you happy for now. You went out with a couple of poet and artist types, no one that serious, but also no one that left you humiliated and sobbing in the rain.
You decided to abandon your plan of eating lunch in the commons. You were too upset to think of food now. You pushed hard to open the front doors of the building, stepping out into the chilly winter air.
You noticed the sunshine on the street at the Valentine's Day parade. You would rather be in the dark ages, your mood falling further into the depths of the hole your mind had dug for itself. Making those signs must've taken those people all night. You wished you could spend your time doing something fun like that. You missed being excited for Valentine's Day and the prospect of finding love again.
You just needed to take several seats and then try to restore the peace that had inevitably left your life. And control your urges to scream about all the people you hate. Cause shade never made biology or basketball players any less lame. 
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octoberautumnbox · 8 days
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Hi Box, I'm starting out as a writer and I want to ask you, how do you feel about using AI in writing? Thanks!
Hi anon! If you write yuri, pls be sure to tag me! Also reach out thru dm or discord if u wanna chat more hehe
This is a very long answer kinda, so I'll put keep reading here so everyone who isn't interested can keep scrolling along :)
I'm actually pretty against AI in writing, in all aspects but especially in fanfiction. Bad example, but imagine this:
The room is a grand space, standing at a height of 10 meters from floor to ceiling, exuding an air of elegance and spaciousness. Its walls rise up to meet the ceiling in a seamless blend of architecture, creating an expansive area that feels both imposing and welcoming. The smooth marble floor stretches out beneath, gleaming softly under the ambient lighting. Its surface is pristine, free from any imperfections, offering a mirror-like reflection of the room's surroundings. The cool touch of the marble underfoot adds a sense of luxury and sophistication to the space. (ChatGPT)
and
The high ceilings give off the impression of royalty, and you're sure you could shoot a bullet straight up and have it fall back down before it hits anything. Your shoes clack and slide on the smooth floor, and you wonder how anyone would keep their balance when each step you take is nearly a slip yourself. (OctoberAutumnBox)
Perspective is a powerful thing in writing, and showing how the environment affects a character or how interactions take place within it is a clear way to follow what's going on. That leads me to my next point:
Remember Chekhov's Gun, anon! Some may argue they use AI to write the boring or unnecessary parts, but I say to that, there are no boring or unnecessary parts! If your phone wasn't on silent in the start, you never would have missed her calls by the end.
There's just some stuff AI can't capture for you, and you're much better off growing as a writer (or artist or whatever really) without using it. Do reach out, I promise I don't bite ahahaha just lmk if you need help with writing and I'll do my best to lend a hand :)
However I do wanna say this might be a polarizing opinion, and ultimately if you choose to use AI then I don't have any authority at all to tell you to stop. I just think that writing is a very fun activity and I'm advocating that you give your writing muscles as much practice as you can!
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remtheenlightenedone · 11 months
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Things to know about me Tumblr #1 :
💜I only read ship fanfiction under "fem!reader" only because I'm afab. It depends on my mood to read "male!reader" content.
💜Im neither left nor right and I don't take stances on alot of things. I choose to be indifferent because at the end of the day it'll give me a headache and nothing will be accomplished. Plus I hate politics. Too much b*tchin' and not enough action.
💜"If you support xyz, block me" ok? Why would it matter if I did? Also I saw this alot on Twitter so don't expect me to follow along with any bs like that on here.
💜I like cane toads. Australia and Florida shut your mouth. dni if you don't like them. They are adorable!
💜I'm late to team cat but cat videos have been the best therapeutic thing I could ever watch during any sickness. Little meow meow kinda alright!
💜If I don't like something I'm just gonna block. No reasons. Just block. If you bringing bad vibes I'm blocking. Period.
💜Until I'm able to im not going to spend any money on commissions from other artist or writers. And no I will not turn my hobby into a profit. I'm good.
💜If I say something that ooc do not read too much into it. If I choose not to share, do not press me. All you will get is silence. Ty 🙏🏽
💜Green is a beautiful color. Especially emerald. I love it. If you don't, why is your life so sad? /lh
💜After spending years on Twitter I do not tolerate negativity of any kind. Sorry but I'll have to block that. Also lmk if I already posted something like this in the post.
💜✌🏽🙏🏽👍🏽 I am a poc. But that shouldn't matter. Im just like every other autistic person with mental issues out there. Sometimes I'll use the default yellow emojis cuz I'm lazy 😛
💜I like to write and draw mostly. Poems have been my thing now.
💜Also if you like anything that's a negative setback for me I'm going to assume you did it out of spite and I'll block you. Who likes post like "I spent a day in the hospital because people on the internet made me want to unalive myself" and thinks thats acceptable???? So if I post something like "the internet ruined my love for my one passion in life" there better be no likes. Especially if that's all you're going to like!
End of rant
💜I write fanfiction. It was mostly nsfw stuff but kinda took a break after an accident I had where I stayed in the hospital for two months. I also draw but since the internet DID ruin that hobby for me I probably won't post anything for a while :/
💜my music taste vary. Rn I'm into Eminem. He's just a vibe rn.
💜I've been having sleeping problems since I got back from the hospital. So if you see me up past 5 am... Hello :3
💜when you actually get to know me I'm pretty chill.
💜while looking into things like daoism and Buddhism it made me appreciate atla/tlok even more. Eastern culture is very beautiful!🙏🏽
💜I love people unconditionally like I love myself. Always.
💜I like cane toads and any frog or amphibian as pets. I don't like seeing them hung up as trophies or made for taxidermy. I will shut that down asap.
💜sometimes I message random people. But if I message you it's for a reason. Especially if it's a commission. Like I said I don't need any commission rn but just in case.
💜I'm also prone to make hella typos! Check my hashtags.
💜I go from ghetto speak, to proper, to old english, to vague all in one. Or manic. Manic is definitely one of those typing types I have but can I tell you how it looks or describe it idk. But I guess manic pixie naive positive speak is one way to describe it?
Ngl that's all I can think of now. I'll post more if I can think of anymore. Same with hashtags. I'll keep you posted.
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b-rainrot · 2 years
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240.067 <- Follow the artist
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yoon-kooks · 2 years
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how many | jjk | 1
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Pairing: Jungkook x TattooArtist!Reader
Genre: Fluff, Smut, BadBoy!AU
Summary: To Jeon Jungkook, you're just the cutie who sits across from him in art class. He doesn’t have a clue that you're also the hidden face of his favorite tattoo artist on social media. When the bad boy notices you've taken a surprising interest in his ink, he dares you to explore every inch of his body until all of his tattoos are accounted for. Tempted by his irresistible smile and delicate touch, you might even let him in on your little secret.
Word Count: 5k
Parts: 0 ◆ 1 ◆ 2 ◆ 3 ◆ 4 ◆ 5 ◆ 6
A/N: no smut in this one, but yall lmk if you feel that sexual tension;;;; i also want to mention that some of jk's tattoos in this fic are real & some are made up for the sake of the story ! for new readers, please read the prologue (part 0) before this!
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◆ the one you found covered in sweat ◆
On a rare day off from both school and work, you lock yourself in your room, slide your headphones on, and sketch because that’s your idea of a day well-spent. Sure, you could be grabbing lunch with a friend or hanging out by the pool in that new cute bikini you bought, but that’s not really the way your introverted self works.
The relationships you’ve built never extend past where they’re established. You adore your clients who continue to cover their bodies in your art, but you don’t have anything to do with them outside of your parlor. And even when you vibe with a classmate, no one extends an invitation to hang out outside of class. You’re fine with that, though. You like to think you just haven’t made a connection that’s worth investing your personal time into.
You have no real reason to believe it’ll be any different with Jeon Jungkook. For all you know, he treats you the exact same way he treats anyone who sits across from him. After all, he has 100,000 followers whom he’s found a way to charm, one way or another.
Still, you can’t seem to shake the feeling of him being even slightly intrigued by you and your art. The faded bunny tattoo on your hand is a constant reminder of the warm yet playful exchange that went down on the first day of the semester. That was nearly a week ago, and yet, it’s still very much on your mind.
“Y/N, hey, we need to talk,” a voice calls from outside your door with a sense of urgency. “There’s a rumor going around, and I think we need to address it.”
What rumor could a lowkey person like you possibly be involved in? You swear you haven’t done anything problematic or buzz-worthy as of late… or ever, for that matter.
You swing your door open to find your friend & roommate, Kim Seokjin, with a lemon iced tea in one hand and his phone in the other.
“What rumor? Spill the tea,” you demand while pointing at his beverage.
Seokjin takes a long sip of his tea to see if you’ll crack under pressure and fess up to something you didn’t do. When you don’t, he drops the bomb on you. “You’re allegedly dating Jeon Jungkook.”
Of course the ridiculous rumor involves the closest person to a celebrity on campus. You resist the urge to set the record straight before getting some answers. “What makes you say that?”
“He was the first person to follow your new Instagram before I even realized you made another one.” Seokjin flashes his phone screen in your face as if you weren’t already aware of your own IG account. “And the only two accounts you follow are Jungkook and some rando’s art.”
“He sits across from me in art class and said he liked my art.”
“Who? Jungkook or the rando?” Both. You’re surprised Seokjin never considered the possibility that Jungkook and the “rando” were the same person. But then again, Jungkook doesn’t really paint himself as an art student on his @ArtOfKooking account.
“The one I’m allegedly dating,” you say.
“Ah, it makes sense now,” Seokjin nods.
“What makes sense now?”
“You were looking for any excuse to drop that art class before the semester even began,” he says. That’s true. The thought of familiarizing yourself with new people in a new space terrified you. “But since that first day, you’ve been leaving early for class with a big fat smile on your face. If you ask me, I’d say you were more excited to sit across from Jeon Jungkook than to spend the afternoon tattooing a mega celebrity like Park Jimin.”
Seokjin isn’t wrong about how your mood has completely shifted after your first encounter with Jungkook. It’s a lot easier to roll out of bed in the morning when you know there’s at least one person you feel comfortable around in your class. You didn’t realize you were making it obvious enough for your roommate to pick up on, though.
“Most of that is true… except for the rumor itself.” You try to laugh it off, but it doesn’t exactly feel great to be involved in a rumor that others might take as a joke. “Where did you even hear this from?”
“Oh, I made it up five minutes ago after your new account popped up as a suggestion for me to follow,” Seokjin taps his head and grins like he’s some sort of evil genius. To his credit, he really had you fooled. “I just called it a rumor because I knew that was the quickest way to get you out of your room.”
