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queenimmadolla · 11 months

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𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

(Tattoo Artist!Eddie Munson x Apprentice!Reader)

Summary: . . . After deciding you were meant for more than what life had in store for you, you gave into the siren call of the city─well a city. But when city life finally eats away at your bank account and your main source of income isn't reliable, you take on an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop where your boss is the six-foot something, tattoo covered Eddie Munson who quickly and unwisely becomes intrigued by you. Nothing romantic can come from it, lest you risk it being torn apart by your past, his lover and yourself.

Entire Work Warnings: 18+ (smut will take place in later chapters), swearing, financial problems, mentions of loss, escorts/call girls, age gap (Eddie is 36, reader is 25), financial shaming, slut shaming, implied sexual harassment, bimbo!reader (she may not be book smart but she knows the score) angst, self-sabotage.

a/n: based on my initial post and elements of Breakfast at Tiffany's. next chapters will be significantly juicer, this was just something to get us going. this is dedicated to @munsonology, happy birthday and I hope this year was a good one! and a very gratitude filled thank you to my dear friend, @kitmon, for continuing to be an an amazing beta! hope you guys like it so far ♡ (attempting the keep reading feature, fingers crossed)

word count: 5k

“They don’t bite.” “Hmn?” Came your absent-minded reply, eyes cutting from the harpy, evil in her eyes and blood soaking her talons, to the man flipping through the red binder you’d been carrying around you in the Indianapolis heat.

Sweat evaporated off your skin, giving away to goosebumps in the air conditioned shop, a much welcome relief to the borderline unbearable heatwave settling over the city streets, something that can be found in every nook and cranny. You’d been navigating your way throughout the city since before dawn broke, eager to get your fill of it while the streets were quiet and a decent temperature. It had been almost chilly this morning, your thick strapped tank top and daisy dukes—that you normally wouldn’t allow yourself to be caught dead in—leaving most of your skin exposed, with no direct sunlight to warm it. Now that the sun was out, you were on fire out there.

“The artwork.” He glanced at the framed harpy drawing along the wall, the one you’d been staring at, one of many framed depictions of gruesome and mythical looking creatures. “I don’t blame you though, that one isn’t particularly my favorite. Pretty badass, though. Heh.” “Oh,” You shook your head, the oversized shades adorning your face sliding down the bridge of your nose, “No, I’m not afraid of it. I like it. It must have taken forever though.”

You turned your attention to her again, admiring how realistic her feathers appeared. Painstakingly detailed and whoever was walking around the city with her on their body surely endured a generous amount of pain to get her.

And a large hole in their wallet.

“It took a ton of sessions, for sure. My boy did it a couple years ago.” The man, Argyle, as he’d introduced himself when you’d first walked into the shop, flipped his long black hair over his shoulder before he flipped to the next page of your portfolio. He let out a sound of appreciation as he leaned his weight on his elbow, hand resting over his mouth.

“This is good! This is really good!”

You lifted your chin to peer at the drawing he was fascinated with. Ah.

It was a drawing of the skeletal Grim Reaper, cloaked in a black robe and scythe clutched in one hand while his boney middle fingers stretched his eye socket holes down in an obvious taunt. A tongue, black and tendril like, lulled out of his mouth.

You thought it was pretty good, too. The idea for it had struck you at a party, you’d been hiding from an annoying suitor and ducked into an office room, doodling to your heart's content once you grew past your boredom.

You grinned, a feeling of giddiness beginning to bubble inside you.

“Listen, the DM’s out right now, running some errands. He should be back soon, can I hold onto this?” Argyle asked, gripping the sides of the binder and raising it as if you didn’t already know he was referring to your portfolio, “I think he’ll be pretty impressed with your stuff.” You fidgeted with your fingers, giddiness giving away to nerves once more. “Really? You think so?” Hope was something you hadn’t felt in a while; you’d been through exactly fourteen tattoo shops throughout the city, most of which you’d been rebuffed from before they so much as flipped open your portfolio, having already decided your particular aesthetic didn’t fit their image. They hadn’t verbalized as much, but you knew. You glanced down at your pink boots, already such a stark contrast to the black beams beneath your feet.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if you hadn’t made a wager with yourself, you could only go home once you’d accomplished your task of getting one of the shop owners to actually look at your work. While Argyle had made it clear he wasn’t the head honcho, he’d be passing it along.

“Yeah, man! This is some pretty legit stuff! I’ve been tatting, myself, for a couple years now, and I’m good–don’t wanna flex or nothing but I’m really good. Only it took a couple of years for me to actually get this good, you know? And I’m not even talking about on skin. You haven’t tattooed anyone before, right?” You thought back to when you had mentioned your art skill to a brief...something, he’d been intoxicated enough on expensive wine and your sangria kisses to encourage you to use the tattoo kit one of your friends had re-gifted you after her interest in the subject waned. You’d never particularly imagined yourself etching into people’s skin before, not even when she’d given you the supplies because she’d seen some of your doodles.

Thanks to her, a suit and tie you no longer spoke to, who made more money than you’ll ever see, was walking around with a secret under his briefs: a pair of shiny cherries on his left ass cheek.

It was no loss to you. Sure, he made money. Just not nearly enough for you to tolerate how aggressive he’d been with his affections as soon as he was sloshed. You’d given him the tattoo with his drunk pals cheering him on, went out to a very high standard club, then promptly ditched him the moment you were out of his sight. You hadn’t answered the door when he came pounding on it the next morning and the morning after that.

You’d originally had no intentions of using the tattoo equipment, until that encounter. It had planted a seed, an idea that may get you out of what you had to do to survive. Tattooing hadn’t been a passion, and it still wasn’t quite one but you needed money and you had talent.

“No,” You lied with a shake of your head, “I haven’t.”

“That’ll change soon,” he laughed, closing your binder as he leaned further over the glass counter. Your gaze briefly flickered to the jewelry it housed.

“You got a number we can reach you at?”

You’d scrawled the number of your landline down on the back of one of their business cards before Argyle could rethink his decision to pass your work along.

“Hopefully, we’ll see you soon!” He called out as you retreated towards the door.

God, I hope so.

The thought of a somewhat stable job that could help the pitiful state of your checking and savings account was the only thing powering you through your long walk home. You couldn’t risk a cab, that would mean you’d have no fare money for tonight, and who knows if you’d have to make a speedy exit?

You’d learned. Eventually.

Forty-five minutes later, you entered your apartment, sagging back against the door as you dropped your bag and kicked your shoes off, unconcerned as to where exactly they’d landed.

Sweat glistened over your skin, and unlike in that last tattoo shop, there was no air conditioning to cool you. You and Sid saved that for special occasions.

Instead, you opened the large window to the fire escape, obnoxious sounds of the city you called home filling the apartment.

It wasn’t much, but it was better. Next came the matter of your clothes, stuck in the most uncomfortable of ways to your flesh. Your tank top was peeled off and thrown over the couch, daisy dukes abandoned near the entryway of the small kitchen on your way to the bathroom.

A quick glance was spared behind you, taking in the state of your shared home. It was a mess and not even remotely surprising. The place was barely furnished with the essentials, all of which were secondhand: a couch, a coffee table with a sheet over it to hide the stains, one shelving unit, a rug and tapestries hung artfully on the walls for deception. They made the place look more put together than it was, but you’d love it even if it were still barren. A roof over your head in the city meant you didn’t have to return to the past you’d clawed your way out of..

The only thing worth much was the framed photo on the kitchen counter, and that was only in sentimental value. You and Sid, arms around each other’s shoulders as you sat in a booth at a shitty diner you’d tried upon first moving to the city. They’d taken your photo for being the 600th customer and tacked it to the wall.

You’d stolen it and had no regrets because you got to keep your memory and ended up getting food poisoning.

With a shrug, you entered the bathroom for a much needed scrub down and some disassociating. Your mess could wait.

─

Eddie was not in a great mood when he walked into the shop.

His jacket was clutched in a sweaty palm, rings twisting around the flesh of his fingers and his bangs were beginning to stick to his forehead, all the result of the walk from his fucking car to the shop door.

“Grumpy?” Argyle asked, amused with the clear annoyance on his face.

Eddie sneered, standing under the vent for a minute to cool down, “Triple digits. Triple fucking digits out there, man. You could shove a thermometer up the devil’s asshole and it’d be cooler than that.”

Once he’d solidified, he stalked past the front desk, threw his jacket onto the counter and picked up a stack of mail.

“Did I miss anything?” Eddie asked as he flipped through the envelopes, mostly junk.

“A couple of walk-ins. Nothing too major there, handled them myself. Simple stuff, one wanted a goldfish. Not like a detailed one, like how you’d try and draw a goldfish cracker. We did have a few who wanted a couple of advance pieces, got ‘em booked for consultations with Johnny boy and Rob.”

“Nice,” Eddie chuckled under his breath at the mental image of the goldfish tattoo, most likely an act of affection. Tattooing people who wanted to permanently carry reminders of their children was one of Eddie’s favorites to do, partially because of the sentiment but mostly because the drawings were amusing.

He’d just finished tossing out the junk mail when he reached for his jacket to hang it up properly and discovered it had been concealing something.

“What’s this?” Eddie asked as he lifted the slim red binder. Looked relatively new.

“Huh?” Argyle glanced up from the sketch he was working on, recognition flashing across his face, “Oh, yeah! We got a prospective new hire, someone dropped off their portfolio.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and heaved out a heavy sigh as his jacket was tossed aside yet again. He had nothing against other tattoo artists, but the last one he’d hired that hadn’t come from his friend group ended up nearly destroying the group.

Henry had been charming, good at his job and charismatic. Turns out, he’d also been a master manipulator and had a particularly abhorrent temper. Tensions had been high, heads were butting and fights had occurred—with a permanent reminder in the wall near the front entrance where a large hole had been punched through. Henry had to go.

Eddie wasn’t looking to repeat the situation.

“I think we’re good on artists around here–and put a reminder on the calendar for me to patch that damn crater up.”

“Well, it’s a good thing the artist isn’t a tattoo artist. Yet. I’d look at that portfolio first before making any decisions, if I were you. I think you’re gonna see the beginnings of something goooooood, and dude, you’ll be killing our fun if you fix it. Do you know how many glory hole jokes we tell?” Eddie ignored the latter half of Argyle’s statement, reluctantly flipping the portfolio open to the first page and annoyance began to associate itself with him once more.

A body, in a state of decomposition greeted him. But it wasn’t maggots or rotting flesh involved. Flowers grew out of the crevices, with moss and mushrooms over her skin. A lot of fine line work.

The next page was home to a bird-like creature with the body of a lion, a Griffin. Done in American Traditional.

A skinny, demonic looking goat with horns and legs long enough to belong to a horse, clouded eyes and wyvern wings was on the page after that. The Jersey Devil. Someone knew their Cryptids.

The portfolio contained a vast amount of drawings from horror depictions to more aesthetically pleasing visions; the hydra, skeletons, dragons, goddesses, respectable attempts at the modern Renaissance pieces, and even a couple of Barbie references, ranging in a variety of tattoo styles.

Eddie closed the portfolio and drummed his fingertips across the countertop, scowling.

That long haired doofus was right. This was beyond good work. But if they weren’t a tattoo artist, there wasn’t much Eddie could do with them. Drawing on paper is a much more different experience than skin. Mistakes can be erased on paper, the sketch done over again. Can’t do the same on flesh.

It’s intimidating.

They’d have to start off slow, like he had. Trained under a watchful eye, an expert who’d guide them with experienced hands. He was sure Jonathan and Robin would be eager to have an apprentice.

But before Eddie would even begin to entertain the idea of an apprentice in his shop, he’d have to see exactly what it was he was working with.

“Leave a number?” He asked without looking at Argyle because he knew he’d see nothing but a smug expression.

“Yup.”

“See if you can get him back in the shop tomorrow.”

“Why not today?”

“Because I have a session for the rest of the day, remember?”

“Oh, yeah! I forgot.” Argyle’s grin was sheepish as he read off the calendar. “Stacy Peterson called. Car troubles. Unable to make it to appointment with Eddie. Rescheduled. Heh. So…you also missed that.”

“I’ll strangle you later, just get him in here then.”

Argyle opened his mouth, then closed it as an expression that said I know something you don’t crossed his strong features. “Righty-O, boss. I’ll give him a call.”

You’d been lounging in the bathtub, hair up and out of the way, eyeing the grooves of the shower tile. They were a permanent taunt, stained dark no matter how hard you and Sid scrubbed and you hated the sight of them.

People with money didn't have to stare at them, able to afford to have them professionally cleaned or the shower wall—the entire bathroom renovated.

Someday, that would be you.

You sunk further into the water, toeing at the faucet when the shrill sound of the landline filled your more than humble home. The thought of simply letting it ring played in your head until you remembered the tattoo shop you’d visited last.

Hastily rising from the tub, water was splashed along the floor while you did a terrible job of drying off and ran naked the rest of the way to the living room, almost slipping as you did.

The receiver was yanked off its post, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Dudette? Argyle calling, dunno if you remember me from earlier…”

“Yeah! From the tattoo shop, right?”

“Right-O! Listen, The Dungeon Master is in and he wants to see if you can get down here to show him what you got. Possible?”

“Yeah, it’ll be no problem!” You’d have to run most of the way but street traffic around this time wasn’t that bad so you wouldn’t have to fight your way through bodies.

“Cool, cool, cool. And between you and me, this is pretty much the interview process. Good luck, dudette, and may the force be with your tattie skills. I’ll see you when you get here!”

As soon as you’d hung up, you ran to your room to get dressed. You didn’t have much of a wardrobe, but it wasn’t high on your list of priorities considering you and Sid practically shared one. Another tank top was selected—to mitigate sweating on your way to your interview—along with a gifted pink thong and matching bra. You’d snagged your Daisy Dukes from the floor on your way out, shimmied them on, grabbed your small bag and keys and headed out.