You don’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed by your roommate’s antics, so you just glare at him until he feels obligated to say something else.
“So you might not be dating Jeon Jungkook, but it sounds like you caught feelings for him, right?” Seokjin’s tone switches from menace to supportive best friend, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s getting a little too carried away by this sudden development in your social life.
“I can’t develop feelings for someone I’ve only known for less than a week.” You tell this to both your roommate and the irrational half of your heart.
“Okay, what if we just said you’re interested in getting to know him better?” Seokjin asks. That sounds a lot more reasonable at this point in time. Besides, you’ve already gotten a small taste of what Jungkook is like, and it’d be close to impossible to stop there without further investigation. He’s the perfect hook to any essay, song, or story.
“Let’s go with that,” you nod.
“Excellent.” Seokjin makes the high-pitched sound of an unidentifiable creature as he pulls you out of your room. “If you don’t have anything planned for today—which seems to be the case, given you locked yourself behind that door—you should slide into someone’s DMs and see if he’s down to hang.”
“No thank you. I highly doubt that would end well for me.” You don’t even want to consider that as an option for today.
“Does he know about your tattoo work? I’m sure a tatted-up guy like him would love to get a DM from @snowsleeve, an incredible artist who always seems to be completely booked with appointments.”
“He is indeed one of @snowsleeve’s 507,296 followers, but I haven’t told him I’m that person yet.” It’s not a secret identity that you protect with your life, but it’s also not something you just casually bring up to anyone you meet. They either have to snag an appointment or earn your trust in order to experience the viral tattoo artist in her true form—a sleeveless college kid with an unassuming appearance. “I just don’t want that to be the reason why he’s willing to give me a chance, you know?”
“Aww, Y/N, that’s such a noble thing to say,” Seokjin makes a pouty face and brings it in for a hug. “It’s no wonder why you’re still single.”
You roll your eyes at Seokjin’s savage jab at your relationship status, but he does have a point. You’d have much different interactions with the people around you if they knew you were a tattoo artist of all things, let alone one with such a reputation. Life would probably be a little easier that way, but perhaps you aren’t trying to settle for an easy life. You hate yourself for that.
“Anyway, Jungkook’s probably too busy doing whatever the heck guys like him do. Working out or whatever.” You squirm your way out of Seokjin’s embrace and take one step back toward your room where art & solitude await you.
Just before you can get back to sketching, your roommate catches your hand and says, “We should work out too.”
“You hate working out.” You raise an eyebrow at the menace in front of you. “Are you trying to get me to go to the gym with you in hopes that we run into Jungkook there?”
“No, no, I’m just trying to get you out of your cave for an hour and into a place where you might meet a cute boy,” Seokjin clarifies.
“That’s literally the same thing.”
“C’mon, Y/N, what’s the point of designing tattoos in your room all day if you don’t have a boyfriend to put them on?”
“It’s because I spent my entire life creating art in my room that there are other people who want it etched into their skin.”
“Exactly. I think you can afford to spend one day being a little adventurous at the gym.” Your roommate really doesn’t like taking no for an answer, especially when he knows he’s right. “And besides, even if there isn’t a Jungkook sighting, we can work on our abs while you tell me all about this boy.”
“Okay, fine,” you sigh, shutting your door for some privacy to change into leggings and hide the smile you’ve been sporting a lot recently.
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After going a little too hard on the ab bench, you decide to walk it off on the treadmill while Seokjin keeps at it with a surprising amount of fire in his eyes. Maybe he likes the gym after all. And if that’s the case, you’ll gladly accompany him again for future workouts because that’s the least you can do for your supportive roommate, even if Jungkook isn’t a regular at this gym.
“Nice hand tattoo.” You immediately identify the owner of that smooth voice and watch him jog toward the treadmills in a black muscle tank that should probably be illegal. Of course Jeon Jungkook is a regular at this gym.
“Thanks, I know a talented tattoo artist,” you say, waving hello to the boy as he steps onto the treadmill to your right. From the corner of your eye, you see him take another peek at your right hand where his faded mark on you still resides.
“I didn’t know you were into working out and stuff.” Jungkook does a not-so-subtle job of eyeing you in your little white crop top and leggings. You figure he thinks either your outfit is cute or you’ve never stepped foot into a gym before. Most likely the latter.
“I’m not,” you admit, even though it’s pretty obvious from the way you occasionally stumble on the treadmill. “I’m just here while my friend is sculpting out a six-pack.”
The boy next to you glances in the direction of the ab benches, not that he’d know what to look for without a visual description of your friend. “Aren’t you bored?” he asks.
You shrug, doubtful that there’s any way to actually make the gym less boring. You’ve accepted your fate at this point, but Jeon Jungkook isn’t a bad consolation prize either.
When it doesn’t appear that anyone else is coming to rescue you from the monotony of the treadmill, Jungkook hops off and presses a button on your machine to slow you to a stop.
He does a quick count on his fingers before cocking his head. “I can think of at least three things that would be more exciting to do at the gym than jogging on a treadmill.”
He waits for you to take a hint, follow his lead, and ditch the treadmill. When you finally do, he brings you over to where everyone is grunting and lifting well above their weight.
Jungkook points to the young man lifting 200 pounds over his chest. “You think you can do that, Y/N?”
“Yeah, totally.” Your eyes shift from the barbells to dumbbells to equipment you’ve never seen in your entire life, still taking in the intensity and motivation that surrounds you. If Jungkook hadn’t called your machine of choice boring, you’d probably be back on the treadmill by now. “So what are the three exciting things you were talking about?”
“Well, this is one of them.” Jungkook slaps his hand down on an open bench. You and Jungkook must have two different definitions of “exciting things” because bench press isn’t one of them for you. A better word for bench press is “intimidating.”
The boy must see the fear in your eyes because he squats down beside the bench and motions for you to do the same on the other side. The room suddenly feels smaller and more intimate, like it’s just you and him. Once you’re directly across from him, he plants his left elbow into the bench and holds his hand out in competitive fashion. This gives you an excellent view of a newly discovered tattoo just above his tricep.
“We can start out slow by arm wrestling. That way, I’ll have an idea of your strength and how much you can lift,” he says, wiggling his fingers for you to clutch onto. The way he holds onto your hand is strong and comforting as opposed to the suffocating grips of the muscular folks deadlifting in your vicinity. Somehow, he makes you feel safe in a place where injuries are the norm. Moreover, you feel accepted where you couldn’t be more out of place.
“Okayreadygo!” You slur your words as fast as you can and start to push in an attempt to catch the boy off guard. Unfortunately for you, the combination of the sneak attack and your full strength is not enough to move Jungkook’s hand from the starting point.
“Are you even trying, Y/N?” he asks, even though he can very clearly feel the shakiness in your arm. Rather than pushing back and putting an end to your struggle, he lets out a small chuckle in response to your valiant effort. He’s the one who isn’t trying.
When all hope seems to be lost, you decide to reevaluate your situation. Maybe it’s time to play dirty.
“Is it cheating to use my other arm?” It couldn’t hurt to ask at this point.
“No, go ahead.” His offer feels as though it’s out of pity instead of kindness. Your theory is quickly proven to be true when his generous smile morphs into a mischievous one. “You can use all the help you can get.”
Your response to his taunt is more nefarious than using your other arm to make it a 2v1. Without warning, you slide a curious finger across the inked skin between his tricep and deltoid. You feel a few goosebumps sprout beneath your touch.
“Found a new one,” you say, eyeing the details in the thin strip of art that wraps around his upper arm. At first glance, it looks like a simple band with the same little skeleton dude dancing all the way around. But upon further review, you notice there are subtle differences with each of the skeleton’s poses. They vaguely resemble letters. “Does this say something?”
When Jungkook turns his attention to his arm, he’s focused more on your touch than the art beneath it. As you trace each of the tiny skeleton silhouettes, his eyes follow your finger like a cat locked onto its prey. His muscles are relaxed, meaning the ongoing arm wrestling match is probably the last thing on his mind right now.
Before he can answer, you summon all of your strength to push his vulnerable arm down, flat against the bench in one clean swoop. Who would’ve thought it’d be that easy to defeat Jeon Jungkook at arm wrestling? There’s a half second delay in Jungkook realizing what the heck just happened.
“Hey, that was dirty.” The boy tries to sound upset, but his body language says otherwise. He lends both hands to help you up out of the squat position and lays you down on the bench. You squint up at the gym ceiling, blinded by the lights. Like the moon during an eclipse, his handsome face looms over you, shielding your eyes from the harsh bright beams. “I actually believed you were interested in my tattoo.”
“I am,” you say softly, locking your eyes with his. You’re fairly certain he’s just pretending to sulk, but you also want to make sure he knows you’re genuinely intrigued by his body art. You’d hate to lose the one thing that seems to connect you to him. “I still want to know what it says.”
You feel the bench cushion dip right next to your head where Jungkook leans on his left arm and hovers his body over yours. His bicep is practically in your face.
“Go ahead and try,” he dares you. From your lying down position, you identify the letters of your favorite caffeinated beverage on the inner part of his arm.
“Latte?” You have a feeling those aren’t the only letters in the whole tattoo, but it does sound kind of cute.
“Try harder.” He frowns, making no effort to twist his arm and reveal more letters to you. He’s made it clear that he isn’t going to just hand you the answer—he wants you to work for it.
You snake your fingers around the forearm beside you and maneuver yourself up into a sitting position. Not only are you in the perfect position to crane your neck and decode the rest of the letters, but you’re also right at eye level with the boy. You should be studying his tattoo, but the lack of air between you and him is making it hard to breathe and even harder to focus.
“Y/N, I thought you said you were going to be on the treadmill,” Seokjin calls out from somewhere behind you, out of breath from those intense ab exercises. Jungkook takes a peek over your shoulder, and you do the same. Seokjin spots the boy next to you, opens his mouth to say something, but chooses not to address the fact that he basically predicted the future.
You turn your head back to Jungkook, but he’s already fled the scene. Together, you and Seokjin watch the other boy from afar as he grabs one of those long metal bars and two of the smallest weights from the rack.
“Was I interrupting something?” Seokjin leans over and whispers to you.
“Yeah, you saved me from having to bench press 200 pounds.”
“Really? Because it looked like he was ready to bench press you,” your roommate snickers.
“Shut. Up.” You shove his exhausted body but catch his arm when he stumbles.
“Fine, fine.” Seokjin lets out a massive yawn as he stretches his limbs out in all directions. He’d normally bicker with you some more, but you suppose exercising has depleted him of all his chaotic energy. “I’ll meet you at home then. I need to lie down for the next 24 hours.”
Your roommate abandons you before you have time to protest and secure a ride back home. On top of that, now you’re stuck with a boy who’s serious about getting you to bench press.
As Jungkook slides the weights onto the bar and sets up a safe station for you, he directs you on a few simple stretches and laughs when you manage to mess them up. You blame the fact that he’s giving you verbal explanations instead of a more hands-on tutorial.
“Hope I didn’t cause a misunderstanding with your friend,” he says. You can’t tell if Jungkook’s voice is softer or if it’s just the growing space between you and him.
You shake your head. “He was just saying dumb things out of exhaustion.”
“So he’s not your boyfriend?” Jungkook places the assembled barbell on the rack above the bench and motions for you to slide your body beneath it. It’s funny how the day started with Seokjin’s rumor about you dating Jungkook, and now Jungkook’s under the impression that you might be dating Seokjin. You wonder if that’s the reason for the sudden distance between you and him.
You shake your head again as you lie back down on the bench. “Seokjin’s my friend, roommate, and occasional arch nemesis, but I can confirm that he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Good,” Jungkook says, probably without giving any thought about the possible implications. You tilt your head, coaxing him to elaborate further. “I mean it’s good that it wasn’t your boyfriend who just walked in on you eyeing me like that.”
“I wasn’t eyeing you like that.” You almost hit your forehead on the bar as you sit up once more to defend your scandalous actions. He really had the audacity to call you out when you were under the impression that he was the one eyeing you like that. “I was merely admiring the art on your arm.”
“Whatever you say.” His voice is back to being smooth, playful, devilish. He scoots onto the end of the bench and nudges your leg with his elbow. You take that as an invitation to examine the rest of his tattoo.
Along with the already established L, A, T, T, E, you identify the rest of the letters one-by-one. “N, T, I, O, N, T, O, D, E, T, A, I? Lat tent ion to de tai…?”
Judging by Jungkook’s wheeze and the nonsense you just spewed, you can safely assume your guess was a little off. With another look, you move a single letter and it all becomes clear.
“Attention to detail.” Saying it aloud reminds you of a fellow tattoo artist who’s known for subtle details within a bigger picture. And now that you think about it, the art style indeed matches hers. “Is this from Amber?” you ask.
Jungkook looks at you as if you just told him you’re pregnant. “She isn’t really known outside of her tattoo work, so I’m surprised you know of her.”
“She’s a hidden gem.” You leave out the fact that you actually know Amber personally and that she’s probably the closest thing you have to a friend in the industry.
“Well if you like her art, I know a few other artists you should follow.” Jungkook feels around his sweatpants and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He lists a lot of impressive tattoo artists, some of which you hadn’t heard of but would love to know more about. It seems he and you share the same taste and enthusiasm when it comes to body art. Who would’ve thought?
And then he names one artist in particular.
“Have you heard of @snowsleeve?”
Uh oh. You nod.
“I think a tattoo from her would suit you,” he says, scanning your arms for the perfect spot for some ink. “Her signature style is classy yet bad.”
“Bad?” You didn’t realize your art was going to be roasted.
“The good kind of bad,” he clarifies. “Like baddie bad.”
You snicker to yourself because that’s the first time someone’s called your art “baddie bad.” But to Jungkook’s credit, he really nailed the essence of your style as a tattoo artist—tasteful with something dark and sensual behind it.
“You don’t want a tattoo from her?” you ask.
“I do, but she’s always booked with that Post Malone guy or something.” For the record, you’ve never done any work on Post Malone. “She did like one of my IG posts recently, though,” Jungkook casually throws in.
Fuck. He’s onto you. You were really starting to think your one little heart on that post had gone unnoticed. And yet, here he is, still thinking about it a week later. Fuck Jeon Jungkook and his attention to detail.
“She must be impressed by your body art.” While it’s true that you’ve adored every tattoo you’ve spotted so far on his skin, you also can’t deny that your initial physical attraction to him is what led to that impulsive double tap on his photo.
“My theory is that it was on accident.” He shrugs.
“That’s another possibility.” Your theory is that if you just keep nodding, you can get through this conversation without any funny business. Although, if you’re being honest with yourself, nothing about him or the attention he receives is an accident. “Anyway, what’s the third thing that’s supposedly more exciting than the treadmill at the gym? We already have arm wrestling and bench press. And to be honest, I’d much rather do whatever Activity #3 is than bench press.”
Jungkook smirks. “Oh really?”
“What is it?” you ask again. You aren’t sure if you’re bothered more by the lack of an answer or the mischief in his eyes.
“Never mind about it.” He fails to wipe that smirk off his face. You hope he realizes his amusement is only adding to your curiosity. “It’s a bad joke, and I apologize.”
“Well now I need to know. At least give me a hint.”
“Okay, okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jungkook holds his hands up in front of him like he’s expecting you to lash out at him. “It starts with S and ends with X.”
“I change my mind. Let’s bench press.” You take a deep breath and situate yourself beneath the barbell because sex at the gym was not on the itinerary for today.
“That’s savage, Y/N. I’m hurt.” Jungkook takes his spotter position behind you and the barbell. Despite what he says, he’s not hurt by your deadpan rejection at all. He actually seems a lot more focused on your safety than the fact that you opted for a dreaded workout over (presumably) mind-blowing sex with him.
You extend your arms up with just the tips of your fingers grazing the cold metal bar. Jungkook might’ve picked the smallest weights for you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still afraid of being crushed in the process.
“Grip the bar like this.” The boy demonstrates for you first before helping you place your hands properly on the bar. His warm touch is a reminder that you have someone watching over you. Someone who won’t let anything happen to you on his watch. “Okay, now try lifting it a tiny bit above the rack, just to ensure you can handle the weight.”
You give yourself a second and then do as you’re told. The barbell is lighter than expected, but you know it’ll become more difficult with each rep. You place the barbell back onto the rack and glance up at Jungkook’s upside-down face. Perhaps that was enough to satisfy the masculine urge to teach you the one thing he’s better than you at.
“So are we good for today?” You give him your best puppy dog eyes, although they might not have the same effect from an upside-down perspective.
“Do you want to at least try three reps?” Of course Jeon Jungkook isn’t going to let you off the hook that easily. He points out how you still haven’t let go of the bar and says, “You have a good grip.”
“Fine, but you’re responsible for dragging my body home if I’m too tired to move.”
“Deal.” He doesn’t even hesitate to seal your fate.
Without any more complaints, you do exactly three reps and then lie lifelessly on the bench as Jungkook puts the equipment away.
“C’mon, let’s go.” The boy shuffles around for the keys in his pocket while you still pretend to be sleeping. “Unless you’re planning on doing Activity #3 here after all.”
You blink your eyes open. Jungkook is already headed for the exit, so you hop to your feet and scurry behind him.
“By the way, I think we have two different definitions of exciting things to do at the gym,” you say once you’ve caught up to him.
“Is that your way of saying you hate the bench press?” You appreciate the boy’s ability to read between the lines without all the sugarcoating.
“Yeah, it’s not really my thing.” The two of you might have the same taste in art, but the same cannot be said when it comes to working out. “No offense, Jungkook.”
“Well excuse me for being a boring gym buddy.”
“You weren’t boring,” you assure him, even though he doesn’t really need a confidence boost. “I had fun, actually, and that had little to do with the workout.”
“Ah, I get it,” Jungkook nods with that smirk again. “People do say that life is better with me in it.”
“Who says that?” Just this once, you’ll humor his ego. And besides, he’s not wrong. Life isn’t so bad with him around.
“My 100,000 followers.” He watches for your reaction and is pleased with your eyeroll-smile hybrid. “I’m just kidding, Y/N.”
“That’s such an influencer thing to say,” you tease, knowing his distaste for the label. “Are you sure you aren’t an influencer?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” He throws his tatted arm around your shoulder, double-checking your expression to make sure physical contact is okay with you. “Influencers can’t do things like this without worrying about dating rumors and bullshit like that.”
“Actually, there was a rumor about me and you going around today,” you say.
“Really? Who said that?” There’s more curiosity than concern in his voice.
“Seokjin came banging on my door this morning. Turns out he made it all up though.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I did the mature thing and told him we’re getting married next week.”
“Haha, very funny.” Jungkook gives your shoulder a subtle squeeze. “For an introvert, you say a lot of weird shit sometimes, you know that?”
“Oh, speaking of weird shit, I thought of an actual gym activity that starts with an S and ends with an X.” You turn to Jungkook with playfulness in your eyes, prompting him to throw out a guess.
“Wait, what’s wrong with sex at the—”
“Shadowboxing.” You square up and do a few jabs in the air.
“Shadowboxing,” Jungkook repeats as he shakes his head with a big fat smile. “It takes a special individual to come up with that one.”
You’ll take that as a compliment.
“And just FYI, I prefer to shadowbox in a place with a little more privacy,” you say. Perhaps he knows you enough now to decode the weird shit that comes out of your mouth and read between the lines.
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fantasydaydreamers · 2 years
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"Secret Romance" Shinsou x Reader Quirkless!Au
Summary: This is more or less based off a dream I had. Basically, the two of you attend a college boarding school and although it's co-ed, there's a strict rule that the boys and girls do NOT interact. This is y'all sneaking around the rules because...of course, no one is going to listen.
Words: 2,835
Warnings: Lemon/Semi-public sex
Author's Note: LMAO so I had to add details in here bc my dreams are never 100% full of context...just go with it please😭 ALSO! I had to take a part out bc it also did not make sense and was just weird and I wouldn't know how to give it context? It included Aizawa 💀 if y'all want to know what it is...lmk💀
Sneaking around the dorms was hard with a "no-dating rule." Not being able to publically be with your boyfriend to hug and kiss--even hold hands--was frustrating.
Although there were strict rules given, no one cared enough to follow them and always found a way around them. It's gotten to the point where couples have to secretly meet in each other's rooms late at night, avoiding the patrolling security, just for a few hours of precious time together before parkouring their way back to their own room. Boys were housed on one side of the building while girls stayed on the other, only having contact with each other in the hallways during school hours.
Now, you may be wondering how couples came to be and that all happened at off-campus parties that some of the students hosted. Since the rule was enforced, some students had organized hang-outs where people could come and get the chance to interact with one another on a more personal level. Whether that be at a cafe or a party, it was nice to escape boarding school life for a while. Especially on weekends where students had more time on their hands and were allowed to leave campus for a longer amount of time.