The selection of attire was a good one, the heat was still stupidly unbearable and heavy. You’d need to wash off again tonight. You’d managed to make it to the shop in under twenty-five minutes, having ignored all the looks you’d received as you hurried along the streets and the feeling of the air conditioner on your skin was a welcome one when you made your way back into the shop.

Argyle greeted you with a bright grin from his place behind the counter, throwing up his hands, “You made it! One sec.”

Then he turned his upper body to call into an area you couldn’t quite see into, “Oh, Eddie boy! Your prospect has arrived.”

You hadn’t cared to entertain ideas on what your potential boss could look like, all you were concerned about was the position and getting your foot in the door. Even if you had tried to imagine him, nothing could have prepared you for the actual sight of him when he emerged.

He was big, tall and cloaked in black, despite the heat of the city. He wore what you figured had once been a black t-shirt but was now lacking sleeves and a proper neck hem to be considered a makeshift tank. His pants were shiny leather and also tight, hugging the muscles of his thighs, and he sported a dark pair of pointed boots.

He wasn’t particularly muscular enough to be the body builder type, but it looked like he could probably pick another grown man up with ease. His skin had a light tan to it, barely anything really, just like everyone else, he obviously couldn’t escape the sun. It was littered with intricate tattoos, weaving up his arms—a few you could tell disappeared under his shirt—and his neck.

The word freak was permanently etched in black ink along his temple and over his eyebrow. Two silver balls decorated his other eyebrow.

Leaning up against the back wall like that, arms crossed to make the muscles of his arms bulge slightly and oozing confidence, he looked like the personification of some really good sex.

But he wasn’t what you were seeking out and you didn’t like to mix business with pleasure.

Eddie was caught completely off guard, trying to school his shock and keep his composure.

When he’d seen that portfolio, he was expecting someone with jagged edges, piercings galore and more than just a couple of tattoos to be behind it and standing in the entryway of his shop.

Someone who looked like their art.

You…didn’t. With your little pink cowboy boots, tank top that accentuated your figure and shorts so small, they should’ve been considered a form of underwear, you didn’t look at all similar to what Eddie was expecting. Not even if he closed his eyes.

You didn’t waste time, quickly introducing yourself as you stepped up to the front desk and Eddie pulled himself from his stupor, closing the distance to shake your palm. Smaller than his (though most were) and slightly sweaty, no doubt due to that god forsaken heat outside.

Eddie could see bits of your hair sticking to your skin, little beads of sweat prickling over your exposed collarbone and trailing down, down between your─

“Thank you for taking the time to even look at my portfolio! I really appreciate it.”

Eddie blinked hard, clearing his throat before smirking to pretend he hadn’t been drawn in by your chest.

What the fuck was wrong with him all of a sudden?

He’d had plenty of beautiful clients, he’d tattooed nice asses, tits, pubic regions, thighs, all the beautiful areas. Now all of a sudden he was acting like he’d never seen a pair of tits before.

Hell, Eddie had been thoroughly busy with a pair, held them in his hands before he came into the shop.

Professionalism, he reminded himself.

“Not a problem, what I see—saw was pretty impressive,” Nice save, Eddie, you dick. He cursed himself, “You adapt well to different styles.”

“Thanks!” You chirped, excitement filling you at the praise. It was so nice to hear positive feedback about your work instead of being sent out of a shop before they so much as opened your binder. “I like to experiment with different styles, see what it is that people like so much about them and honestly, it’s mostly because I haven’t quite found my art style just yet.”

Hence your range, you were constantly expanding with your art because you hadn’t found one style you wanted to make yours yet. Or maybe you had and just didn’t know it yet. Whatever.

Eddie and Argyle exchanged a look before he stepped back and nodded in the direction he came, “Why don’t you follow me? Show me what you can do?”

You didn’t hesitate, stepping past the front desk.

There was more artwork lining the short hall he took you down until you arrived at another room, obviously one meant for actual tattooing as there was a tattoo chair in the middle of the room.

On one of the counters, was an area already prepped for you. A tattoo gun, some ink, and some obviously fake skin that rested on top of a disposable sheet cloth, along with some gloves.

“Argyle tells me you haven’t worked on skin before.”

Sure you haven’t.

“Not a whole lot of people lining up to get tattooed by someone with no experience,” you shrugged, following him over to the counter he was leaning up against.

“You’re hanging around the wrong crowd then.” He joked and you let out a small laugh.

He had no idea how right he was.

“The first tattoos I ever got were from inexperienced people. This one,” he gestured to a Wyvern on the back of his arm, “I got my junior year of high school from a waitress at a bar I always snuck into.”

“And this one,” he yanked the tattered collar of his shirt down to expose more ink, but the one he was referring to was a spider, “I got my first senior year from someone I did…business with.”

First senior year? Eddie was proving to be an interesting character.

“But enough about me,” Eddie released his shirt, allowing it to hide the artwork depicted on his chest, “let’s get down to business.”

Before he could even explain what everything was, you dropped your purse onto the counter nearby, pulling a small box of unopened gloves from it.

“You mind?” You asked, fingers poised to rip it open.

“Go for it,” He shrugged. Gloves were gloves, so long as they were uncontaminated he didn’t mind.

You tore into them and Eddie was still somehow surprised to see they were pink. Clearly his black ones weren’t your style.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked as you pulled the gloves on. Eddie watched you, intrigued as you finished assembling the tattoo gun without his help and opened the ink pack.

“Sure,” He mused, eyeing you skeptically. Hadn’t tattooed anyone but you were clearly familiar with it. Interesting.

“Did your tattoos hurt?”

Eddie waited until after you’d started the tattoo gun and got into working on the fake flesh. Apparently you already had an idea in mind.

“A bit of an amateur question, you don’t have one?”

“Nope.” You confirmed, paying him no mind as you leaned forward, gaze focused solely on your task, “I kind of want one but I’m not in any particular rush, you know?”

Eddie made a sound of agreement, at a brief loss of words as you arched your back, ass sticking out and he became painfully aware you were wearing a hot pink thong, the tails of it peaking out past the top of your denim shorts. He should’ve offered you a seat but you didn’t seem all that bothered with standing.

No, that was apparently his foil, because he was incredibly bothered by you standing, especially with your ass out like that; when it made his pants tighten considerably in his crotch region.

He was getting hard.

Eddie was mortified, stiffening (go figure) as he attempted to calm himself, eyes darting away from your ass to stare at one of the cabinets. Of course this had to happen to him on the day he chose to wear a pair of pants that left little to the imagination should the boy downstairs start acting up.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

“Hurts, depending on the area, which I’m sure you already know. The tattoos on my back and my thighs hurt pretty bad. Forearms were a bitch, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The ones on my wrists and hands were the worst, pain wise, in my opinion. Obviously it didn't stop me, but those tend to be areas with a lot of bones, veins and very little muscle, so it’s expected.”

You hummed in response and his gaze briefly flittered over to you before his cock pulsed and he tore it away again, grateful your attention wasn’t on him.

The remainder of the ‘session’ was spent in relative silence with the music playing through the speakers installed throughout the shop, keeping it from being awkward. Eddie had just managed to will his erection away when you finished, setting down the gun before you pulled your gloves off.

“What do you think?” You asked, still admiring your work and Eddie peered around you to assess it.

A wyvern, similar to the one on his arm but done in a fine line style.

He chuckled, amused with your reference and you fought valiantly with yourself not to grin. You were trying to impress him, sticking with a subject he liked enough to make it a part of him permanently, but you hadn’t imitated the style of it to keep from downright copying and to showcase your ability to adapt.

“That’s pretty good,” And it was, not a whole lot of people could get lines that perfect or seem as confident in their abilities on their first try. Still, Eddie could tell you’d have some ways to go before you were ready to be on your own, “but you can do better.”

You tried not to frown, “Oh.”

Eddie smirked and you finally turned to face him, apprehension on your face.

“Don’t look so down. After some time around here, watching us work, you’ll be ready. The apprenticeship will fly by in no time.”

“Wait—you mean—you want me?!”

“I’d be stupid not to.”

You let out a squeal and threw yourself at him, giving him a quick squeeze before your brain caught up to your body and you pulled away.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just so excited.”

Eddie cleared his throat, shifting his body away from you and rasped out, “Argyle will have the paperwork for you to fill out.”

“Got it,” You grabbed your bag and was just about to head out of the room when Eddie called your name, “Huh?”

“Be back at the same time tomorrow. You’ll be practicing on real skin.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Me.”

Something in you bubbled with excitement and nerves.

You nodded once and then left the room to see Argyle for your paperwork.

“So?????” Argyle asked once you’d approached him, a sullen look on your face.

You couldn’t keep the act up, beaming as you practically bounced, “I’ll be seeing you around more often now!”

He whooped, extending an arm out for a high-five which you reciprocated.

“You are gonna love it here, Dudette. Just wait until you meet everyone! First, we gotta start on your employment.”

Your brows furrowed as you watched him go through a filing cabinet.

“Wait—this is paid?”

“Yeah! We’re not big on slave labor here.”

Score for you! You had a feeling you wouldn’t be clocking a ton of hours but every single penny counted, especially considering how hard of a time you had actually building a savings account.

Argyle had walked you through the paperwork, where to sign, what things meant and since the shop was getting ready to close up you’d simply just bring the completed paperwork back with you tomorrow.

The door chimed behind you and you turned to see who could be coming in at the last minute, eyes widening at the voluptuous woman before you. Her hair was long and jet black, skin pale (apparently one person in this city was capable of defying the sun) and make-up done so elegantly it reminded you of actresses from the silver screen era. Her dress was simple, black and hugged her curves exceptionally well. You could tell it was worth more than everything in your apartment combined and you’d feel bad about it if you also couldn’t tell she was older than you.

You’d have time to get there.

“Hey, Deidre.”

“Hello, Argyle.” She gave the both of you a dazzling smile as she removed her sunglasses and walked right past Argyle, down the hall you’d come from.

He didn’t even look surprised and paid her no real attention.

“We’ll see you soon?”

“Damn straight.”

Argyle let out another cheer as you walked out the door with high spirits. Not even the nasty, hot air could get you down.

You’d climbed up the stone steps until you reached the sidewalk and glanced behind you at the neon sign depicting the name of the tattoo shop you’d now be working at.

“Welcome to The Dungeon,” You mumbled to yourself with a smile.

You turned back to the sidewalk, staring down at the pathway you’d have to take before you thought better of it, sticking your fingers into your mouth to give a sharp whistle.

It caught the attention of a cab driver down the street, and you gave him your address when he’d pulled up and you’d hopped in, ready to prepare for tonight's plans. You deserved a little break, after all, you were one step closer to securing the future of your dreams.

Eddie sagged against the counter once you’d left the room, scowling down at the bulge that had reappeared in his pants when you’d hugged him.

Why his body was suddenly acting like he was a horny teenager again, he had no idea.

He wasn’t about to do anything about it, though. Not when you’d be hanging around the shop for the foreseeable future. Eddie didn’t get involved with his employees. He’d worked in a couple of shops where he’d witnessed that occur and it always ended in a mess. Not a good kind.

He busied himself with cleaning up, tossing away the supplies you’d used and storing your first piece of work. It’d be nice for you to look back at once your apprenticeship was over. When Eddie had nothing else to clean, he sighed and rubbed at his eyelids.

Platonic. Professional. God, if he couldn’t keep his dick in check, he’d be in a world of trouble. You’d be trouble.

“Need a hand?”

Eddie snapped around, relieved to see it was just Deidre. Explaining why he had a boner to anyone else wasn’t something he was keen on doing. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be telling her exactly why, either.

Taking her up on her offer, however, was something he would eagerly do.

“Are you offering yours?”

She laughed, setting her purse down on the counter where your bag had been just a few minutes ago, and walked right up to Eddie, her body pressed against his and grinding onto him as the older woman slid her arms around his shoulders.

“Mmm, not just my hand.”

All Eddie knew next was the taste of her red lipstick.

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luckycharms1701 · 3 months

Note

Just read Mikey’s mating season, would write one for Raphael?

of course i will, anything for our boy in red! i will say that bay raph in particular is hard for me to write, so i hope this is decent

again, it's a lil spicyyy 🌶️ reader beware!

The first time it's brought up, Raph absolutely refuses to allow you to spend his season with him. Won't even have the conversation. Not even Mikey can convince him to just talk to you. It takes a literal act of God to force him into it- stranded in your apartment together while a late snowstorm rages, just as his season is starting.

Raph is naturally afraid that he will hurt you. But what he doesn't tell you is that he is afraid of the vulnerability. Raph's season is a highly emotional time for this passionate guy. He knows that he'll be more open- generally the first sign that his season is starting is when he admits something to one of his brothers that he doesn't actually want them to know. So forced into close quarters with you, alone- he's afraid of what he'll say, afraid that the depths of his feelings will drive you off.

He is shocked that when the time comes, his anger doesn't overwhelm him the way it normally does. Instead, it is his love for you that takes over. He finds himself feeling incredibly affectionate. He even chirps for you. (Once it's over he's mortified and you have to swear that you'll never tell anyone ever). The sadness he associates with this time? Again, all gone, because you're here.

The cuddling is real and it is. Frequent. Raph doesn't like to let you go and will often carry you around if you need to move from the bed. But good luck getting him to agree to let you leave the bed. He likes you there and he does not want you to leave. Surely he can go get whatever you need? You belong in his arms, as far as he is concerned.