The rule was stupid and everyone knew it.
Passing your purple-haired boyfriend in the hallway who always stared back with a longing gaze made your heart ache every time. Ironically, you didn't meet Hitoshi at a party or hang-out, but at a tattoo parlor. You had gone out with a friend during a weekend so she could get a piercing she had been talking about for months when you caught sight of the most handsome man you'd ever seen.
In the middle of laughing at your friend, she excitedly opened the door to the parlor and your eyes landed on the man behind the counter who looked at the two of you with a tired expression. The laugh died on your lips but your friend didn't seem to notice and she announced she had a piercing appointment.
The man turned slightly to the computer, typing a few things before opening his mouth.
"Name?"
The deep baritone voice that left his mouth had you sucking in a breath, nervously biting the inside of your bottom lip. It was only one word, but it was enough for you to want him to never stop talking. Ever.
Not only that, but he had tattoo sleeves on both arms that stood out against the plain white shirt he had on. Your friend gave him all her information as you stood behind her, forcing your gaze away to look around the shop instead of seeming like a creep.
"Your piercer is actually ready for you. If you just turn to your right and head down to station five, he'll be waiting for you." His voice caught your attention again and you turn back to face them, your eyes catching his briefly before looking to your friend.
"I'll be back! Wish me luck!" With that, she all but skipped down the hall to her station.
Now it was just you and Mr. Sex-Appeal.
The quiet hum of tattooing guns filled the quiet space along with the murmurs of the artists with their patrons. You shuffled over a wall covered in ink drawings in what you assume to be tattoo ideas with some pictures of finished work scattered throughout, all too aware of the eyes burning into the side of your head.
"Do you have an appointment too?" The question made you jump slightly but you turn back to him, trying to fight the burn creeping up your cheeks.
"I-no. No. I'm just waiting on my friend." As you spoke, you watched his eyes rake down your body before meeting yours again, a ghost of a grin on his face.
The fight against your blush was a losing battle.
"Hmm...could I make you change your mind?" His voice dropped an octave lower as if that was even possible, the need to run out of the store as a flight reaction coming on too strong.
"I wouldn't know what to get...school has been preoccupying my mind lately." You confess, walking back over to the counter. Fuck it. I don't get a chance to talk to a man like this any other time.
"Oh yeah? What school do you go to?" He crossed his arms and leaned on the counter, focusing all of his attention on you making your heart skip a beat. As soon as the name of your college left your lips, you saw his face twist up slightly. "Yeah...I attend there too."
The confession almost made your jaw drop because if you have ever seen a man like him on campus, fuck the rules, it'd be impossible not to approach him then and there.
"No way?" Fully intrigued now, you feel yourself relax a little and lean against the end of the counter facing him.
"Yeah...fuck that place. I was sent there on scholarship so I can't complain too much but the gender division is insane. What exactly are they trying to accomplish? Thankfully I graduate in a few months." He sighed and lifted a hand, running it through his already messy purple hair.
You nod in agreement.
"I'm the exact same. I only came here for the scholarship since it would help out a lot, but part of me thinks it's a scam and that everyone was conveniently given a scholarship to come to this hell-hole." Your face twists up in annoyance.
The laugh the man let out was enough to make your heart flutter again as you tried to hide the excitement in making him smile.
"I think you got a point." He gives you a side-eye look with a grin, laying his head down on his crossed arms. "What's your name?
"(Y/n). Yours?"
"Hitoshi."
The rest of your time spent with him included shit-talking the school and cracking jokes about professors you both had at some point. All too soon your friend came back out and you'd forgotten where you were. After she paid and just as you were about to walk out the door, Hitoshi handed you a piece of paper.
"Here's my number. Make sure you don't get caught texting me." His mocking voice was aimed towards one of the other stupid rules the campus had. No phones allowed in school buildings; dorms only. Or bathrooms.
You snort and take the piece of paper, putting his number in on the way back to campus, listening to your friend tease you for being 'naughty' and 'breaking the rules.'
~*~*~*~*
That's how it started, two months ago. You and Hitoshi texted every night, learning more about each other and eventually developing a relationship that was so hard to hide in public. You two weren't the only ones, however. More and more people were becoming restless with the rule and started sneaking each other into the bathrooms just for some type of contact.
Lost in thought, you didn't notice the flash of purple hair in front of you until you hit something. About to apologize, you look up and see Hitoshi staring down at you with a soft look. "Sorry," he murmured, brushing your hands quickly while slipping something into your palm before walking ahead of you.
The brief contact left your hand warm as you pathetically held out your hand as if he would come back to hold it. Snapping out of it, you open the paper and bite back a smile.
Bathroom in 5? Woman's ~ 3rd floor.
Glancing around, you look up at a hanging clock and see that your next class wasn't until another 20 minutes. Briskly walking to the staircase, you make your way to the third floor, finding it almost completely empty and sighing in relief. Making your way down the hall and to the bathroom, you see some girl come out with a dazed grin on her face. You give her a knowing look and she giggles winking back.
Opening the door to the women's bathroom, you see at least three other couples in scattered areas of the wide space just being close and talking. While some stalls were...preoccupied. The ones you could see looked normal and at peace compared to in the hallways where everyone and everything looked robotic. The rule made you more peeved knowing that people were risking their entire enrollment just to interact with the opposite sex.
You and Hitoshi included.
Walking further into the bathroom, you hear a 'psst' noise come from the large stall. Purple irises peaked out at you and you giggled making your way over to him. He opened the door wider and you closed it, locking it behind you as arms wrapped around your waist. Hitoshi pulled you against his chest and sighed heavily into your hair, as you felt his body relax.
You lean against him as well, turning in his embrace and closing your eyes, relishing this moment. It had been a while since the two of you got to meet up, with finals approaching and you and Hitoshi graduating in two months, even weekends were booked.
A soft kiss on your neck broke you out of your trance making you gasp softly. Another kiss followed as Shinsou made a trail up your neck that had you almost purring as you leaned your head to the side.
"I missed you, kitten," Hitoshi whispered in your ear, sweeping your hair to the side before leaning back down to your neck.
"No-ahh-marks..." You weren't wearing anything that could cover your neck and if a professor or staff member saw the mark on your neck, you could kiss graduation goodbye.
Hitoshi let out a low growl in response and pulled back albeit reluctantly and gripped your chin gently. "The second we are off this cursed campus, I'm going to mark up that pretty sensitive neck of yours."
His eyes searched yours until you nodded making him smirk in satisfaction as he leaned back down to kiss your lips. You backed up against the wall as he crowded in on you, sliding your bag to the floor. The kiss was hungry and desperate, the pent-up energy from the stupid gender division and not even being able to see each other on weekends was bubbling over.
You gasped as Hitoshi bit your lip, making it easy for him to slide his tongue in. As soon as it did, the kiss slowed down and you moaned softly, your mind feeling hazy from the deep kiss. Hitoshi groaned and slid his leg in between yours, rubbing up against your clothed pussy. A choked noise escaped your throat, but Hitoshi greedily swallowed it, pulling back a little.
"Think you can keep quiet, kitten?" Hitoshi pecked your lips once as he waited for you to answer, watching your eyes go in and out of focus as he rubbed his thigh in a deliciously slow motion.
In retrospect, never did you ever think about getting down in the bathroom, but with how things were operating around here, it's been more common than you would've hoped for. Hitoshi must've seen your grossed-out expression because he chuckled.
"Two more months and then you can move in with me. I found a place near that tattoo place and I saved up enough money to afford it."
Your eyes come back into focus and you look at him in disbelief. "Are you serious?" A rare flush graces Hitoshi's cheeks and you mentally 'awh.' He stopped the movement of his leg and waited for a response. "It's okay if you have other plans. We haven't caught up recently, but I've been trying to find a place to live once I get out of here since I saved up a lot of money because of, you know, the scholarship."
The idea of living with Hitoshi was so domestic and just the idea of being around him made you excited. Being able to talk to him and touch him whenever made your heart soar. "Yes." Wrapping your arms around him excitedly. "As long as you promise me we never do this in a bathroom again."
Hitoshi had sighed in relief and then laughed at your comment. "I promise. But...why don't we give a final 'fuck you' to this place and christen the bathroom?" Hitoshi's voice deepened again and you nodded, biting your lip to hold back a sound as his leg started moving again.
His mouth found yours again as your mind drifted to the thoughts of living with him and the intimacy that it's going to bring. Currently, since you both lived in dorms and never dared to sneak across campus like some people, you two never crossed the line of kissing. So what was happening right now, for the first time, turned you on even more.
Hitoshi let out a small groan into your mouth as you bit his bottom lip. "Fuck, (Y/n). I can't wait to have you all to myself."
His hands were on your hips, guiding you to his thrusts and rolling perfectly into your clit. The mewl you let out was a little louder than you expected, and Hitoshi quickly kissed you again. "Shh...kitten. I know that pussy feels so good right now, hm?"
Oh fuck.
Your head fell back against the wall hearing Hitoshi's deep whispered voice fill the space between you. "Feels s'good," you slurred quietly, moving your hips to obtain more of the pleasure Shinsou was giving you.
"You sound so beautiful...I can't wait to have you screaming my name. I bet you'll feel so good wrapped around my cock, nice and tight for me as I mark up your neck-" Hitoshi leans down and grazes his teeth against the sensitive part of our neck making you jolt. A raspy laugh left his throat as he gripped tighter at your hips, flexing his fingers as if he couldn't decide whether to guide you or explore your body.
Glancing down, it was hot seeing his tattooed arms encase you in such a small space. The few rings he wore glinted in bright bathroom light as they dug into your skin. "I want to see your face when you cum...give me something to think about late at night when I can't see you, kitten."
You meet Hitoshi's gaze again and shake from the pleasure building up in the pit of your stomach. "'Toshi...more." You gasp out, trying to be quiet enough not to cry out and beg him for your release. His grip on your hips tightened as he resorted to grounding you down onto his thigh.
"Yeah...c'mon kitten...ride me. Imagine grinding down on my cock as I tease you about sliding it in." His mouth was right against your ear, panting himself, as his dirty words made your skin burn hot as your head filled with the mental image he was giving you. The thought of sliding your slicked cunt up and down his member as you pleaded him to put it in. Hitoshi would give you his signature smirk and rub his tip over your clit, hissing as you mewled.