So, Raph. Once you get him on board, he has rules. These are non-negotiable, because not following them could possibly result in him hurting you and that Will Not Happen. The biggest rule is that you cannot tease him. Teasing riles him up like nothing else and if he loses control and hurts you... no. It Won't Happen. He'll lock himself in a different room and take care of himself before he'll let you break one of his rules.

However, that doesn't mean that it's not a good time for both of you. It's hard at first, because Raph is so afraid to let go, but once he does? Once all that passion is set free and focused on you? It is absolutely some of the most intense lovemaking you've ever experienced in your life. And that's what it is- lovemaking.

All of Raph's affection and tender feelings take over, and he is intense but so gentle at the same time. When it's not mating season, he can be rough sometimes, although never more than you can handle. Not so during mating season. Even when he's pounding into you, driving you wild as you writhe under him, he doesn't hurt you. The only bruises you come out with are in the shape of his hands on your hips.

He is surprisingly quiet when he fucks you. Everything in him is so focused on you that he barely notices his own pleasure. He does chirp a lot, and when it happens the churring practically vibrates the whole bed. He prefers to draw sounds out of you instead. There is a certain dark chuckle he gives that warns you that you are about to get loud. He loves to quiet down so he can catch the nearly silent gasp that comes out of you when his fingers hit that spot deep in you.

He becomes an anxious mother hen when it's over. He hovers. It's a little maddening but he needs you to indulge. He needs to be able to make sure that you're okay, that he didn't hurt you. He is of course worried for no reason, you're fine. But he's still a little cuddly, so you enjoy indulging him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic

#bayverse raph #bayverse raph x reader #tmnt #talking tag #theory tag #mating season #say it together now: SOFT RAPH SOFT RAPH SOFT RAPH #sorry if you were expecting something a little spicier. that'll come don't you worry #i just can't see raph allowing himself to be rough when he's not in complete control #i'm not 100% happy with this but i never feel completely happy when i write raph #so i hope it's okay

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hamsterclaw · 10 months

Text

Legend

The man you help one day insists that he owes you everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Selkie! JK, smut, angst

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, knotting

It’s early, but you prefer walking along the beach when there are less people. The sun’s up, barely, there’s a light salty breeze blowing your hair in your face and there’s movement out of the corner of your eye.

Three men fighting over what seems to be – a fur coat?

You don’t want to get involved but two of the men are fully dressed and the other one is naked so it seems unfair that the pair are trying to take the fur coat off him.

‘Hey!’ you shout, before you can talk yourself out of it. ‘Back off!’

You wave your phone. ‘I’m calling the police!’

The two men exchange a look and shove the naked man into the sand. Then they’re off.

You approach the naked man warily. ‘Are you ok?’

He looks up at you, dark hair in his face, almost covering his eyes. He’s slim but there’s bulk to his shoulders and arms, a ridge of muscle along his abs.

He gets up suddenly, overbalances, and you take a step back so he doesn’t fall into you.

The fur coat’s back on his shoulders, you’re glad for him given, judging by his bare legs under the hem of the coat, he’s stark naked otherwise.

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘For helping me.’

‘Don’t worry,’ you say. You smile and move past him to continue your walk.

He says, ‘I owe you everything.’

His words make you turn back, slightly nervous at the seriousness of his tone.

‘You’ve very welcome,’ you say, ‘I didn’t really do anything.’

You’re a few metres down the beach when you realise he’s trailing behind you.

‘I have to return your kindness,’ he says, when you stop dead and turn around to look him fully in the face.

Shit. What is this guy on?

‘You can return it by living your life,’ you say, nodding encouragingly. ‘Away from me.’

He considers this carefully. ‘Do you feel threatened by me?’ he asks, keeping his distance.

You eyeball him from the top of his mussed hair, to the ridiculous fur coat he’s got on in the middle of summer, to his bare feet, and can honestly say that you don’t.

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ you insist.

‘Can I try to repay you?’ he asks. He pushes his hair away from his face, like seeing more of him will change your mind.

He’s got an interesting face, wide eyes, beautiful skin, a mole under his bottom lip that draws your gaze.

You sigh. ‘Can you do yard work?’

***

Half an hour later your new acquaintance is standing beside you, regarding the mess that was your grandmother’s yard quizzically.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ you say. ‘This isn’t worth it. You’re free to go, you don’t have to help me with this.’

‘That’s not what I was thinking,’ he says. He looks at you worriedly. ‘How would you have done this alone?’

‘It would have taken me longer without your help,’ you allow.

‘Your hands are small,’ he says, critically, brows furrowed. ‘And your arms —’

‘And you’re wearing a fur coat in summer, there’s no judgement here,’ you interrupt, raising an eyebrow at him.

‘It’s a pelt,’ he tells you, huffy.

‘There’s probably something up in the loft that’ll fit you,’ you say. ‘Stay here. I’ll go up.’

When you get back down to the yard, you’re greeted by the twin mounds of his very firm buttocks.

‘Holy shit. Get some clothes on,’ you say, turning your eyes up hurriedly as he approaches you.

‘I see people on the beach wearing tiny clothes that don’t cover much more than this,’ he tells you.

‘Well you’re not on the beach, you’re in my yard. And in this house we wear clothes,’ you retort.

You shove the bundle of clothes you’ve found into his chest, and turn your back as he gets dressed.

When you look around again, thankfully, he’s decent.

Your grandfather’s clothes are a size too large but it’s probably just as well given your new friend’s penchant for getting naked at the slightest opportunity.

‘Just to be clear,’ you clarify. ‘This isn’t indentured servitude just because I helped you this morning. You can go whenever you want, ok? You don’t owe me a thing.’

‘I owe you everything,’ he says solemnly.

‘Are you even listening,’ you grumble.

You decide you’ve spent enough time arguing with him. He looks strong, and willing, and the yard isn’t going to clear itself.

He works hard, genuinely like he believes he owes you something for scaring those guys off, carrying the weeds you clear out to the bins, seemingly tireless.

By lunchtime you’ve made decent headway. You get up, ignoring the way your knees protest after kneeling in the dirt for so long, and say, ‘come in, let’s take a break.’

‘I don’t need a break,’ he tells you earnestly. ‘I’ll help you finish this.’

You furrow your brow at him. ‘We’re not carrying on unless you eat something —‘

You realise you don’t know his name.

‘Jungkook,’ he supplies helpfully, ‘of the Jeon clan.’

You stare at him. ‘I’m Y/N L/N.’

‘Clanless,’ he murmurs to himself, nodding like that explains things.

You frown. ‘We don’t have clans where I come from,’ you start, and then you close your mouth. Why are you arguing with this dude?

‘Fine, Jungkook, let’s have lunch.’

***

For someone who didn’t want to take a break, Jungkook sure seems hungry.

You watch, bemused, as he wolfs down his sandwich and salad.

‘More?’ you ask, holding out half of your own sandwich.

He accepts, and the sandwich disappears in three quick bites.

When he’s finally satiated, you go back outside and get back to work.

The sun is starting to drop when you turn to him a little awkwardly.

‘Hey, Jungkook. Thanks so much for your help today. It would have taken me ages to do this myself.’

He looks at you seriously. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this yourself.’

‘Yeah well, I’m clanless remember?’ you say, jokingly.

He shakes his head. ‘You need help.’

‘You’re not the first person to tell me that,’ you offer.

Jungkook’s unamused.

‘I’ll help you,’ he says, like that decides it.

You want to keep arguing but you’re tired, and it’s late, and he does good work.

‘I’ll be back in the morning,’ Jungkook says. He’s got redressed in his pelt, placed the folded clothes you loaned him neatly on the porch.

You open your mouth and shut it again, and Jungkook takes this as assent.

‘Wait,’ you say, as he walks away.

He turns back to you, and there’s something about the way his profile looks in the fading light that makes your heart beat a little faster.

He’s beautiful.

‘What do you want for breakfast?’ you ask.

He turns fully to face you, eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘You don’t have to feed me. I’m the one who owes you, remember?’

‘You honestly don’t—‘

You stop talking when you realise he’s too far away to hear you anyway.

***

The next morning, you’re awakened by noises coming from the back garden. You stumble to the window and are greeted by your new friend Jungkook’s shirtless back.

His muscles ripple in the sunlight, and he’s already worked up a sweat somehow.

You lift up the sash window, and he turns at the sound.

His face lights up at the sight of you, and you’d be lying if you said the sight doesn’t make you feel a little giddy.

‘What –’

Your voice comes out as a croak, so you clear your throat and start again.

‘What do you want for breakfast?’

‘Surprise me,’ he says cheerfully.

He turns back to the thatch of brambles he’s hacking through.

‘Hey,’ you call again.

You swipe a hand over your dressing table, grab the sunscreen you apply religiously.

You toss it out the window, at his feet.

‘Put sunscreen on.’

Jungkook picks it up like he’s unaware of the concept of sun protection.

‘Can you show me how to use this?’ he asks.

He’s looking at you quizzically, all bare chest and gleaming skin, and you back away from the window before you say something you’ll live to regret.

You’ve got breakfast in the pan on your grandmother’s old Aga when Jungkook pops his head in the back door.

‘It’s hot today,’ he says.

‘You look hot,’ you agree.

Then you realise what you’ve said.

Thankfully, Jungkook seems to have missed it completely, walking into your kitchen, looking around curiously.

He stops in front of a painting on the wall of a lighthouse by the sea.

‘This looks like it was painted around here,’ he says. ‘I’ve been past this lighthouse.’

‘Would you like the painting?’ you offer.

At his surprised look, you hasten to explain.

‘I live in the city. I came here because I inherited this house from my grandmother after she died.’

You wave a hand. ‘I’ve got to pack up her things, get rid of what I can, and then sell this place.’

‘If you like the painting then please take it,’ you say. ‘It’s got no sentimental value to it.’’

‘I don’t have a lot of things,’ Jungkook replies.

He watches as you serve up two plates, lay the table.

He takes a seat opposite you.

There’s silence for a bit as you both eat, then Jungkook asks, ‘Isn’t there someone who can help you? It seems a big job.’

‘My parents live abroad,’ you tell him. ‘I don’t have any siblings. Just me.’

‘Your mate?’ Jungkook suggests, around a mouthful of eggs.

You nearly choke on your coffee. ‘I don’t have a – mate, at least not in the sense you mean. I have friends, and they’re stopping by in a few weeks.’

You shrug. ‘It’s quite a personal job. I want to make sure my grandmother’s things are handled properly.’

You look out the window. Sitting, like this, you can’t see the sea, but if you were to stand, you could see the ocean from every window of this cottage.

‘I used to spend my summers here, with her,’ you tell Jungkook.

‘I’ve lived here my whole life,’ Jungkook says.

You exchange a smile.

‘I can help you, with anything you want,’ Jungkook tells you earnestly.

You look at him for a long moment. ‘I can pay you.’

Jungkook almost looks offended. ‘I told you I owe you for helping me,’ he insists.

‘You don’t owe me a thing.’

‘I owe you everything,’ he says again, so firmly you don’t have the heart to argue it.

You get up. ‘I need to stop by the store and get more supplies this morning.’

Jungkook says, ‘I can get the brambles cleared today.’

You hesitate, then decide to ask. ‘Do you want anything from the store? Is there anything you like to eat?’

Jungkook’s smile is shy, a contrast from the fact that he’s parading around shirtless.

‘I eat anything,’ he tells you, but you get the sense he appreciates that you asked.

He’s turning to go back into your garden when you stop him.

‘You should put sun protection on,’ you tell him.

You squeeze sunscreen onto your palm, show him how to rub it in.

‘On my back, too?’ Jungkook asks, once he’s covered his face.

You look at him carefully, trying to gauge how serious he is.

‘Yes, on your chest too.’

Your voice comes out unusually high-pitched, and Jungkook gives you a funny look as he rubs suncreen into his chest.

You’re trying not to stare at him, acting like it’s the first time you’ve noticed the glorious sea view outside.

‘Can you help me with my back?’ Jungkook asks.

‘Sure,’ you say, gulping a little.

You dot sunscreen on your palm, start rubbing it into his shoulders. His defined back muscles flex under your hands as you rub more cream in.

Jungkook looks down at the waistband of your grandfather’s shorts thoughtfully, and you toss the sunscreen on the table, grab the keys hurriedly.

‘I’ll get you a hat, too,’ you call as you practically run out the front door.

‘See you later Jungkook!’

***

The line at the store’s longer than you expected, you’re looking around for the shortest queue when you spot him.

‘Y/N!’

‘Namjoon!’

You step into Namjoon’s hug. He’s always been taller than you but in recent years his build has filled out. You can barely get your arms around him now.

‘I heard you were back,’ he says, smiling at you, friendly. Just for a moment, a shadow crosses his face.

‘I’m sorry about your grandma,’ he says.

‘Thank you,’ you reply. You pull your arms down, clasp your hands awkwardly together.

‘I’m clearing out her old things,’ you tell him.

‘Need a hand?’

‘I’ve got someone helping me,’ you say.

Seeing the change in Namjoon’s expression, you hasten to explain.

‘I met him yesterday,’ you say. ‘Some guys were hassling him on the beach. He was grateful so he’s helping me clear out the yard.’

Namjoon frowns. He’s one of your childhood friends, you used to look forward to seeing him in the summer.

‘Is he an ok guy?’

‘He seems perfectly nice,’ you say. ‘He doesnt seem like a creep or anything.’

‘Well, you can always call me if you need anything, ok? Maybe we can grab dinner one of these days.’

‘I’d like that,’ you say.

Namjoon dimples at you. ‘Maybe this weekend?’

‘Sure,’ you agree.

You pay for your things, load up your car and, on impulse, pick up ice cream for you and Jungkook on the way back.

You’re holding your cups of ice-cream carefully, walking around the side of the house to the back, when you hear voices.

You feel a twinge of alarm as you round the corner to see Jungkook and another man you don’t know having what seems to be a heated conversation.

‘Jungkook?’ you call.

The man you don’t know turns and gives you a long look.

It doesn’t seem friendly.

You’re suddenly aware that you don’t know Jungkook well, you don’t know this man at all, and your nearest neighbour is over a mile away.

Jungkook steps forward, like he senses your apprehension. ‘This is Jimin,’ he tells you. ‘He’s part of my clan.’

Jimin gives you another searching look, but he eventually says, ‘Hi.’

Alarm bells are going off in your head.

You take a step back.

‘My friend Namjoon’s coming over,’ you tell Jungkook and Jimin.

It’s a complete lie, but it’s all you have.

Jungkook says, very gently, ‘Jimin’s leaving. He just came to see where I was.’

You take another step back, ice-cream forgotten.

‘Sure,’ you say. You’re trying your best to sound normal, past the rising panic.

You turn and head back to your car.

It’s only after the car door is closed behind you that you finally feel like you can draw a breath.

The rapping on the window makes you scream.

It takes you a moment to realise it’s Jungkook, another moment to notice that he’s chosen the passenger seat window to knock on even though you’re in the driver’s seat.

Like he wanted to give you distance.

You lower the window.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he starts, and he sounds so genuinely upset about it that it goes a long way towards assuaging your fears.

‘No, I —‘

You sigh and give up on protesting when you realise it was pretty obvious you were uneasy.

‘It’s ok, Jungkook.’

He says, hesitantly, ‘I want to stay and help you, but if me being here is making you uncomfortable, I’ll go.’

You don’t know how to make this decision now that the ball’s in your court.

So you postpone it, like you’ve done with so many other decisions in your life.

You unlock the car doors.

‘Do you want ice cream?’

***

Jungkook, it turns out, likes ice cream quite a lot. Somehow, you’re not surprised.

He’s scraping the sides of the cup like he wants to get every single lump, so you pass him your half-eaten ice cream.

He accepts immediately, wide-eyed and so thrilled that it amuses you.

It’s hard to imagine him ever hurting anyone.

‘What’s your favourite flavour?’ you ask.

‘All of them,’ he replies, chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh.

‘I’m sorry about Jimin,’ Jungkook says.

He’s not looking at you now, swirling his tiny neon spoon in his cup.

‘He’s scary when he’s angry, even though he’s so small.’

He hadn’t seemed small to you, although you guess Jungkook’s bigger.

‘What’s he mad about?’ you ask.

‘He doesn’t trust people,’ Jungkook answers. He glances at you. ‘He thought maybe you were forcing me to help you.’

You snort. ‘How?’

Jungkook doesn’t answer for a moment.

‘Your grandfather,’ he says, changing the subject. ‘There aren’t many photos of him.’

‘He left my grandmother,’ you say.

In all honesty, you don’t know much more than that. It had all happened when you were very young, your mother hadn’t told you anything about it, and your grandmother had always refused to discuss it.

Jungkook reaches out, fiddles with the dial on the car radio.

‘We should bring the groceries in,’ you say, remembering.

‘I’ll carry them,’ Jungkook insists.

He looks affronted when you try to take a bag off him.

‘I’m much stronger than you,’ he says, huffy.

‘Fine. Carry it all then. Can you make lunch too?’

***

You end up fixing lunch for you and Jungkook with leftovers and deli meat. You sit on the swing on your grandmother’s porch as you eat.

It’s a hot day, you’re grateful for the light breeze even though it’s barely making the leaves rustle.

Jungkook glances at you as he takes a swig of water, and you hold his gaze.

‘I’ve got some guys coming to collect the clippings and yard trash next week,’ you say. ‘Think we’ll be done by then?’

Jungkook nods, earnestly. ‘We should be.’

‘Do you have another job or something? Don’t feel obliged to stay, like I said you’ve helped me so much already.’

Jungkook says, firmly, ‘I owe you a debt, please let me pay it.’

You search his face. ‘How will I know when the debt is paid?’

‘I’ll know,’ Jungkook says. He seems unconcerned, sure of himself. ‘I’ll know, and I’ll take my leave then.’

‘What if I get sick of you before then?’ you ask, teasing.

‘Unlikely,’ Jungkook says, confident. ‘I’m well-liked.’

You frown a little as you mull this over, only to catch him watching you, a spark of mischief in his eye.

‘Are you fucking with me?’

Jungkook blinks. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

He’s all round-eyed innocence as you look at him suspiciously.

Finally you get up. ‘Come on, we’d better carry on, then.’

***

You’re up in the loft, trying not to feel overwhelmed at the sheer amount of things around you.

The trappings of a lifetime.

You pick up the item closest to you, a small wooden box with a mother of pearl inlay on the lid.

Inside, there’s a pretty champagne pearl set on a thin gold chain.

You smooth the pad of your thumb over the pearl, admiring the way it gleams even in the gloom of the loft. You put the necklace around your neck, set the box aside, and reach for the next thing.

In the next few hours, you sort old clothes, separate items into charity and junk piles and start bringing things down.

You’re three steps from the bottom of the folding ladder when you lose your balance.

You don’t have time to make any sound when you’re steadied by strong arms.

‘Easy, I’ve got you,’ says Jungkook.

He helps you down the last few steps, takes the armful of clothes off you.

‘Thanks,’ you say, gratefully.

‘I’ll bring things down,’ Jungkook says. ‘Is there a lot up there?’

‘We can take turns,’ you say. ‘There’s a lot.’

Jungkook mutters something about human materialism which you don’t quite understand but you’re distracted by the way he looks.

His neck is stretched, the line of his jaw sharp as he peers up the steps. His profile is beautiful.

He looks back at you, catches you staring at him.

‘I did tell you, didn’t I, that I was well-liked?’ he says, a twinkle in his eye.

He’s definitely fucking with you.

You say, casual, ‘you did mention that.’

Your eyes meet.

Then his gaze drops to the pearl necklace you have on.

‘Was that your grandmother’s?’ he asks.

He reaches out, hesitates, then, when you nod, lifts the pendant gently.

‘It’s a natural pearl,’ he says, something like awe in his voice. ‘These are very rare.’

‘My grandmother loved the sea,’ you say, your voice dropped to a whisper, you’re not sure why.

Jungkook looks down at you. Like this, he’s so close you can see a tiny beauty mark on his lower lip, a small scar on his cheek.

Imperfections that only make him seem more perfect.

He’s not touching you at all, but you can feel the warmth he radiates.

For the first time, you notice he smells faintly like the sea.

You like it.

Jungkook’s gaze is so intense you have to look away.

He lets go of your necklace, and takes a step back.

You try not to feel disappointed.

‘I need to go,’ Jungkook says. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’

‘Sure,’ you say, too quickly, with a nervousness you can’t explain.

He turns, descends the stairs.

You push the fold up ladder to the loft up, re-fasten the catch, trying to calm your fluttering heart.

‘Hey,’ Jungkook says.

He’s climbed back up, is holding out his pelt to you.

‘Can you keep this for me until tomorrow?’

‘Sure,’ you say, lifting your arms out for it.

It’s heavier than you expected.

‘I’ll keep it somewhere safe,’ you reassure him.

Jungkook says, ‘I know you will.’

He smiles at you, and jogs back downstairs. He stops at the foot of the stairs, waves, and then he’s off.

***

You’re not sure what to do with Jungkook’s pelt when you go to bed but you know it’s important to him, so you end up laying it at the foot of your bed.

It’s hot and sticky tonight, the air ruffling the thin gauzy curtains isn’t providing any respite.

There’s a knot, low down in your groin, a neediness between your legs.

Unbidden, Jungkook’s face floats into your head.

His pretty eyes. The way his jaw clenches whenever he catches you doing something that he thinks should be his job.

The feel of his arms caging you in when he stopped you from falling down the steps earlier.

You look down at your body. Your nipples are hard, pressing against the gossamer thin cotton of your sleep tank. You run a hand over your breasts, pinch restlessly at a nipple.

Your moan sounds obscene in the quiet of your room.

Your cunt tightens, and you slide a hand between your legs for relief.

The pads of your fingers press against your swollen bud, and you moan again.

Jungkook’s naked back, muscles glistening with sweat.

The feel of his bare, sun-warmed skin under your fingers.

You’re breathing faster now, bucking your hips into your own hand as you press two fingers into your warmth.

You imagine Jungkook’s hands inside you instead of your own.

His smirk when he told you he was ‘well-liked’.

You don’t doubt it.

Your need builds as you touch yourself, legs splayed, toes pointed.

Your foot touches Jungkook’s pelt, and you sit up, breasts heaving, nipples pointed, hard.

You reach down for Jungkook’s pelt, bring it up to your face, and inhale.

It smells like him.

You pull it to your chest as you finger yourself, and the friction of it on your sensitive nipples tips you over the edge.

You come with a whine, a gasp, gushing stickiness between your thighs, thinking of Jungkook.

***

You wake up late the next morning, the sun’s high in the sky by the time you get out of bed.

You look out the window and see Jungkook’s now familiar back in a corner of the garden.

‘Morning!’ you call before you remember exactly what you did with Jungkook’s pelt last night.

You don’t wait for a reply, leaning back from the window quickly.

Thankfully you hadn’t got any cum on his pelt.

Shit. What got into you?

You groan inwardly as you traipse to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

You run lightly down the stairs, only to skid to a stop when you see Jungkook lifting his pelt from where you put it on the couch before you went to sleep.

He’s been sniffing it.

You blink, straighten your back, and say, brightly, ‘What do you want for breakfast, Jungkook?’

You do, after all, come from a long line of women who’ve made a lifetime about not talking about things they don’t wish to talk about.

Jungkook looks at you, a little sweaty, dazed. His pupils are huge, his eyes dark.

‘Anything,’ he says. His voice has dropped to a timbre you haven’t heard before from him, low, almost a rasp.

‘Sure,’ you say, turning smartly to the kitchen.

It’s a good twenty minutes before Jungkook joins you in the kitchen.

He looks flushed, damp like he’s been splashing water on his face, but he looks more like his usual self.

You put a plate of pancakes in front of him. Your hand brushes his accidentally, and he moves his hand back like he’s been scalded.

‘Shit, sorry,’ you say, flustered by his reaction.

Unsure what else to do, you take a seat opposite him, and start eating.

After a moment, he starts eating too.

You give yourself a moment so that your voice won’t betray you and then say, ‘I’m going to be clearing out the loft again today.’

Jungkook takes a moment to reply.

‘I can help bring things down.’

‘Great. Thank you.’

You push the remaining pancakes towards him.

Jungkook clears his throat.

‘Have you, uh, done something to your hair? You look pretty.’

‘Nothing special,’ you answer.

You flick your gaze his way.

‘I’m well-liked too.’

Jungkook nearly chokes on the mouthful of pancakes he’s chewing.

He gulps down water, eyes watering.

You smile at him as you clear away your plate.

***

Jungkook grunts as he sets a box down next to you.

You’re trying hard not to notice exactly how he’s worked up a light sweat, just enough to make his skin glow and his t-shirt stick to his torso.

Jungkook lifts his arms over his head, stretches. The hem of his t-shirt lifts two inches above the waist of his jeans.

You fight the sudden urge to bite his taut skin.

Jungkook rakes a hand through his damp hair. It’s wavier today, curling around his face prettily.

You’re struck by the duality of his pretty face and his distinctly masculine body.

To hide the warmth in your cheeks, you look down into the box he’s just brought down.

There’s a stack of letters, shoved haphazardly into torn envelopes.

You pick one up and begin to read.

Dearest,

I thought of you today. When Ara gets mad, she furrows her brows and tilts her head, and she looks exactly like you.

I know we chose this life, but it doesn’t make it any less hard.

All my love, always,

Dasom

You wonder why the letter’s with your grandmother and not your grandfather, if he ever got to see it.

You pick up the next.

Dearest heart,

Your uncle stopped by today, and as you can probably guess, he didn’t have any pleasantries to share.

One day I’ll be kinder, but today is not that day.

I shooed him off with the driftwood you salvaged from the cove.

You would have been proud of me.

Look after yourself, my love, I cannot wait for when you come back to me.

All my love, always,

Dasom

You smile to yourself, amused. Your grandmother was dainty, with the petite stature of many women of her generation, and yet somehow it isn’t a stretch to imagine her shooing off a man twice her size.

Beneath the letter is a photograph, a faded black and white, of your grandparents. You smile fondly at it, at the way your grandmother’s smiling brightly at your stoic-looking grandfather.

You notice something just in the frame that gives you a jolt of recognition. At their feet, what you thought initially was a rug looks on closer inspection to be a fur skin of sorts.

It reminds you, oddly, of Jungkook’s pelt.

A shadow falls over you.

‘Are those your grandparents?’

You look up, startled, and the photograph slips from your hand.

Jungkook leans down to pick it up, looks at the photo. He blinks, frowns a little.

‘They’re my grandparents,’ you tell him.

Jungkook asks, with a new note in his voice, ‘Why is there a pelt in this photograph?’

You have no idea.

‘Was one of your grandparents a selkie?’

You blink, totally confused.

‘What’s a selkie?’

Jungkook’s examining the photo closely. ‘It looks like the pelt’s your grandfather’s size.’

‘Rewind,’ you demand. ‘What’s a selkie?’

Jungkook looks at you like he’s debating something in his head.

Finally, he says, ‘I can show you. We’ll have to walk down to the sea.’

***

It’s a glorious late summer day, you can feel your confusion and curiosity lifting as you and Jungkook walk down your grandmother’s path to the beach.

He’s got his pelt with him, slung carelessly over his shoulder.

His steps are lighter the closer you get to the sea, it’s like he feels as unburdened as you.

When you get to the water’s edge he stops, turns to you.