You've seen what it looks like. Since you and Hitoshi haven't adventured to each other's dorms, phone calls and late-night texts were filled with dirty promises and pictures. Oh, how you longed to feel that piecing rub inside of you and kiss your cervix~
"C-close~ please Hitoshi make me cum~" you try to whine out softly but end up cutting yourself off with a high-pitched whine. Hitoshi lifted one of his hands off your hips and placed it over your mouth.
"Keep moving." He instructed, moving his other hand to reach inside your bottoms to find your clit. A muffled cry left your lips, save by Hitoshi's hand as he rubbed your sweet spot, your hips stuttering over his thigh. "Come on pretty kitty~"
With one final good stroke on your clit, your back arched off the wall as white blinded your vision. Your hips were left twitching as Hitoshi continued to grind up into you, helping you ride out your orgasm.
In the midst of you coming back down, you hear Hitoshi swear softly. "Fuck...I can feel you throbbing..." He gently removed both his hands from your mouth and your pants and pulled his thigh away, bringing you tight against his chest in an embrace.
You shakily tried to catch your breath as you whisper out to him. "What about you?"
Hitoshi rubs his hands up and down your back in a soothing motion, calming you down. "Don't worry about me. You have class in ten minutes." This time you let out an unpleased groan and he laughs. "Believe me, I know what's going to help me tonight."
Rolling your eyes, you pull back and try to adjust yourself so you look somewhat presentable when you leave. As you go to grab your back you hear the bathroom door being slammed open.
"And just what the HELL is going on here?!"
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littlemisslipbalm · 3 years
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“you make me so angry sometimes”
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idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 
A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!
Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation
-
When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.
She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.
So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?
Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.
Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.
Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.
Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.
She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)
She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”
He snickers, “Y’like it?”
She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.
He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”
“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.
He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”
“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.
“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”
She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.
“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”
“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.
“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.
“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.
She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.
His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.
“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.
He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.
She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”
He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.
“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.
She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”
He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.
“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”
“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.
“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.
“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.
“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.
“S’a little rude.”
“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.
“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”
“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.
Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.
-
“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.
She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.
She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.
“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.
Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  
“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.
He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.
“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.
“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”
Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.
“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.
“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”
She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.
He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”
“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  
Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.
“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.
She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.
“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”
He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.
“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.
“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.
“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.
He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.
She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.
She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.
“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.
“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.
“Seriously. What?”
She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.
He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.
She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  
His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.
The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.
“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.
She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  
“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”
He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.
“I don’t see it.”
“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”
“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.
She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.
She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”
“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.
“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”
Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.
“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”
He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.
He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”
“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.
“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”
“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.
He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.
“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”
Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.
When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  
Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.
“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”
She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.
-
“You’re late!”
“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.
It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.
“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.
Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.
They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.
Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.
On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”
She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”
They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.
Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.
“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.
He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.
As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.
He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.
“Do not,” she warned.
“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.
She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.
“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.
Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”
“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.
“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.
She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”
A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”
The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.
After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.
“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”
Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.
“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.
“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”
“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.
Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.
“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”
He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.
She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.
She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.
“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.
“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.
Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.
“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.
Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.
“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”
“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.
“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.
Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.
“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.
Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.
“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.
“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.
Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.
“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”
Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.
“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.
“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”
“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  
She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.
“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”
“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.
She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.
“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”
Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.
“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”
She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.
“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.
“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”
He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”
They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.
“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.
“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”
“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.
“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.
He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”
“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.
As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.
He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.
By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.
She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.
“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.
He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”
“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.
“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”
He pauses again and she continues to work silently.
“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”
“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.
“Pardon?”
“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.
Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.
“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”
“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.
The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.
She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.
“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.
She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.
“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”
“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”
“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.
At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.
“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.
“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.
She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.
Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”
“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”
“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.
Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.
As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.
-
Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.
They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.
Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.
All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”
In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.
When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.
He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.
He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.
“Stop that,” She muttered.
“Stop what?” He smiles wider.
“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”
“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”
“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”
He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”
She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”
She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.
She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.
Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.
On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.
Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.
Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.
Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.
Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.
“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.
She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.
“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.
“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”
Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.
“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.
Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.
She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.
He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.
Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.
“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.
She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.
“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”
Harry hums and unclenches it.
He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.
“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.
“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.
He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”
He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.
“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”
“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”
“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.
The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.
When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.
She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.
Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”
Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”
Lisa nods, “Apologize.”
“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”
Lisa smiles.
-
At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.
Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.
His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”
“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”
“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.
She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”
“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.
She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.
She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”
“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”
“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.
“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.
He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.
She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?
“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.
Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.
“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.
She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.
“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.
“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.
“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.
He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.
“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”
He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”
“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”
“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.
“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.
Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”
She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”
She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”
He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.
20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”
He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.
He types back: “Of courseeee”.
“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”
A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.
-
At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.
“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.
“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.
She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.
“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”
She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.
“Hi,” he exhales.
A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”
“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”
“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.
He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.
“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.
She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?
She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.
“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.
“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.
“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.
A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.
They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.
“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.
Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.
“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”
“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.
Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.
“Effect?”
“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.
“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.
They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  
“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.
The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  
Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.
Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.
But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.
“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”
He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.
Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”
His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.
It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.
“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.
“Which part?”
“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.
“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.
“You know, so why don’t you?”
“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.
She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.
“And what if I don’t?”
“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.
She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.
“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”
Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.
“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.
“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”
Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.
He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.
“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.
“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”
“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”
She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.
“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”
“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”
Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”
She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.
“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.
“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.
“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”
“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”
Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.
Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.
“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.
She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.
He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.
“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”
“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”
She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.
In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.
“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.
She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.
“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.
Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”
She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.
“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.
“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.
His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”
“You’re stubborn,” she notes.
“So are you,” he counters quickly.  
“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.
“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”
“That’d be nice.”
They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.
Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.
“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.
The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.
“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”
She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.
“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.
“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.
“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”
Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.
“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”
Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.
“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.
“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.
“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”
“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”
“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”
His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.
“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.
“Passion.”
Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.
She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.
She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.
His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.
Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.
Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.
“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.
Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.
-
Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.
They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.
So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.
Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.
His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.
Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.
“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.
“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.
Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.
“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.
“Great. You?”
“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”
A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.
“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.
“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”
“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”
Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.
When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.
It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.
It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  
“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.
“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.
“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.
She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.
“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.
“What?” Harry laughs, confused.
“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”
“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.
“How are you?” She continues.
“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.
“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”
“The one who’s obsessed with me?”
“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”
“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”
“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”
“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.
“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.
“So you do?”
“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”
“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”
“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.
“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”
“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”
“No one said anything about nudes!”
“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”
“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”
“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.
Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”
“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.
“Because you called me,” he says confidently.
“I call everyone.”
“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”
“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”
“Or does it?”
She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.
“Yes.” She smiles.
“Yes!” He repeats happily.
She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.
“See you soon, Harry.”
“Not soon enough.”
-
On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.
Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.
They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.
“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.
“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.
She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.
“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.
And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.
The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.
2K notes · View notes
1kook · 4 years
Text
espn & bdsm
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this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !
summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.  warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k
notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link
lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3
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You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.
“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”
Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”
Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”
You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.
“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”
Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.
The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.
Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.
Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”
She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.
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Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.
And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—
—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.
You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.
Still.
You were you.
A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.
But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.
Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.
Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.
There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.
The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.
“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.
“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”
“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.
Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”
You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.
He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”
You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”
Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”
You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”
It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.
“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.
You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.
“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.
He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”
You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.
He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”
“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”
He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”
“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”
He frowns. “No.”
You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”
You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”
Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.
“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”
He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.
“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.
“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”
Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.
Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.
He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”
“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”
You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”
His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.
But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.
“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.
You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”
“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”
If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.
Immediately, two things become obvious to you.
One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.
Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.
Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.
Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.
You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.
Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.
You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.
Click.
Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”
You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”
Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”
You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.
“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.
Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”
You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.
Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.
As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.
“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”
He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.
Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.
You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”
He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.
The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.
Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.
“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”
His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”
You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.
There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.
“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.
Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.
Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.
You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.
“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“
The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”
He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.
Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”
Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”
“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.
He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.
You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.
There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.
“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.
“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.
Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“
“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.
Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.
“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”
“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”
“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.
A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.
“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.
“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.
“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”
Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.
Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.
“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”
“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.
The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.
Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.
When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.
“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.
You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.
Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.
His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.
The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.
He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.
This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”  
A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.
The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”
He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.
Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.
“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.
You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.
Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.
The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”
With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.
He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.
Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.
“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.
If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?
“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.
“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.
“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.
His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.
You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.
And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.
No response.
It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.
It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.
You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened.  “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.
He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.
Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.
“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.
Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”
You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.
“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.
“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”
“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.
He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”
“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.
You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.
Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.
“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.
A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.
“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.
“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.
He has. But fuck, do you love it.
“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”
Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.
Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.
With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”
You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.
“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.
The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.
Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”
The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch. 
It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.
No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.
Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive. 
You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.
There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.
You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.
But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.
(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)
“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“
He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”
You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”
He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.
He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.
“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”
“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”
He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.
They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still. 
You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.
Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.
“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“
“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”
You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.
And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.
“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.
All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”
Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“
“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.
“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.
“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”
“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.
“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“
“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”
He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.
“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”
“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“
“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”
Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.
“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.
He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.
He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.
The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.
Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.
Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.
When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”
You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.
Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.
“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”
He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”
You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.
Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”
You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”
He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”
“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”
Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.
He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”
You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”
Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.
The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”
There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”
Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“
“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.
Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.
“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”
“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.
Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“
“Go get your ice pack.”
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epilogue
Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.
It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.
Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.
He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.
But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion. 
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Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
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quietmyfearswith · 3 years
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obssessed ; preferences
warnings — stalking, nonconsensual location/location tracking, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, knife, mentions of killing someone (no actual murder)
characters — dark!andy barber, dark!steve rogers, dark!ransom drysdale, dark!bucky barnes, dark!clark kent, dark!syverson, dark!august walker
a/n — THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH DARK THEMES,, dni if youre not 18+,, just a thought that played around in my mind so yeah. lmk what you think!
their love language | with their little | when you’re insecure | slipping into little space | fussy | happy hoelidays | cartoons
masterlist
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To celebrate the case they won they held a little party at the office; though Andy wasn’t in a celebratory mood. With his hand clasped together against his lips, his eyes were watching closely his phone screen as he was awaiting a text from his beloved girlfriend who promised to be here. “Hey Andy, we’re popping the champagne already; are you joining us?” Tearing his attention away from the device, he smiled a bit as he told them, “I will once Y/N comes over.”  Tess, the assistant who invited him, chuckled a bit before leaving him alone in his office, “Staring at the phone won’t make her come over any quicker you know?” It was something they never really confronted Andy about — almost everyone at the office noticed how he had a firm grip around the girl, but no one dared to question or comment about it because they know how the skilled lawyer would come after them once they do — but silently they understood that if you spoke, let alone looked at her, badly it wouldn’t end well for everyone.