‘Will you wait for me?’ he asks. ‘I’m about to show you a lot, I’m worried about how you might react, so will you wait here until I come back to you?’

He’s so serious about it, you can’t protest.

‘Where are you going?’ you ask.

‘I won’t be far,’ Jungkook says. ‘But I promise, I’ll come back to you.’

He’s already slipping off his clothes, barenaked in the sun, and you avert your eyes hastily.

‘When you said you had a lot to show me—-‘ you start.

Jungkook turns his head. He smiles, more than a hint of mischief in his gaze.

‘Wait for me.’

He slips his pelt over his shoulders, and dives into the water.

He’s a strong swimmer, a few hundred yards out already.

There’s a strange tingling in your stomach, a fizzing in your veins.

You wonder if you’re about to be profoundly changed.

You can barely see him now.

Hold it.

You can’t see him at all.

Shit!

Is he caught in the current?

You take a few frantic steps out into the surf, panicked, unmindful that your entire bottom half is wet.

‘Jungkook?’

Your first shout is weak, barely carrying, lost in the crash of the surf.

You try again.

‘Jungkook?’

You take another few steps out, you’re deep enough to swim but you can’t see anything in the sea.

Your eyes sting with salt and the sun as you surface.

‘Jungkook!’

There’s a dark shape in the water, a ripple through the waves, and you scream as the shape brushes past you.

It turns, heads straight to you, and you dive into the water to swim away from it.

It follows, and every shark story you’ve ever been told jumps into your head.

You’re not as good a swimmer as Jungkook, but you did spend a lot of summers at the seaside growing up.

You head back to shore, kicking strongly, and by the time you’re knee deep you’re exhausted from the adrenaline.

You realise the creature’s followed you to the shore.

It’s not a shark at all.

It’s a seal.

It stays half submerged.

It looks like it’s looking straight at you.

Like it’s waiting for you.

Jungkook’s parting words pop into your head.

Wait for me.

You take a step closer. The seal stays where it is, facing you.

There’s something familiar about the tilt of its head.

The world rocks on its axis, and you?

You slip down into the sand in a dead faint.

***

You wake to sunlight that’s too bright, and Jungkook leaning over you.

His expression’s panicked, his eyes wide and worried.

You wince a little, raise your hand over your head to block out the light.

Jungkook’s saying your name, so you squint up at him.

‘Jungkook?’

‘Are you ok?’ His words come out rushed, urgent.

‘What happened?’

It comes back to you in a flash.

You groan and try to sit up.

Jungkook helps support you, hand flat against the small of your back.

‘Where did you go?’ you ask, a dumb question because you’re not sure if you’re ready to ask the question you really want to ask.

Jungkook says, ‘I went into the ocean, then I—-‘

He breaks off, then says, ‘Then I came back to you.’

‘There was a seal,’ you say carefully.

Jungkook just waits.

‘Jungkook, what’s a selkie?’

Jungkook smiles at you, gentle.

‘I just showed you.’

***

You’re looking out of the window of your house as Jungkook makes you tea. He’s been hovering around you like a worried mother hen since the beach, no matter how much you reassure him you’re ok.

His pelt lies beside you on the couch, thrown carelessly next to you as he rushed to fix you a drink when you got back.

You reach out gingerly and run a hand over it.

It’s warm, sleek, the short fibres bristling under your palm when you brush the wrong way.

How had you not recognised it as sealskin before?

Jungkook comes back, carefully holding a mug. He sees you touching his pelt, and you pull your hand away.

‘I don’t mind, if you touch it,’ he assures you.

You say, ‘I like how it feels.’

You sip the tea Jungkook’s just given you.

‘Tell me about selkies,’ you say.

Jungkook sits next to you on the couch. ‘I have a clan. Jimin, whom you met the other day, is part of it.’

‘We mostly live close to the sea. We can take either form—‘

At your expression, he clarifies, ‘I can be seal, or human.’

‘And the pelt?’

‘It’s part of my seal form,’ Jungkook tells you.

You have more to ask about his pelt, but Jungkook changes the subject.

‘Your grandfather was selkie,’ he says.

‘Is that common?’ you ask. ‘That selkies marry humans?’

‘It’s not unheard of,’ Jungkook says. ‘Some clans frown upon it.’

‘My grandfather left my grandmother,’ you tell him.

‘I’m sorry.’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know much. My grandmother didn’t talk about it.’

You turn to him.

‘I found all these letters she wrote him, I don’t know if he ever got to see them.’

Jungkook’s thoughtful. ‘I can ask around, if you want.’

He gets up. ‘I should go. Jimin wanted my help tonight.’

He gives you a careful look. ‘Will you be all right?’

‘No wonder Jimin’s a selkie,’ you say. ‘I bet his bark is worse than his bite.’

Jungkook gives you an exasperated look.

You’re on a roll. ‘Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone. My lips are sealed.’

Jungkook tosses his pelt at you. ‘Shut up.’

You struggle to extricate yourself from under his pelt. ‘Don’t you need this?’

‘Nah,’ Jungkook says, casual. ‘Besides —’

His voice drops low as he tilts his chin at you.

‘I like the way it smells when you look after it for me.’

Now you’re the one stammering and heating up.

Jungkook smirks at you and lets himself out.

***

Jungkook loads the last of the boxes into the back of your car and shuts the trunk.

He’s stepping back from the car when you ask, ‘Hey, you want to come with?’

Jungkook considers this.

‘We can get ice cream,’ you offer. ‘You’ll have to put a shirt on, though.’

Jungkook’s already pulling his t-shirt over his head and sliding into the passenger seat.

‘You’ll need someone to help you unload this stuff at the charity shop,’ he reasons.

‘Chocolate or vanilla?’ you ask.

‘Both?’ suggests Jungkook hopefully.

You smile affectionately at him. ‘Anything you want, doll.’

Jungkook pouts. ‘It sounds like you’re making fun of me,’ he complains.

‘Don’t be seal-y,’ you say.

Jungkook groans. ‘I don’t know if ice-cream is worth this.’

You chuckle softly to yourself as you pull out of your drive onto the road into town.

***

Jungkook waits patiently on the kerb outside as you speak to the owner of the charity shop.

When you’re done you smile up at him.

‘Ice-cream?’

‘Sure,’ he agrees amiably.

He doesn’t say much until you’re back in the car, ice-creams in hand.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

You glance at him but he’s not looking at you, licking up the rivulet of cream that’s trickled down the side of his cone.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

‘Your grandmother was more than what she left behind,’ Jungkook says.

He’s still not looking at you.

‘She was.’

Unexpectedly, your voice cracks, you clear your throat abruptly in an attempt to hide it.

He’s looking at you now, when you’re trying to look away, to discreetly wipe the tears pricking your eyelids.

Jungkook reaches out, and, without comment, thumbs the tears off your cheeks.

You finish your ice creams in silence.

When you pull onto your drive and kill the engine, Jungkook turns to you.

‘Tell me another seal joke.’

‘What type of music do you like?’ you ask. ‘Club hits?’

Jungkook laughs.

He looks so pretty like this, dark hair wavy and tousled, golden skin gleaming, that you lean forward and kiss him.

His laughter stops, and you aren’t given time to fret about whether that’s a bad thing because he’s nudging closer, seeking your lips as you pull away.

There’s a sigh, and you couldn’t say if it’s from you or him, don’t care anyway, because he’s kissing you back, and it’s good.

He tastes like chocolate, and salt, his lips firm, his tongue teasing at the seam of your lips until you part them for him.

He licks into your mouth with a sweet urgency that makes you squeeze your thighs together.

His hand’s stroking the exposed skin of your back where your t-shirt’s ridden up, and his skin warms you more than the sun.

‘Jungkook,’ you murmur, as he presses kisses down the column of your throat, ‘wanna go upstairs?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. He pulls away, eyes dark, lips pink. ‘Yeah.’

***

You’re on your bed, half-undressed because Jungkook’s taking his time kissing along your breasts.

He’s shirtless, his beautiful chest toned and golden, flat nipples pebbling under your hand.

You brush a hand over the front of his jeans, thrilled by his hardness.

He groans, tugs at your shorts, lifts your hips up like you weren’t going to do it for him anyway.

He stares at the scrap of pink lace between your legs, so rapt you’re shy until he presses an open mouthed kiss to your folds.

The whine that falls involuntarily from your lips surprises you with its neediness.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind.

He tugs your panties half down your thighs, spreads you apart, and kisses you again.

His tongue slides between your folds, wet, insistent.

You’re throbbing, sensitive, as he licks you again and again.

He moans as you get wetter, slicker.

‘Swollen,’ he pants against your cunt. ‘Need me to lick you.’

You’re beyond words, bucking your hips so you can get more of the delicious pressure of his tongue where you need it.

‘Inside,’ you moan. ‘Need you.’

‘Yeah,’ Jungkook agrees.

He shoves his jeans down, draws out his cock.

Your mouth waters. He’s pretty. Thick, precum glistening on his head.

Jungkook strokes his cock between your folds, making himself even wetter, and you cry out at the feel of his cock head against your clit.

‘Shit. Do that again.’

He nudges himself against your clit, rubbing precum against you. ‘Like that?’

‘Yeah,’ you gasp.

Jungkook swears softly. ‘I need to be inside.’

You still as he pushes in, the hard blunt head of him stretching you as he slides in. He thrusts shallow, slow, and you’re wound so tight you could scream when he groans, deep in his chest, and fills you all the way.

He rocks his hips against yours, the head of him nudging at your front wall. You’re wrapped around him somehow, you don’t remember doing it but you thighs are around his hips, ankles crossed, holding him tight to you as he thrusts.

Jungkook groans, reaches out to grab your breasts as he makes them bounce with every lunge of his hips.

He’s so fucking strong. You knew that, you’ve seen him carry things, but you’d never put it together that he would be strong like this too, his body moving against yours like he was made to fuck you.

He slows, panting, canting his hips, changing his angle, grabbing at your thigh when your ankles unlock.

‘That’s it,’ he grunts. ‘That’s it, fuck me back.’

He throws his head back as you lift your hips to meet his, sweat gleaming on his throat.

‘Jungkook!’

‘Take it,’ he moans.

You cry his name repeatedly as you come, a pulse of pleasure so intense you lose track of everything that isn’t Jungkook and his cock inside you.

Jungkook’s grinding against you, filling you up, mouthing at your neck, when he cries out and pulls out abruptly.

You moan in protest, and he kisses you, deep, long. You can feel his heart pounding against you.

‘Tried to knot,’ he mumbles. ‘Sorry.’

You have no idea what he’s talking about but you’re enjoying the feel of him holding you too much to care.

You’ll ask later.

***

Jungkook, it turns out, is beautiful when he sleeps.

He’s splayed beside you, face down in your bed, the sheet loose over his hips.

His face is slack with sleep, brow unfurrowed, lips parted in an ‘o’ that makes him look surprised.

He’s adorable, and the warmth in your chest as you watch him sleep surprises you.

You turn over, face the open window.

A moment later, Jungkook’s moving, curling himself around you, his chest pressed to your back.

‘Can’t sleep?’ he murmurs, his husky voice against your ear making you shiver.

‘I’m trying,’ you tell him.

You can feel him, hard, as he curls his body around yours.

‘Let me help,’ he says.

He reaches round to touch your naked breasts, arches your back, slides his cock between the cleft of your ass, entering you shallowly until you’re gasping and moaning.

Then he fucks you again, and it’s even better than the first time.

***

You’re trying not to stare at Jungkook as you have breakfast together, but it’s hard when you can still feel the imprints of his hands on your body.

Your only consolation is that Jungkook seems to be struggling as much as you are.

His eyes flit between your neck, where he left a hickey close to your ear, skim over your breasts, and eventually his gaze lands on your face.

When he sees your smile he returns it, endearingly shy.

‘I had a good time last night,’ you say.

‘Me too,’ he replies.

You’re still smiling at each other like idiots.

There’s a knock on the door, and you look up, surprised.

You open the door to an unfriendly expression on a fiercely pretty face.

Jimin lifts a brow at you. ‘Is Jungkook here?’

Jungkook’s up. ‘Jimin?’

‘We have to go. Taehyung’s hurt.’ Jimin throws you a look that makes you step back.

He’s furious, and his next words hit you like a slap. ‘Fucking humans.’

You’re not given a chance to react, as Jimin’s already turning away. Jungkook throws you an apologetic look, but he doesn’t say anything.

Then they’re gone.

***

You’re nervous, waiting by your front door like it’s the first date you’ve ever had, and it’s not even a date.

Namjoon’s picking you up and you’re going into town for dinner.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since he left with Jimin. Granted, it’s only been a couple of days, but you’ve got used to having him around.

For the thousandth time, you wonder what he’s doing. You hope he’s ok.

There’s the flash of headlights in your front window, you’re opening the door before you realise you’re moving.

Namjoon pulls to a stop, gets out, and you have a flash of realisation.

He’s dressed up for this - shoulders and chest broad and strong against a crisp blue shirt, slacks that hug his ass and make his legs look even thicker.

‘Hey,’ you say, feeling suddenly shy.

This feels different from the Namjoon who used to collect shells and catch crabs with you when you were kids. You know he’s different now, but you’re still getting used to it.

He walks over to open your door for you.

‘Hey,’ he says. He smiles, and the flash of dimples makes you feel more at ease.

‘Hey,’ you say again.

‘Hey,’ he replies. ‘You look really pretty.’

You put your hand over your grandmother’s pearl, hanging in your decolletage.

‘Thanks,’ you say. ‘You look good too.’

You slide into the passenger seat, look up just in time to catch the way Namjoon’s gaze drops to how your skirt’s ridden up your thighs.

There’s a beat of nothing, then you hastily pull your skirt down, and Namjoon straightens up to close your door.

At the restaurant, Namjoon leans back in his chair across from you. His arm’s slung casually over the back of the chair next to him – you’ve never seen his shoulders look so broad.

‘How are you getting on with clearing out your grandmother’s house?’ he asks.

‘We’re doing well,’ you tell him. You take a sip of your wine. ‘The loft’s almost empty, that was the biggest task, and the garden looks pretty good now.’

You see the way his brow rises slightly at the ‘we’.

‘Remember that guy I told you about in the store? Jungkook? He’s been helping me.’

‘I’m glad you have help,’ Namjoon says. ‘If you need any extra hands, I’ve got time next week.’

‘I think we’ll be ok, but thanks,’ you tell him.

‘Are you staying?’ Namjoon asks. ‘After you finish clearing out the house?’

He shifts a little, and his thigh brushes yours under the table.

You try to ignore the rush of heat through you at the unexpected touch.

‘I might stay for a bit,’ you say.

You’d love to say you’re going back to where you were living, but the honest truth is, you feel untethered.

Your friends in the city were great, your little apartment is your sanctuary, and your job was ok, but since being back you’ve felt a distance between you and your old life.

You’ve never felt so strongly that there’s more out here for you.

Namjoon tilts his head. ‘It’d be great to see more of you. My mum’s always asking after you.’

You laugh. ‘I miss her a lot too.’

‘She thinks you and I would be perfect together, she was more excited than me about our date.’

You roll your eyes. ‘Surely she knows, Namjoon, that you don’t really date.’

Namjoon pretends to be hurt, but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away. ‘We’re in a nice restaurant, I wore a nice shirt, how can you say this isn’t a date?’

You pretend to be thinking.

‘Is this table too small, do you think? Because your thigh keeps brushing against mine, and —’

Namjoon laughs, sips his wine. ‘I also like that pearl you’ve got on that’s hanging between your tits. Like I needed more reasons to look there.’

You laugh. ‘It’s my grandmother’s!’

‘That ivory colour suits your skin tone,’ Namjoon says. He dimples at you.

‘Shut up,’ you grumble. ‘Eat your food.’

‘Load up on carbs, baby,’ Namjoon suggests. ‘We’re going to burn them off later.’

You ignore him.

***

Namjoon pulls up outside your house, gets out to open your door for you.

He looks at you hopefully. ‘Are you gonna invite me in?’

You laugh. ‘No. I’m fine with being the only woman in town you haven’t fucked.’

Namjoon laughs, cups your arm as he walks you back up to your front door.

There’s movement in the shadows, and you realise Jungkook’s been waiting on your front porch.

He steps forward, eyes you and Namjoon.

Beside you, Namjoon stiffens, turns towards you.

‘Hey, Jungkook,’ you say. ‘This is Namjoon. Namjoon, Jungkook.’

Jungkook nods at Namjoon.

Namjoon turns more, putting himself between you and Jungkook.

‘I can probably take him,’ Namjoon tells you, in a stage whisper. ‘If you want me to get rid of him.’

You roll your eyes. ‘No one’s getting rid of anyone. Thanks for dinner, Namjoon.’

Namjoon gives Jungkook a long look, then leans down deliberately to kiss you on the cheek.

‘Call me later,’ he says.

You wait until he’s got back in his car and driven off before turning to Jungkook.

‘Hey,’ you say. ‘How’s your friend?’

‘Taehyung? He’s ok. He was hurt but the clan’s looking after him. He’ll be fine,’ Jungkook tells you.

‘What happened?’

‘Some guys out in a fishing boat thought it’d be funny to try to catch him,’ Jungkook says. His eyes are serious. ‘There are some pretty cruel people out there.’

‘I’m sorry,’ you tell him.

You reach out to touch his arm, and he pulls back like he doesn’t want you to touch him.

You drop your hand, stung.

‘Is there much left to do? Have you made progress since I Ieft?’ Jungkook asks.

There’s a distance to his voice now, a coolness you’ve never felt from him before.

‘Yeah,’ you lie. ‘I’m almost done, actually.’

‘That’s great,’ Jungkook says. He’s barely looking at you.

‘Yeah.’

‘You probably don’t need my help anymore,’ Jungkook says.

You’re too upset to hide it, so you’re glad for the darkness around you.

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘Thanks for helping me.’

Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

You fumble through your bag, looking for your keys, trying hard to see through the sheen of tears suddenly in your eyes.

‘Here,’ Jungkook says finally. He reaches into your bag, plucks out the keys, unlocks your front door.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ you say.

You risk a glance up at his face.

‘Are you — are you going?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. There’s something like regret in his eyes, but maybe you’re over-reading his expression.

‘Ok. Thank you.’

You step into your house, and very slowly, close the door behind you.

You tell yourself it’s probably for the best.

***

You have no idea why you keep coming back to this spot on the beach, apart from it was the spot Jungkook picked to profoundly change your world view.

It’s usually deserted, but today the usual serenity of the vista is marred by shouting.

You approach, and to your horror, there’s a seal on the shore, and a couple of guys standing over it.

You rush forward. ‘Hey!’

You have the oddest feeling of deja vu. It’s not the same, not the same at all, but this reminds you of the first time you met Jungkook.

You see the swing of a piece of driftwood, and you jump forward.

At the last moment, the guy who had been about to hit the seal manages to swing away so he doesn’t hit you.

You ignore him.

‘Get back in the water,’ you say.

The seal looks at you, watching, waiting.

‘Fucking go,’ you plead. ‘Please, just go.’

You think it’s Jungkook but you really have no idea, you’ve only seen him in seal form once.

You wait until he moves, before turning back to the guys.

‘Why would you even do that?’ you ask, angrily. ‘It’s a seal!’

The guy scoffs. ‘What’s it to you, bitch?’

You clench your jaw. ‘You’d better walk away, asshole.’

The two guys stare at you, but you’re too angry to care.

‘Hey!’ comes another voice.

You all turn to see Jimin approaching.

Fuck. Just what you need. Another angry man who hates you.

You turn back and realise the seal’s gone.

‘Come on,’ Jimin says. To your astonishment, he steps between you and the men. ‘Come on, Y/N, let’s go back home.’

You’re so surprised that you allow him to lead you away from the men.

Eventually you look at him. ‘We don’t even have the same home.’

‘Yeah, I’m aware of that,’ Jimin says, dry.

‘Guess you saw those assholes.’

‘Jungkook should know better.’

You try to ignore the flare of hope in your chest at the acknowledgement that it was Jungkook on the beach.

‘I guess you think he should know better about a lot of things,’ you say, spiky.

Jimin hums. ‘You didn’t hurt him but there are a lot of cruel humans out there.’

You’ve reached your door. ‘Yeah.’

You turn to Jimin. ‘I hope he’s ok,’ you say. ‘Look after yourself, Jimin.’

You don’t think there’s anything left to say.

***

You fall into a routine of sorts as the days click into place.

Jungkook had been right, the garden didn’t need any more work after he left.

The loft’s empty now, apart from a box of letters, some of which you’re waiting to have the emotional headspace to read.

After the loft, emptying the rooms is easy. The house still has its memories, but you no longer feel laden with the past.

It’s a week after you saw Jungkook on the beach that you wake to find his pelt on the step up to your kitchen door.

You pick it up carefully, look around like Jungkook might still be around even though your instincts tell you that you’re alone.

You place it on the couch, wonder what the hell you’re supposed to do with it, why he would even leave it with you considering he doesn’t want to see you.

You remember the picture of your grandparents and your grandfather’s pelt, and re-open the last box from the loft.

Letter after letter, tiny fine trinkets, a lock of your mother’s hair tied with a ribbon.

Another picture, this time of you, on your grandfather’s lap.

You don’t remember much about him apart from that he’d been kind, and that he’d seemed to love your grandmother. They’d seemed to have loved each other.

You unfold another letter. The paper’s crisper than the others, like it’s been wet and dried.

Dearest,

I don’t have any regrets about the life we chose. I’ll always cherish our time together, short though it was.

Today is hard. I’m angry, and I’m upset, and I miss you so very much.

I wish you’d chosen me instead of your clan.

I wish I’d told you what I wanted before you left.

I hate that we are apart, and today, I almost hate you.

I don’t mean that. Maybe I do.

Most of all, I wish I could tell you, my love, that even on days like this, it was worth all our while.

It was worth it.

All my love, always

Dasom

Tear prick your eyelids, and you blink them back hurriedly, but not quickly enough. A fat teardrop lands in the middle of the letter, and you realise now why the paper is crisper than the others, why the ink in some spots is smeared.

Your grandmother was crying when she wrote it.

You’re re-folding the letter, about to close the box, when you spot another letter at the very bottom.

It’s written on different paper, and when you unfold it, in different handwriting.

Dasom,

You know I’m not one for writing, you always wrote so much more beautifully than I did. Did you get the pearl? I found it last year, and it’s always reminded me of you.

I want to ask how Ara is but I see her sometimes by the shore, with Y/N, and they’re perfect.

Loving you was the best thing I ever did, and I think that every day.

All my love, always

Dal

You’re crying so hard you can barely breathe.

The knock on your kitchen door startles you. You wipe your tears away hastily, and open the door.

It’s Jungkook.

He’s wet, and it takes you longer than it should to notice that it’s raining.

Jungkook leans down so his face is closer to yours. His eyes are worried. ‘Are you ok?’

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him. ‘I was reading old letters.’

‘Thank you for helping me,’ he starts, ‘that day on the beach.’

‘Which one?’ you joke, tearily.

Jungkook smiles. ‘You’re always saving me,’ he agrees.

He steps closer, and you realise he’s trying to stop the rain from reaching you by shielding you with his own body.

You step back, into your kitchen.

‘I can’t sleep,’ Jungkook tells you.

‘Want a hot chocolate?’ you offer.

‘Always,’ Jungkook admits. ‘But I don’t think that’s why.’

You look up at him.

‘I belong to you,’ Jungkook tells you.

Your heart begins to pound.

‘I always have,’ he says, eyes intent on you.

You turn to give yourself some space. ‘I’ve told you, Jungkook, you don’t owe me anything.’

Your voice comes out firm, confident.

‘I owe you everything,’ Jungkook says.

‘You don’t owe me a damn thing —’

You’re cut off by Jungkook stepping forward and leaning down to kiss you. He’s gentle as always, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist to hold you as your lips meet.

Jungkook says, ‘Have you packed your bed?’

He’s backing you gently out of the kitchen, heading to the stairs.

‘Jungkook we can’t —’

He stops. ‘Don’t you want to?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, fuck, ok. We can.’

***

You’re loose, still boneless from your orgasm, when Jungkook goes to fetch you water from the kitchen.

He comes back with a glass of water, and his pelt.

‘Kinky,’ you say, teasing.

‘I didn’t tell you about pelts before,’ he says. He scoots in next to you, brushes your hair away from your face.

‘I have something to tell you about your pelt too,’ you confess.

At his expression, you say, quickly, ‘You go first.’

‘The reason I was so grateful to you when you helped me that day at the beach is that you stopped those men from taking my pelt,’ Jungkook tells you.

He looks at you. ‘For a selkie, a pelt is the source of our ability to change form.’

‘If those men had taken my pelt, I’d have been stuck in human form permanently.’

‘You should take better care of it,’ you scold.

Jungkook’s still looking at you. ‘I did. I left it with you.’

The realisation makes you sit up. ‘You should have told me how important it was!’

Jungkook says, simply, ‘I trusted you to look after it.’

You groan. ‘Why would you trust me like that, Jungkook?’

Jungkook rolls over, on top of you.

He’s heavy, but that’s not the main reason your breathing’s quickening.

‘I have more to tell you,’ he murmurs, voice husky now.

‘Yeah?’ you ask.

Jungkook leans his head down, tugs the sheet off you with his teeth.

His eyes darken as your breasts are bared to him.

‘I almost knotted you,’ he tells you.

You’re distracted, because he’s grinding against you, and you can feel exactly how hard he is.

‘Hmm?’ you ask.

Jungkook nudges his cock between your legs, pushing himself in an inch. Two.

You close your eyes. ‘Fuck, Jungkook.’

‘Knotting’s an important thing for selkies,’ Jungkook explains.

You have no idea how he even has the presence of mind to still be making full sentences.

Shit, you can’t think! Not when he’s inside you like this.

Jungkook moves, a shallow thrust that makes you moan.

‘When a selkie meets his mate, his biological response is to knot.’

‘Shit, Jungkook,’ you gasp as he moves again. ‘Can we talk about this later?’

Jungkook’s breathing hard as he moves again, and you’re pleased you’re not the only one hot and bothered by what he’s doing.

‘No,’ he says. ‘We need to talk about it. I’m worried I might —’

Your eyes snap to his.

‘What’s knotting?’

Jungkook stills, but you can still feel him, hard and throbbing inside you.

‘I’ve never knotted anyone before,’ he tells you. ‘But the other day, I nearly knotted you.’

Now he has your full attention.

‘After I come, the base of my cock swells inside you.’ He looks shy, which is a lot considering he’s inside you still.

‘It’s biological. To keep my sperm inside you.’

‘I’m on birth control —’

‘I know,’ he says. ‘But selkies haven’t evolved to get past that yet.’

You laugh. ‘Are you saying your cock gets even bigger after you’ve come?’

Jungkook buries his face between your breasts, but he’s still so hard.

‘Fuck. Ok, show me.’

‘It might hurt you,’ Jungkook says, touching your cheek.

‘You’ll look after me, won’t you?’

‘I will,’ he promises. ‘Fuck, I will.’

He starts moving again, grunting as he thrusts. You curl your hand around the nape of his neck, holding him close as he grinds against you.

‘Jungkook I —’

‘Yeah,’ he says. He presses kisses to your cheeks, to your neck, as you tighten around him.