As the door shut once Tess walked away, his intense gaze returned once again to the mobile phone as he awaits a response from his girl. “Baby! I’m here now,” Snapping his head to the source of the sound, he immediately stood up and hugged Y/N as he let out a relieved sigh. “Where were you? And most importantly why didn’t you answer my text or return my calls hm?” Rolling her eyes with how her boyfriend was grilling her as if she was one of the witnesses he had on his case she apologized, “I’m sorry, baby. I got held up at the salon because my mani took longer than expected,” Her manicured nails then raised her phone to show how even as she pressed the button it wouldn’t turn on, “And my phone ran out of battery.” Wrapping an arm around her, he removed her bag and left it by the coat hanger and guided them to where the party was. “I’m gonna buy you a portable charger, baby; that way you won’t ever run out.” Innocently, she smiled and thanked him with a kiss on the lips before saying hello to his colleagues whom she got along well. That way the tracker I put on your phone will always be turned on, he deviously thought to himself as he sipped some of his champagne.
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“Another long day huh?” August asked as he peeked his head around Y/N’s cubicle. It was quite odd to say the least — a field agent of his caliber not having his own office instead opting for a cubicle beside one of CIA’s lanky desk jockey? It was one of the questions she asked the infamous Hammer as he settled on the office cubicle beside hers, “Why settle for a tiny office station?” She asked to which he chuckled at as he explained, “Half the year I’m somewhere around the world; so what’s the point of having a big office if I don’t enjoy it all year round?” It was a good, solid point — one she so easily believed without a second thought — but unfortunately it was all a lie. Ever since Walker saw her once at a meeting Sloane held, he was hooked. Initially it was just her beauty and energy, but as he got to know her more he fell for who and what she was. “Yeah, I might need to stay a bit longer than usual,” She replied as she lifted the files she held, pinning the blame on the current target that needed to be researched on. “How ‘bout some coffee then?” Ears ringing with joy at his offer, she looked at him with an appreciative look as she nodded. Chuckling at her reaction, he stood up and trodden over the pantry. Installing surveillance devices on her work computer and cameras around her desk paid off since it allowed him to know everything there is to discover about her — her favorite artists, pet peeves, how she liked her coffee, home address, mobile phone number, even her social security number!
“How’d you know how I like my coffee?” She asked after taking a sip of the hot beverage; with a smile he shrugs as he pretends to get back to the work on his computer, “Well it was just a wild guess.” In her mind however, she did find her tastes to be quite basic and didn’t doubt August which was a relief to the field agent. “I think I’ll be going home now,” She announced as she shut off her computer and began to clean up her desk. “Need a ride home?” He knew she did, since he overheard her talking to a mechanic earlier that day about a defect her car suddenly had, “Yeah I do actually, but I wouldn't want to hassle you.” Quickly putting on his brown coat, he was standing up as he fished his keys out, “Nonsense! I don’t mind helping a colleague out.” Conceding, she took up his generous offer with a smile. As they were making an easy-going conversation, Y/N gave her address; but what she didn’t know is that not only did August know by heart where she lived, but he had also paid her house a visit multiple times in the past.
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With an arm draped around her shoulder, Bucky and Y/N walked around the farmer’s market; the latter whined endlessly to her boyfriend how she wanted to buy some products. And though the thought of going out in the crowds wasn’t at all appealing to him, the need to make her smile made him go anyway. Leading him up to the different stalls, the former Winter Soldier couldn’t help but chuckle at how she would coo and be all excited for the different groceries, clothes, and figurines. “Slow down, doll. The market’s not going anywhere,” Bucky told her as he tailed behind her as he carried over 10 different bags filled with her purchases. It wouldn’t normally be a problem for him to look after her, but as the path became filled with people and him being preoccupied with the bags he held made him unable to keep a grip on her. With worried, drifting eyes, he was searching for his girlfriend who seemed to have blended right up with the bustling crowds, “Y/N? Doll? Where are you?” 
Setting the bags down on a vacant table, he then spotted her standing by a stall that sold her favorite food. His relieved smile was soon being replaced with a scowl as she was talking and laughing with another man. Whipping out the knife he kept on the pocket of his jeans, he was ready to torture the man. But as Y/N turned to him with a wide smile, it had him hiding the knife out of her sight, “Bucky! Look it’s Sam, my cousin!” Upon her introducing who the man was, the knife that was hidden was being kept back into its original hiding spot before he shook hands with the man, “Oh! Nice meeting you same, I’m Y/N’s boyfriend.” As they shook hands Sam had given them both a look as he sassed, “I know who you are! This one,” He referred to Y/N by pinching her side as she smacked his hand and giggled, “Won’t stop gushing about you every time we talk.” Seeing how she was clinging to his metal arm as she nuzzled her cheek to his side was all the confirmation Bucky needed; Sam then excused himself, “Well you got to swing by one of our family gatherings, yeah Bucky?” Nodding, they all exchanged farewells before the couple headed to the table where their bags still were — thankfully not stolen. “You shouldn’t have run off like that, doll. Got me real worried for a second,” He gently scolded her with a stern look. Pouting, she defended herself, “I’m sorry, Bucky! I just saw these cute little mason jars, but they were too expensive so I walked away. Then I smelt something delicious so I followed it and it turned out it was my favorite food; but Sam was there so I chatted with him instead.” Ending her enthusiastic breakdown of events with a sweet peck on the lips, he told her, “Doll you know that I would have bought you anything your sweet heart wanted. Just don’t go anywhere without me okay?”
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The soft ping on his phone made Jensen pause his movements as he was selecting  a movie that you both would watch; eyebrow raising when he noticed that a certain “Steve” was texting you. Opening the text through the software he installed on both your phones allowed him to see every activity you do on your phone — but it wasn’t the only feature it had for it also allowed him to change the texts, emails, and other settings on her phone. A frown graced his handsome features as he read the text, “ Hey Y/N I can squeeze you in on Thursday, at 3pm. Are you free by then?” Displeased, he then sent a text to the guy saying how his assistance wouldn’t be needed any more. And he edited the text Steve sent her to make it seem that it was Steve that texted how he could no longer accommodate her. “Got some chips and chocolates!”
Her excited voice brought his attention from his phone screen to her excited face as she plopped herself beside him. “Thanks, babe,” Kissing her forehead, he sneakily looked over to where she was unlocking her phone and reading the text; noticing how she pouted he inquired, “What's wrong, babe?” Snuggling up to his side after sending a reply, she explained, “Steve said he can’t meet up with me anymore.” As he was rubbing her back, he faked the symphony, “Aw that’s too bad; why did you even need to meet up with Steve anyway?” She did not pick up on the faint hints of darkness on his tone, “He was my dentist! He was going to determine whether I need to have surgery for my tooth, remember?” At the revelation of who Steve really was, the  communications and technology expert felt slightly guilty but he was quick to reassure her, “Don’t worry baby I know a dentist who can help you.” Feeling her hum appreciatively against him, she planted a kiss on his cheek as they both focused on the movie; and as her eyes were trained on the screen, he whispered lowly, “You're only gonna be around people I trust, babe.”
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There was a reason Sy had chosen a house that was nearly thirty minutes away from downtown — it was so their friends and families would feel lazy or discouraged to visit them due to the distance and time it took to get there. “Where on earth do you need to be today, petal?” Sy’s morning voice huskily rasped out in her ear; they both had just woken up and as Y/N was moving to stand up from the bed, she was being trapped in his muscular arms for a hug. Giggling at how he was being, she rolled around so they would be facing each other, “‘M going out with my friends today — Sophia and Rose have been bugging me about how we don’t hang out as often anymore.” At the mention of her going out and leaving him, Sy’s mood deflated and his eyes went wide; this wasn’t how he pictured this day going. “But petal, you’re gonna leave me all alone in this big house? ‘M gonna miss you so much,” The former army captain whined as she got out of his grasp and heading to wash up in their ensuite bathroom — not before bopping his nose as she reminded him, “Well you chose this house, bear. Plus, it’s only just for a while.”
Sitting up on their bed the man could only cross his arms and grumble, which was interrupted with her phone ringing. After seeing that it was her friend, Sophia, who was calling he then answered it for her, “Hey Y/N! Can’t wait to see you; we’ll pick you up in 20 minutes okay?” Taking the opportunity, Sy then decided to fabricate a lie, “Oh hey Sophia, it’s Sy,” He paused before saying the next parts in a hushed tone, “Y/N won’t be able to make it since she hurt her foot two days ago when going down the stairs. I know she was so looking forward to seeing you. Will do, bye.” With a smirk, the man set her phone back down on the nightstand, just in time since Y/N exited the bathroom, “Who was that, bear?” Making his way over to her, he hugged her as he kissed her forehead, “Sophia, calling to say she’s gonna have to cancel because she’s sick. And Rose was called in to work.” It was clear on her face that she was disappointed because she was looking forward to catching up with her friends, but her boyfriend tried to mirror her expression when in reality he was overjoyed with getting her all to himself. “Guess that leaves just the two of us, petal. Don’t worry, we’re gonna have fun today.” 
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“Fucking hell,” Ransom cursed as he was speeding to go to where your tracker said you were. He had gifted you a necklace six months into the relationship, and it was costly not just because of the intricate design it has but also because he had put a tracker on it to keep tabs of your whereabouts — not that you knew about it. You both had a fight the night before, and it didn’t end well since it led to the two of you sleeping in separate rooms and Ransom drinking away his misery. So imagine his surprise when he woke up and found how you weren’t in the house and he noticed as well how a duffel bag that was in your shared walk-in closet was gone; the writer thought of the worst possibilities. And his anger went through the roof when he saw how you were at his grandfather’s house; it was one thing that you guys fought, but to involve his family in this? That was bound to be a fucking mess. As he parked the car by the driveway, he stepped out in rushed steps that were slowed down by the two dogs barking and crowding him, “Shoo, get away, mutts!” He scared them away and entered the house, “Alright where is she?” His yell echoed through the walls as Marta who was walking from the kitchen and into the foyer was startled, “Hugh, what brings you here?” 