You cry his name again as you come, hear his answering moan.

Jungkook’s thrusting slower now, movements getting more erratic as he reaches his peak.

He seals his lips to yours as he comes, groans deep in his chest. You can feel him twitching inside you as he fills you.

There’s so much come you can feel it leaking out of you.

Jungkook strokes your face, kisses you. ‘I’m going to knot,’ he tells you, voice strained. ‘Can I?’

‘Yeah,’ you say.

You turn your face into his hand, press a kiss into his palm as he swells inside you.

You shift a little, and Jungkook says, hoarse, ‘You’re doing so well, shit, it feels so good.’

He moves, once, and you moan at the pleasure of it.

‘Does it feel good for you?’ Jungkook asks. He makes the same movement again, and you moan again.

‘Yeah,’ you tell him. ‘I like it —’

Jungkook groans. ‘I like it too, baby.’

He reaches between your bodies, strokes your clit as he moves, and between the fullness inside you and the way he’s touching you, you come again.

Jungkook swears, pupils so blown his eyes look black. ‘I can feel you,’ he tells you. ‘Fuck, I can feel you.’

You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him as he holds you tightly. You have no idea how long the pleasure goes on for, if it even stops. All you know is the feel of Jungkook all around you, inside you, and it all makes sense to you.

***

Your grandmother’s grave is a simple one with a small flat polished headstone. The inscription reads, Dasom, loving mother to Ara and grandmother to Y/N, and loving wife to Dal.

Yours are the only flowers in front of it, but as you set them down you notice the square laid carefully on the ground.

It’s part of your grandfather’s pelt, you’d know it anywhere.

You look up at Jungkook, hesitant. ‘Does this mean –’

‘When a selkie dies, his pelt is given to his loved ones,’ Jungkook says.

You don’t put much stock in physical things, especially not now when you’ve seen firsthand how none of it matters, really, but you like that your grandfather’s pelt is with your grandmother.

You hope it means they’ve found each other again.

Jungkook holds out his hand to help you up, and you walk down the path together.

Author note: For Memes @madbutgloriouspond , because your friendship and kindness means the world to me.

©hamsterclaw 2023

#bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #selkie jk

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randomprose · 8 months

Text

now posted on AO3!

Mo Guan Shan is sitting on the kitchen island eating a sandwich when He Cheng walks in.

He looks up from scrolling through his phone, looking a little startled.

“Mo Guan Shan,” He Cheng acknowledges with a nod before heading to the fridge.

“Uh. Hey, boss."

“Where’s He Tian?"

“Still sleepin’,” he shrugs. “Got bored an’ hungry waitin’ for him to wake up.”

He Cheng just hums. His brother has always been one to sleep in late even as a child.

“Have you eaten?” Mo Guan Shan asks, a hand scratching the back of his neck. He looks awkward standing in He Cheng’s kitchen — rarely used, all stainless steel, and state of the art — yet strangely comfortable behind the counter near the stoves. At least before He Cheng came in. This is the most relaxed He Cheng has ever seen him in his house over the years.

He mulls the question over, probably blurted out on impulse. He’s really only here to get a bottle of water.

“I've had coffee”, was what he said after awhile. He can’t quite remember what time that was. Some time between the early hours of a new day and before the crack of dawn.

Mo Guan Shan frowns, brows knitted together. The kid is very expressive, He Cheng observes. Easy to draw reaction from. He can see why He Tian loses his shit pushing this kid’s buttons.

“That’s not exactly food.”

“I don’t eat breakfast.” Never had the stomach for it. Just never made sense for him to eat so early in the morning.

“Er. It’s past noon, boss,” Mo Guan Shan somehow feels the need to remind him. He Cheng just stares at him. “Technically it’s lunchtime bordering on…mid-afternoon snack?”

It dawns on He Cheng that, given his answer, this kid wants him to eat something. Mo Guan Shan either has certain manners drilled into him — He Cheng caught him eating when he entered the kitchen so he felt the need to offer him something as well — or he has an inane need to take care of people. Just like He Tian.

He Cheng supposes that’s a good thing, if a bit of a soft touch — something that has no room in the world he and He Tian live in but is nonetheless welcomed and desired by He Cheng for his brother. He Tian could’ve done so much worse. At least He Cheng knows his brother is eating and taken care of. He swears that kid never knows how to look after himself.

“If you insist,” He Cheng allows and sits on a stool at the kitchen counter.

Mo Guan Shan visibly relaxes. Like he’s relieved He Cheng agreed he could cook for him. If he hadn’t ran a thorough background on him he’d think he’s going to try and poison him. Except the kid is terrible at hiding his expressions and controlling his body language and He Cheng has known him since he was in middle school.

“Alright. So, uh, what are you hungry for?”

He Cheng isn’t really hungry for anything, but he does acknowledge that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday and this will only be his first meal of the day. Still, he doesn’t think he can stomach a full meal right now.

“Just eggs will do.”

“Okay,” Mo Guan Shan nods. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled,” is all he says. No mention of how he likes it cooked, no preference for seasoning, no specifications of any kind. He Cheng doesn’t really care as long as it's edible and won’t upset his stomach.

Mo Guan Shan gets to work in silence. He Cheng watches him move and is not at all surprised that he knows his way around, knows where everything is. Qiu mentioned the kid is good in the kitchen, more than a decent cook, and is not above admitting that he enjoys his food despite the disaster that occured the one and only time the kids came over his place and had Mo Guan Shan made them dinner. He Cheng knows this, too. He knows that the kid is apprenticing in a family restaurant and is saving up to go to culinary school. He’s had to drop by He Tian’s place occasionally and was pleasantly surprised that his brother isn’t just subsisting on take-outs if at all.

But it’s just eggs and He Cheng isn’t really expecting anything. Eggs are just eggs after all.

After just about twenty minutes, Mo Guan Shan puts down a plate of the fluffiest looking scrambled eggs He Cheng has ever been served garnished with spring onions and what seem to be crushed potato chips. He serves it with a glass of orange juice on the side and the whole ensemble looks like it’s been lifted out of a lifestyle cooking magazine.

He Cheng takes a forkful and lets out a low pleased sound at the back of his throat.

"Good?" Mo Guan Shan asks, a corner of his lips quirked up in quiet satisfaction the way a cook is when they know someone enjoys their food.

"It is." He Cheng maintains that eggs are still just eggs but this really is good. Qiu’s not exaggerating then.

The eggs are light and cooked just right, lightly seasoned with the melted cheese adding another layer of flavor, and the potato chips give it a good crunch. He’s never even thought of potato chips as anything other than junk food.

"Yeah. Figured you and Tian like your scrambled eggs the same." Mo Guan Shan comments as he sits back down to finish his sandwich. "First time I made it he looked so pissed even though he couldn't stop shovelling eggs in his mouth. Thought he might've hated it and was just eating it to, I don’t know, not hurt my feelings or some shit, but then I heard him curse you under his breath and ask for seconds."

A thought that comes to He Cheng: He Tian eats breakfast and likes his eggs scrambled just like him.

“He hates it, but he's really alike you in a lot of ways, you know.”

Well, of course he is, He Cheng agrees. He practically raised that kid. He Tian’s bound to pick up some of He Cheng’s mannerisms and preferences for certain things whether he likes it or not.

“Coffee? Brewed a new batch.”

“Please.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Just black, thanks.”

“You sure?" Mo Guan Shan asks like he doesn't believe him.

“I like it as it is.”

“Huh,” Mo Guan Shan sounds out before shrugging and pouring out two mugs.

This prompts He Cheng to ask, "Does Tian-di not take his coffee black then?"

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know his brother at all. Maybe there was a time that he did, when He Tian was small and only had him, but He Cheng doesn’t claim that he knows his brother beyond his childhood days. While He Tian seems to come to him more and more these days, their relationship is still rather estranged and not at all conventional, however that may be.

All He Cheng knows of He Tian is that his brother is of the good sort and that’s enough for him.

He Tian cares for his friends and cares for Mo Guan Shan in ways He Cheng will probably never understand. He’s better than He Cheng in a lot of ways that matter, more human perhaps, which suits him just fine. He never wanted He Tian to be someone their family has morphed and twisted to suit their needs and use as see fit. He never wanted He Tian to be like him.

And so He Cheng finds himself indulging in wanting to know the little things that make up his brother. Like how he likes his eggs and how he drinks his coffee.

“He does but I know he hates it. Everytime he drinks it he makes a face like it's poison.” Mo Guan Shan shrugs as he sits down across from him. He hands He Cheng one of the mugs and nurses one himself. “I don't know why he insists on drinking it this way.”

He Cheng just hums, breathing in the aroma of the coffee, not unaware of the way Mo Guan Shan is pointedly looking at him.

“Tian-di probably just can’t be bothered to have it otherwise.”

“Nah. He probably just thinks it makes him all mature and tough. As if cream and sugar makes you weak or some shit.”

Just before they both move to take a sip from their mugs, He Cheng mutters “Idiot” under his breath at the same time Mo Guan Shan scoffs it. They stop and couldn’t help to smirk at their consensus.

It’s good to know someone else can see through his brother’s bullshit.

He Cheng notes that Mo Guan Shan takes his coffee black. Mo Guan Shan just shrugs when he points this out.

“I like the bitter taste. It’s what keeps you awake,” he says before taking another sip. “And you taste the flavor of the beans better without the cover up of milk or sweetener.”

A fair assessment. He Cheng will drink to that.

For a while, they sat in silence as they finish their meals. Then Mo Guan Shan’s phone lights up. He drains the last of his coffee as he swipes at the screen. It seems a message has popped up because he picks it up and types something back. He Cheng surmises it’s probably He Tian, just woken up, asking where Mo Guan Shan is.

"Refill?" Mo Guan Shan offers, walking back to where the coffee pot is.

"No, thank you.”

Mo Guan Shan refills his cup and adds three spoons of cream and two sugar cubes. He Tian enters the kitchen with a jaw cracking yawn just as Mo Guan Shan is back on his seat and finished stirring. His brother takes the seat beside the redhead across from him and He Cheing watches the latter push the mug at He Tian’s direction. The cup is only three-quarts full.

“I’m done. Finish this.”

“You always do this. Why bother pouring a full cup if you’re not gonna drink even half of it?” He Tian quips but takes the mug anyway.

He Cheng notes his brother doesn’t make a face after the first sip. He Tian even licks at his upper lip and a corner of his mouth is quirked up.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“It’s way past noon.”

“It’s my first meal of the day. What’s for breakfast?”

“Scrambled eggs,” He Cheng answers before Mo Guan Shan could and delights at the face his brother makes when he sees what’s on his plate and realizes who made it.

‘What the…’ He Tian mouths as he narrows his eyes at what remains of He Cheng’s meal.

“You know what, I actually don’t want scrambled eggs. I want—”

“Tough shit. I’m already making them and you’re gonna eat it when it’s done.”

He Tian makes a low whining displeased sound but nonetheless doesn’t protest. “Throw in some bacon.”

“Alright.”

He Tian doesn’t offer to help beyond getting the pack of bacon from the fridge, handing it to Mo Guan Shan before returning to his seat. Like it’s routine. Like there’s an unspoken agreement that Mo Guan Shan cooks and He Tian stays out of his way. And He Cheng gathers he’s probably been shooed away and out of the kitchen when the other is at work. He Cheng can’t imagine his brother even knows how to operate a stove — just another thing they have in common by virtue of being born to money.

He Tian's attention is solely on Mo Guan Shan. His back is to He Cheng, leaning against the counter as he talks to the redhead. He asks if he slept well, what he wants to do today, if there’s somewhere he wants to go to, if he wants anything particular for dinner later. Mo Guan Shan makes a comment that makes He Tian laugh but goes over He Cheng's head and he figures it must be an inside joke between them.

There’s a kind of ease to it, the flow of their banter, the way they move around each other. He Tian certainly seems comfortable and at ease, the line of his back relaxed and lacking the usual tenseness of someone always ready to go on either the offense or defense.

Mo Guan Shan mirrors the same ease as he puts down a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast for He Tian, who turns his head to plant a kiss on his cheek in thanks.

The whole thing makes He Cheng feel like a fucking interloper in his own goddamn kitchen.

He Cheng looks at his brother with his own plate of scrambled eggs and Mo Guan Shan's mug of coffee, the one with cream and sugar he said he couldn't finish so He Tian would take it, and thinks it's the best life he could have ever hoped for him.

“Wash the dishes when you're done,” Mo Guan Shan says as he scrolls through his phone.

He Tian looks at the sink and makes a face at the pan and other things Mo Guan Shan used to cook.

“Man, do I have to? This isn’t even my house. And there are maids for a reason.”

“Tch. Spoiled brat.” Mo Guan Shan lightly pinches a chewing He Tian’s cheek, bulging with food. “Exactly. This isn’t your house. You use them, you clean them.”

“Cheng ate, too,” he nods to where He Cheng is finishing up the last of his meal. “Why don’t you make him do his dishes?” he says with a smirk, thinking he’s on to something.

“He’s letting the four of us stay for the summer.” Mo Guan Shan takes He Cheng’s plate and the empty glass of juice when he sees he’s done and soaks them in the sink. “Here. In this house that he owns. In an island that is his. For free.” He sends He Tian a look that says, ‘need I say more?’.

“What are you talking about? I’m paying for our stay here you know.”

“Oh, really? With what? Sure as hell haven’t seen you so much as touch your wallet since we got on the boat.”

“My sanity.”

Mo Guan Shan’s hand flexes and for a moment, He Cheng thinks his brother is gonna be hit over the head with the frying pan.

“Just,” the word is sighed through gritted teeth, “do the damn dishes. It’s not that hard.”

“Why don’t you do them then?”