“Where’s Y/N?” Knowing Y/N’s secret, the nurse swallowed nervously as she reluctantly told the truth, “She’s with Harlan at the gathering area.” On his way there he noticed how there were some party decorations — some colorful streamers and balloons — on the walls before he saw his girlfriend who was looking through something on her iPad, “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice caused her to gasp out loud as she looked like a deer caught off guard by headlights; standing up she walked towards him, her hands gripping onto his forearms, “We fight and you end up here to my grandfather to what? Complain and seek refuge?” Though his words stung she chose not to feed onto his anger, “Can you promise to listen out to me first?” Seeing how she was calm and not as mad as the night before, he gulped down and nodded. “When you accused me of cheating on you, it hurt because I knew that that wasn’t the truth,” She paused briefly to monitor his reactions, and she knew that he would then ask what was up with her behavior so she addressed it before being prompted to, “And the reason why I seem to be distant or busy these past few days is because I was planning on throwing a surprise party for you — for the success of your book.” At her explanation he could feel his entire body relax at the relief of him not having to kill anyone; also it made sense to him why his grandfather’s house had some ornaments hanging. Pulling her close to him, he hugged her tight as he kissed the top of her head, “Princess, I was so close to killing someone, you have no idea.” Swatting his back, she laughed at him, “I think you owe me an apology, mister. Not only did you ruin the surprise but you also accused me of cheating on you.” Smirking at her he replied, “I’ll make it up to you for the rest of our lives, princess, don’t you worry about it.” And he meant every single word of that promise; for he knew he wanted no one else but her.
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The mission went well since the new agents did their jobs well — even exceeding Steve’s expectations of how they would handle the pressure and what decisions they would make in order for the mission to be a success. As the quinjet landed and they were given the clearance to exit the aircraft, the super soldier frowned when he took note how his girlfriend wasn’t anywhere near the landing pad. She always welcomes me back, he thought. The weight of his duffle bag on his arm didn’t matter to him as the feeling of worry and anxiety about his girl was way heavier. Immediately, he headed to their shared living quarters where he hoped she would be, “Kitten? I’m home,” His voice bounced off the walls as he dropped his bag on the floor and looked through every nook of the room. Now his anger and confusion was through the roof and he then decided to consult, “Friday, where’s Y/N?”
“She’s at the common area with Sam and Pietro, Captain,” As soon as AI mentioned where she was he found himself striding briskly towards her location. If she was with Bucky, it wouldn’t have alarmed him as much. But the Captain had a hunch that Sam secretly liked his girl and had plans of stealing him away from him; while Pietro was a natural flirt and joker. Even just by standing at the doorway he heard his beloved’s giggles as Sam recalled an exaggerated story. “There you are, kitten,” He let out, relieved upon seeing his girl alive in one piece. Turning her head, she smiled widely upon seeing her boyfriend and abandoned her conversation with the two Avengers to run to Steve with open arms. “Steve! I missed you so much,” She squealed as the super soldier caught her effortlessly and wrapped his thick arms tightly around her figure. “What are you doing with these troublemakers, kitten?” He wondered out loud, completely ignoring two offended looks from the said men. “I was bored of waiting for you in our room so I went here,” She was cut off from her explanations when Sam added, “That, and we missed hanging out with Y/N!” Even though Y/N giggled, Steve was trying his best to control his rage; but Pietro wanted to push him further to his limits by saying, “You hog her all the damn time we forget how great her company is!” the only girl in the room squealed as she was being carried off by Steve, “Well I don’t want you around her that’s why I hog my girl around.” Everyone around the super soldier still thought that he was joking and decided to laugh it off; Sam’s voice called out to them once more to tell a joke before they both had fully exited the room, “Yeah? Well why don’t you just lock her up in a secluded house then?” That’s exactly my plan, Sam, Steve smirked to himself quietly.
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Clark needed an escape that night; for someone who has inhumane powers the stress of his job at the Daily Planet can definitely take a toll on one person — so he decided to go flying around at night, just to take his mind off things. As he was flying, he sensed trouble and decided to check out what was happening. It was a woman who was being bothered by her ex who was clearly under the influence, “Goddamn it, Alex! I told you I don’t want to talk to you!” Y/N was trying her best to push him away, but even in his drunken state he had a  tight grip on her forearms. “Just wanna talk to you, baby,” He sing-songed as he tried to push his body closer to hers. “I think she made it clear that she doesn’t want to,” A booming voice spoke up, causing Y/N to gasp out loud when she saw Superman himself; Alex however grunted at the searing pain on his shoulder caused by the mysterious man, the pain weakening his hold on the girl to the point where he tore his hands away from Y/N to push away the weight on his shoulder. In his drunken state, he failed to piece together how it was the infamous hero in front of him — instead all he saw was a tall, muscular man and decided he didn’t want to have his face beaten up so he just walked away with his arms up in surrender. “Are you alright, miss?” Clark gently asked the woman who felt relieved she was no longer being bothered by her ass of an ex. “I am, thank you.” She nodded and before she could ask how’d she find him he offered, “Would you need help getting home? Just to make sure he won’t follow you again.” He was quick to clarify, in hopes she won’t find him creepy. “I know you have good intentions, but it’s fine. I don’t think he has the balls, let alone the energy, to bother me. At least for tonight.” With that she waved at the hero goodnight before getting into her car and driving into her apartment — but she didn’t know how up in the sky above, a certain pair of blue eyes followed her journey home.
“Hi! You must be the one who moved next door?” Y/N politely greeted the man as she was leaned by her front door. Clark smiled as he adjusted his glasses — suddenly feeling nervous upon seeing her beautiful face once more, “That is me! Though the one who moved next door is quite a mouthful; you can just call me Clark.” As she laughed at his lame joke she told her name, “And feel free to knock if you need anything, okay?” Taking his nod of agreement as a cue that their conversation ended, she entered her apartment. The son of Jor-El II went inside his own apartment that was directly next to hers  — he did so because days and nights of following her didn’t satiate his hunger for her, so he decided that perhaps this would be a clean way of easing her into a relationship — and busied himself with organizing his belongings in his apartment. Hearing Y/N’s increased heart rate and her voice raised, he opened his door to check out what was going on; and the sight of her ex bothering her once again. “Come on, Y/N! You need to take me back!” Displeased with how the imbecile failed to grasp that Alex should not reach out to his girl anymore. Letting his rage get the best of him, he walked over and pushed Alex off hard enough he landed on his bum, “When a woman says she doesn’t want to see or talk to you, then you better comply with her request.” Gulping down, he recognized the strength as the same one who grabbed onto his shoulder — and now as he was sober Alex decided to respect her wishes and hastily stood up to leave the apartment building. “Are you alright?” Seeing how Clark stood up for her, it made her reminisce about how she was reduced two weeks ago by Superman, “I’m fine, Clark,” She nodded as she grounded herself back to reality and stared into his concerned, blue eyes, “Thank you, by the way.” As he smiled at her she offered him for some snacks in her flat, which he gracefully accepted. “You know, you’re the second person who helped me get rid of Alex,” She mentioned as she handed him a snack; feigning innocence he tilted his head up as he inquired, “Oh? Who’s the other one?” Taking a small bite of the snack, she wiped her mouth free from the crumbs before  replying, “You probably won’t believe it, but it was Superman,” She laughed along with her new neighbor who didn’t find it unbelievable and instead played along as he spoke, “Who’s to say I’m not your personal superhero, beautiful?”
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superseggsygurl · 3 years
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𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 .1
Let’s pretend for the sake of this story that Vinnie does not have a current tattoo artist.
Also lmk if you guys liked this :)
Reader is 21 and Vinnie is 19
Warnings: swearing, that's it :)
Parts will go here ↳
(Not proofread)
You have recently moved to L.A. about 4 months ago, and you finally felt like you were settling down here. Your apartment was almost fully decorated, you just got a new job last month, and you even managed to make some new friends.
Being a tattoo artist has always been a dream of yours, and that’s one of the reasons you had decided to move here because you always posted your work on social media, and big celebrities were reaching out to you.
So you finally decided to take the big step and travel across the country to pursue this career.
You had been giving you and your friends stick and pokes since you were about 13 years old, and started professionally tattooing since you were 18 so now at 21, you definitely had some experience.
***
It was a quiet Friday afternoon, which you were thankful for, since it had been pretty busy for the last few hours. You were in the back cleaning up for your last appointment of the night when your co-worker  came in to let you know they had arrived.
You walked up to the front, only to see a light brow or maybe blonde hair guy, who looked to be about 18 or 19 maybe, and another guy standing right beside him, with black hair.
“Hey, I’m Y/n! Which one of you am I taking today?” you said, reaching across the counter to grab a waiver and a pen.
“Um I’m the one that’s getting the tattoo, I’m Vinnie.” The blonde spoke, thanking you after you handed him the slip.
“Okay just fill that out, and we can get started.” You said,  going back to cleaning your area.
You came back out about 3 minutes later to see Vinnie coming up to the front desk to hand you the slip.
“Okay, you can follow me and we can get started.” You smiled, leading him and his friend into your tattoo room, and directing him to sit on the bed.
“I’m gonna go run some errands, let me know when you're done.” His friend says, as he walks out of the room.
‘So over the phone you said you were looking to get some sort of knife going into a snake?” (SORRY BUT I COULDN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE)
“Uh, yeah I actually have a picture.” He spoke, showing you the photo.
“Alright, I’ll just prep you, and we can start.” You smiled, getting out all your things.
You couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t attractive, because he most definitely was. Over the time of you preparing and starting his tattoo he had told you that he had been looking for a new artist, because his last one just recently moved out of L.A. . He also told you that he was an influencer which didn’t surprise you because you had influencers and celebrities coming in everyday.
“So, how old are you?” Vinnie asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
 “I’m 21, how about you?” You replied, focusing on the precision of each line on his muscular arm.
“I’m 19. And I’ve been meaning to check you out for a while. Your work is amazing, and a lot of my friends have gotten stuff done by you.”
“ Oh really, so what took you so long to stop by?” You asked, looking up and making eye contact with him.
“I was kinda nervous, I thought you were really cute as well and-um I was just trying to come up with a way to ask you for your number.” He stuttered nervously, scratching the back of his head, with the arm you weren't tattooing.
“Oh, so did you actually like my work or did you just want my number?” You innocently joked, but after seeing how his smile dropped you instantly regretted it.
“Nonono, I was just messing with you I swear.” You giggled, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.
“Oh, thank god, that scared the shit out of me.” He laughed, as you finished his tattoo, wiping away the excess ink.
“Well, I can’t give you my number during work hours, but you can leave me yours, and maybe I’ll give you a call sometime.” You smiled, after wrapping his arm.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting on it.” Vinnie replied, writing his number on a piece of spare paper, then getting up to walk out the door.
“Oh, and Vinnie, make sure you take care of that tattoo. See you next time.” You winked.
“See you next time Y/n.” Vinnie smiled, walking out of the room.
  You’d definitely be giving him a call soon.
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souichieatr · 3 years
Text
wanna be yours, ch2
suna x freader , foxy boy
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where in which two opposites fall in love
a/n: for everyone who commented on the posts youve been added sorry i cant reply <//3 if you're interested in being in the taglist send me an ask, i was thinking of making a playlist for the au would anyone be interested? lmk !! sorry if there are any mistakes or if its bad this is my first writing <3
ch1. this voice im hearing rn? , hey bestie
word count: 2,090
the first song- The Ghost of You- my chemical romance
second song- I Bet on Losing dogs- mitski
third song- Crybaby- destroy boys
pocketing her phone after reading tendous message, she opens the door waving to a couple friends and offers friendly smile taking her seat. a pair of pale green eyes follow her. after yesterday suna did a little research about her y/n y/l/n the bassist and youngest in the band called 4u, she has quite a big following on twitter, she's really nice and interacts with the fans. looking at her now you can't imagine her on stage suna thought. breaking away from his thoughts as the teacher walks in. spouting for about what feels like hours and the students taking notes, finally lunch approaches. y/n jumps from her seat grabbing her case she walks to the third year hallway. waving to her friends they walk to her, tendou wrapping his arms around her “y/n!!!!!! i missed you” laughing as she hugged him back “tendou!!! i missed you toooo.” she turns to the grey haired male, “semisemi!!” she says giving him a hug, he rolls his eyes and hugs her back “and ushi!!” she turns to the brunette to which he pats her head “good afternoon y/n.” as they go to the lunch room to grab their lunch, they walk to one of the music rooms they usually occupy. a beep from her phone grabs her attention seeing her friend atsumu asking if him his twin and their friend can join for lunch, “hey guys you dont mind if atsumu and his friends come join us?” she says setting down her case against the wall. “nah you can invite them, atsumu is our biggest hype man” tendou says, grabbing his drum sticks from his back pocket. texting him its cool she goes to unzip her bass. “oh ms lady ive missed you” she says hugging the instrument, “i can't believe you two and always wanting to play, dont yall have any other hobby?” semi says, grabbing the schools given guitar setting the speaker up for y/n. tendou gives a scoff “semisemi dont act like you hate hearing us play i see you listening to our covers alllll the timeeeee” he says “yeah semi besides we have a concert soon and it wouldnt be bad to have an audience” y/n says walking to semi to connect her bass to the speaker when the door opens, entering is atsumu in the middle, osamu on his left, and a mystery guy in the back. setting her bass down running up to the blond “tsumu!!” giving him a hug “y/n!!” he hugs her back, she waves to osamu, who shes met on an occasion. looking towards the dark haired guy she walks up to him, noticing shes seen him somewhere. “youre suna right? we're in the same class?” she says giving him a hand and a awkward smile, nodding at her words. “hope its okay im here” he says taking her hand giving a slight shake. “nah dont worry its nice to have a different face, seeing tsumu is getting boring” turning around to the male. “what she means to say is we could use practice in front of new people” the grey haired male says giving a small laugh when tendou scoffs at him, both guys walking towards the small group. “this is semi and this is tendou” she says introducing them. when the introductions are over the two males go back to setting up, y/n walks the newcomers to the sitting area “here you guys can sit, im sure you all know ushijima” on hearing his name he looks up from his name giving a small head bow. they all sit “any recommendations tsumu?” y/n says walking to her bass making sure everything was good, looking towards the small group. “y/n you know my favorites” atsumu says stealing one of his brothers onigiri. y/n laughs and rolls her eyes, turning to tendou “anything you wanna try tori?” tendou looks at her with a smile “y/n lets show semi whatweve been working on” hearing this semi looked at them “what do you guys mean? what did you two do” y/n chuckles at the grey hairs doubtful expression “mr semisemi you know your favorite mcr song” when she sees him nod she continues “me and tori learned it” she says pushing him lightly. semi looked at her with wide eyes then at tendou, looking at semi tendou flicked his drum stick between his fingers with a nod. “wow semi cant believe you, we spent so much hours perfecting a my chemical romance for your sap self and he doesn't believe us y/nie i might
” tendou says fake sniffing. the little group in the back beyond confused, atsumu clearing his throat “have you three forgotten us already, wheres our show” ushijima nodding his head “yeah why are you guys being so vague” tendou snickers “dont worry you three and wakatoshi we have decided to play a new song or well cover i should say” “yeah and its semi’s favorite band you know the one that he wears on his shirts?” ushijima looking towards the girl after hearing her statement he nods. “okay can we play now ive been waiting to show my skills and get our lovely semi's opinion” y/n says removing her pick, both boys giving a ‘yeah’. finally tendou does the countdown. suna looks at all three of them with slight excitement in his stomach, ‘is this a new song im going to hear?’ before he could think of anything else, semi started playing a few chords by himself and y/n starting to add her own strums then tendou adding drums. sunas eyes widen at how well all the sounds blended together, freezing in his spot when semi started singing, when hitting the chorus y/n joins him. suna looking at her, he felt like he had been put in a trance, feeling like theres a spotlight on her when she starts nodding her head seeing her tongue sticking out when stringing the instrument. towards the end you can see y/n lose focus and her eye twitches, ending the song she sighs. “hey sorry about the end” waving to the guys to her left with a frown. hearing applause from the group the frown doesnt last long. “WHOOO!!!!! THAT WAS MY BESTIES GO SEMI! GO TENDOU! GO Y/N!!” atsumu gets up and yells. “that was so good what the hell that was yer first time too?” he says going up to the group, high-fiving y/n. “i mean me and tendou practiced together but semi basically has every song by them memorized but together? yeah our first.” tendou getting up to get his water that was next to ushijima. semi joining the fake blond and the girl, patting her on her back “that was a good first for us i can tell you and tendou worked hard, we're definitely adding it to the set list.” getting a laugh from both of them semi walks to the small group. “hey man that was really good, you have a nice voice” suna says as semi approaches, semi turned to him surprised “oh thank you im glad you enjoyed, do you listen to our stuff?” he says taking a seat next to him. “ive recently just started, i hope that doesnt sound too weird” the dark haired suddenly getting a little embarrassed, chuckling “its not weird i promise, well its good you listen to us or im sure it would've been awkward to just be here” nodding along to what he said. tendou going back to the drums “are you cowards tapping out now?” “COWARDS?!?!” y/n yells back turning around “i am no coward tendou satori i'll make you eat those words semi get over here” she said grabbing semis attention and shooing atsumu back to his seat. chuckling as he sat back down, turning to suna “howd ya like em? theyre good huh?” suna rolling his eyes “im not going to help inflate your ego tsumu” “yeah tsumu yer big ego is not cute” gasping to their remarks “you guys are so mean to me, i introduce you to nice music and even the artists and this is the thanks i get” before any could respond tendou starts clicking his sticks. starting this one is tendou with a slower sound, y/n entering second then semi with vocals. y/n leans down to mess with something by her foot turning a notch noises like static come out adding to the music, coming up fast she starts adding her vocals complimenting semis. pressing on the box she leans down as more noises come out. atsumu leans over to sunas ear “thats a pedal that holds other sounds and can help stretch other sounds” suna giving him a nod. towards the end y/n reaches down to the pedal again adding a distorted sound before adding her last bit of ‘oohs’ before the song ends. everyone clapping as the members stay still for s bit before y/n dramatically bows “youre so welcome lovely audience” she says blowing kisses to them, laughing at her atsumu jumps up and down pretending to be a crazy fan “oh y/n you were so go
od i love you y/n!!!” y/n laughing at him. “hey atsumu what about me!” tendou asks swinging his hand “howd i do?” “oh tendou you were so good, i love you too tendou!!!” he says swinging his arm back. tendou satisfied with his response nods his head, “and with that lets play one more i still want time to actually eat before we play again later.” “yeah lets try ‘crybaby’ we haven't done that in awhile” semi says getting in position.“remember y/n you do the verses” y/n nods clearing her throat “go tori” she says and tendou starts the counting again. starting the counting fast he gets one beat then y/n starts off with singing, swinging her bass back she grabs the mic. suna cracks a smile nodding his head a little as he remembers this song on their youtube, atsumu whistling when y/n dips down her mic as she sings, letting the boys have a solo in between verses she bobs her head. the last few seconds of the song she swings the instrument back as she steps on the pedal creating feedback, as semi goes to vocals she starts getting a solo with tendou playing, y/n leans forward and her and semi sing the rest of the song. after the last note they all look out of breath. clapping for them again letting them catch their breath, y/n starts laughing “i forget how hard that song is towards the end” laughing with her tendou nods “its literally the last 50 seconds that get the hardest” “alright lets clean up” semi says laughing at both of their bored looks they send him. finishing up they all go to the group whove are talking among themselves. sighing as she sits y/n takes the seat next to suna, “so howd you like the songs?” she says with a smile “they were good though i only recognized the last one” he replies, “tsumu told me you started listening to us recently so i thought or well semi thought wed show off a bit with our best song being that” she says with a smile grabbing her bottle. a small smile appears on his face “oh hey tsumu told me youre like really good in your classes and i really need help in history and since we have that group project coming up do you wanna pair up?” she says setting her bottle down grabbing a bag of chips. “yeah i dont mind as long as you actually do something and i can help you study if your grade is that bad” he says. “thatd actually help me out a lot i really appreciate it” she lets a breath out. after that the two spent all lunch just talking, the conversation coming easy for both of them. hearing the bell ring y/n hugs her friends and walks with suna to their class, pairing up in the project the teacher had given them in their period. after class before y/n rushed out she passed him her number with a wink “text me for the deets foxy boy.” ‘foxy boy? suna thought to himself shaking his head texting her with a simple ‘hey its suna’ and heading home.
facts !
during lunch when suna and y/n we're talking the followed each other on twitter
semi was really touched they learned the mcr song
the 4u concert is at a small venue but no one really cares about the other groups going there
osamu and atsumu almost started fighting over the onigiri until suna said something about ushijima being right there
atsumu was watching suna and y/n talking
osamu actually really enjoyed being there during lunch
—taglist
@applekenm , @xhanjisungiex , @astronomyturtle , @sirachano0dles , @yn-tingz , @killmepls-uwu , @bakugouswh0r3
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