“I already cooked, asshole. I ain't washin’ the dishes. 'sides, you're the last to finish eatin’ so you get to clean up. Them’s the rules.”

“Fine, but I'm only gonna wash mine,” He Tian declares, viciously biting on a chunk of toast.

“It's one plate and a mug, Tian,” Mo Guan Shan sighs sounding like he’s had this exact conversation a thousand times. “Don't be a little bitch and wash them all. Don't waste soap.”

“Baby, look around. We can afford the waste.”

Mo Guan Shan levels him a look which He Tian stares right back as he continues to chew. It goes on for maybe a minute or two. A standoff with just their eyes, willing the other to back down first.

He Cheng doesn’t quite know what’s going on between the stare down and the silence, but He Tian is the first to look away with a groan. The one to concede first, apparently.

“Uuughhh! Fine! Fuck it! Fine! I'll do the damn dishes.”

“Yeah, as you should,” Mo Guan Shan quips looking satisfied with his victory. He Cheng marvels at how easy it is for him when getting He Tian to do anything, even if it's for his own good, has always been like pulling teeth. “I’m gonna go call my mom. There's more coffee in the pot. Creamer ran out, but there's milk in the fridge.”

“You know I only take my coffee black.”

Mo Guan Shan watches with a flat expression as He Tian sips ‘his’ coffee with cream and sugar. He catches He Cheng's eyes and shoots him a look that says, ‘are you seeing this shit?’ which He Tian doesn’t catch.

“Uh-huh, sure.” He doesn’t bother contesting. “There’s more toast in the bread box.”

“Buttered?”

“Butter it yourself, idiot,” Mo Guan Shan shoots back making a face at him.

“Can’t even do that simple thing for me, babe? Really starting to doubt this relationship right now.”

“Good. You shouldn’t get too complacent anyway, dick head.” He hops out of his seat and swats at He Tian’s grabby hands. “Do the damn dishes or I swear to god you won’t have anything to doubt anymore.”

He Cheng watches the exchange and feels like he’s in a sitcom. He thinks about how his initial plan to get a bottle of water has led to him being caught between his brother and his boyfriend play fighting, flirting, and the domesticity of it all. He thinks about asking Mo Guan Shan how he does that whole thing where he just stares at He Tian and makes him yield but figures it would only work if you're Mo Guan Shan.

He remembers a time when He Tian lowered his pride. Impulsive, insolent, and desperate, he came crawling back to He Cheng and was even willing to go as far as becoming something he hates. All for the sake of some boy, some school friend, some little pet project that he picked up because he was bored that morphed into something else, something more.

Mo Guan Shan made He Tian care for another. He made He Tian care so much he was willing to make himself into a monster for Mo Guan Shan, but stopped him just in time from going the deep end and even made him more human. Hell, Mo Guan Shan made He Tian care about himself. And for all that, He Cheng is grateful.

"Thanks," he says as much and means more than just the best scrambled eggs he's had in a while, but Mo Guan Shan would never know it. "You really didn't have to."

"Huh. Oh, uh, sure.” It catches Mo Guan Shan off-guard, halting him from leaving the kitchen. He looks a little sheepish as he says, “It's nothing, really. It's just…it’s just eggs."

He Cheng just hums and nods at him once in dismissal.

“Why are you so mean to me?” He Tian shouts after Mo Guan Shan, who’s already rounded the corner and only shouts back, “Dishes!”

He Tian scowls but there’s no real heat in it. He even asks He Cheng if he wants the rest of the coffee, which he declines, when he stood up to get more toast before tucking back into his eggs.

He Cheng sees that He Tian is happy, thinks Mo Guan Shan brings out all the best in him, and hopes to all the gods he doesn't believe in that his brother don't ever fuck this one up.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until He Tian asks, “What?” around a mouthful of toast.

“Nothing,” He Cheng says as he finishes his coffee, and as he stands up he says, “Make sure you bring him along everytime you plan to come over. Otherwise, don’t come at all.” And just to spite him, he slides his empty mug closer to He Tian. “And make sure you do the damn dishes.”

He gets the desired effect. The glare his brother sent him is acrid and his next words make He Cheng want to laugh.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

“I didn’t. Mo Guan Shan did.”

“Whatever. Shut the fuck up.”

He Cheng just smirks and doesn’t hit him for his impertinence if only because He Tian grumbling, “I was gonna do them anyway” has already made his day.

Later, as He Cheng sits on his desk looking over his schedule, he sees that he has an appointment with their legal team. A thought strikes him and he scribbles a curt note at the margins and tells his secretary to summon the family lawyers too.

He might as well update the family registry.

edit: now posted on AO3! glad you guys like this piece. please leave kudos and comments there as well. thank you! :)

#19 days #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #he cheng #he cheng and mo guan shan have a moment #in which mgs asks hc how he likes his eggs #hc thinks ht really lucked out on mgs #hc thanks mgs for making ht happy #not out loud tho lol #writing

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hanasnx · 3 months

Note

Waaaaitttt I saw the Hayden suggestions and I’ve unashamedly thought about the very top one many many times cause I’m embarrassingly craving that y/n moment and I’ve gone to a decent amount of cons and met a fair amount of celebs I’ve debated about using one of the pheromone perfumes to meet Hayden. But like yess he sees you during the photo op and he’s instantly drawn to you. He doesn’t pay much attention to that thought cause he’s got a long line to get through and photo ops are fast paced but then when you go up to get your autograph that’s when he can sneakily make a move. When you get an autograph the handlers write your name for the celeb on a sticky note and usually the celeb doesn’t take it off so like I’m thinking he quickly scribbles his number on it and you’re so star struck you don’t notice it until you’re away from his table..but that’s how you end up in his hotel room that night with your legs up over your head.

-Bimbo Baggins

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: i gatekept this message it was so good

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN tries to stay in his lane. Over the years he's gotten exceptionally good at minding his business, minding his manners, and staying out of trouble. Mixing business with pleasure is a very steep cliff, one he rarely dares to approach. However, you had caught his eye in a way that hadn't occurred in a very long time. To give everyone fair treatment during these photo ops, his attention is solely on them during, and he did not mind at all holding your gaze when you shook his hand politely. Habitually, when you'd leaned over in front of him to give one of the attendants something he didn't care to look at, he snuck a generous glance at your ass. As soon as you stepped back to stand next to him for the picture, he accommodated you, moving aside so you could tuck under his arm, and scolded himself for giving in to the temptation.

"Can we do a sort of Anidala-wedding scene pose?" you had asked with such hope, gazing up at him with stars in your eyes. He took too long to answer.

"Of course." He nodded as soon as he got a hold of himself. "Can you show me what you mean?"

Gently, you directed him, handling his broad shoulders to turn him towards you so you could look deeply into his eyes for the picture. For one second, he could swear his heart skipped a beat. Next thing he knew, the picture flashed and you were saying your thank yous and goodbyes. A seed of disappointment grew in his chest, but he moved on.

Only to find himself eager sitting in his seat at the sight of you in the autograph line. A grin spreads on his features as you approach his booth.

"Hi again." you exhale, beaming.

"Good to see you." Hayden replies, pointing out the obvious humor of coming across you twice in a row. He's thankful, scribbling his signature onto the picture frame you'd bought earlier right after your photo op with him. A split second decision is made and it gives him no time to second-guess it when he's adding his number to the sticky note. It's his WhatsApp, just to stay safe, but you don't get time to even look at it, your attention solely on him when you thank him again. He nods at you, and watches you walk away. Once more, his eyes flash to your behind and how it sways in your little cosplay outfit.

It's not always about instant attraction for him, he has to get to know the person to know if he truly likes them, but there's something about you that draws him in. He wants to get to know you, even if he might be compromising his privacy. The ball is in your court, all he has to do is wait for you to notice the gift he left on your sticky note.

"What's that?" your friend asks, pointing to your picture frame in your hand. You grin widely at them.

"Hayden Christensen signed my picture with him— Look!" you exclaim, raising the item into view only to see what your friend was actually referring to. Your expression drops at the sight of ten numbers in a recognizable pattern. A phone number. You face away from your friend in an instant, keeping it to yourself and shielding it with your body. "No way. No fucking way—"

"Is that a phone number? Lemme see—!"

You pinch your shoulder, jerking it away from their touch as you ogle at the sticky note. "There's no way..." It's a dream, it's a fantasy, you're going to wake up any second and then have to get ready to go to con to meet Hayden Christensen for the first time.

"Relax! It's probably the staff member that wrote your name on the sticky note!" your friend reasons, poking their head around your neck and through your hair to sneak a peek. "'Sides, he's like a thousand years old."

"Be quiet for a second, lemme think." you say as you stride away and out of the exit area, scanning your surroundings for a place to chill out and sit.

"If you're that bothered, we should test it! C'mon."

"Okay, okay. Let me find service I have to download an app."

You don't even know how it happened, all of it was a blur. One moment you were texting to verify the number was who you thought it was and ignored your gut feeling when you were texted back two simple words: "Call me."

With all the power within you, you tried to remain as calm as possible while on the phone with him. Constantly, you reminded yourself that "He's just some guy." So you could fathom having a real conversation with him. It turned into him inviting you out, somewhere respectful and secluded to talk after his panel, snowballed into visiting his hotel bar, and then up to his room to sit on his balcony.

"You mind if a smoke?" he'd asked. You shook your head. And it was the first time you'd tried a cigarette. The end still wet from his lips around it, and he cupped his big hands around the mouth of it so he could light it for you.

It must've been the alcohol, or the long day, but when you'd kissed him you were sure you were possessed. His lips were soft like silk, warm and plump, and he slid his hand behind your neck to make sure you couldn't run away. Tongues coated in nicotine curled against one another, experimenting as if afraid to turn the other one away.

Taller than you, you had to crane your neck, but he held you so carefully. Gentler still even when he draw you away while your lips were still pouted and pliantly awaiting his return. "I'm sorry, I apologize. I don't know what came over me." he exhaled, releasing you. But you didn't listen, clutching onto collar of his jacket to draw him right back in.

"Oh, right there. Right there!" you plea, clawing at the hotel pillows above your head as Hayden rolls his hips into you. Big hands tuck into the crooks of your knees, folding your legs over you to hit that spongy spot inside you. Cunt up to the sky, he's slamming into you like he's done it before, a sheen of sweat to his forehead. "That's so fucking good, Hayden," you draw out the words in a sultry whine, and for one second you can't believe that you get to say those words right now. Quickly drawn back in to the moment as soon as he bottoms out for the umpteenth time, screwing your fanatic brains out.

"You feelin' good? Yeah?" he exhales, and his tongue forms over his upper lip as he splays a hand under your ass. It feels so big on you as it lifts your hips up into his thrusts. "Keep those legs up for me." You do as you're told, replacing his touch on your thighs to make sure, and you overlay one of his hands. A strangely intimate and endearing detail he takes to heart, watching your little fingers grab at his in the crook of your knee while he's yanking your cunt up by your asscheek.

"Please don't stop, please!" You want to stay here all night, all next day, forever. You want to live in this little bubble.

In a way, he helps you to achieve that by giving you his real number when it's time to leave his hotel room, and makes you promise to take his call whenever he's in the area again.

#indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!!#bimbo-baggins #tw age gap #indy: drabbles #ch: hayden #hayden christensen drabble #hayden christensen prompt #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen x fem reader #hayden christensen x reader smut #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x y/n #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen fanfic #hayden christensen fanfiction #reader insert

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just-jordie-things · 10 months

Text

[part eight] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part eight] : "Bury A Friend" ___

(y/n) knew she wasn’t the ideal choice of mentor to Megumi. But she was the only choice. So she did everything she could to teach him everything she knew. Megumi wasn’t always fond of spending his after school time learning, especially the more boring lessons (y/n) provided like history, or the specifics of the prominent families.

“This is important, Megumi” (y/n) said to the boy that had thrown his head down against the table.

“I’m tired of studying,” He groaned. “I want to learn more about cursed techniques!”

“And you will,” (y/n) told him. “But I need you to understand this”

“Why?” The boy whined, turning his head so his cheek rested on the kitchen table, staring at her. “Who cares about a bunch of old people?”

(y/n) laughed at him, reminded of Satoru and his distaste for the elders as well.

“These old people control everything in the jujutsu world,” (y/n) said. “They’re in charge of all the rules, and they have the money to enforce them. They’re very powerful, Megumi, and they don’t take kindly to those who defect”

“Defect?” He asks, confused.

“It’s what they call sorcerers who… don’t play by the rules” She says carefully.

“Bad guys?” Megumi asks. (y/n) nods.

“That’s one way to think of it” She sighs.

Her hands are wringing together, and she can barely look at him. The young boy frowns.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, lifting his head.

“Nothing, honey, I just want you to pay attention”

“You’re bad at lying,” Megumi deadpans. “Are you defecting?”

The question makes her eyes sharpen, and she stares at his inquisitive face. She doesn’t want to tell him the truth. She knows he won’t accept another lie.

“There’s a lot of things that won’t make sense right now,” She explains to him. “I’m not trying to lie to you. I’m just trying to keep things easy-”

“Well then make it make sense,” Megumi cuts her off, shrugging his shoulders.

(y/n) gives him a look, shaking her head.

“Is it because of me?” He asks. “Are you going to be in trouble because of me?”

“Of course not,” She lies with ease.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, she leans closer, staring at him with complete sincerity in her eyes.

“Of course not” She repeats.

Megumi nods, a little bit. He believed her.

It was the first time she’d told a decent lie. And it was probably the most important one.

“Okay,” He sighs. “Then what’s so tricky to understand?”

(y/n) sighs, and she wishes she had spent more time practicing her cursed technique so that she could teleport away. He was too young to be told the complete truth. Even if he did understand it all, it was a harsh reality to bring a seven year old to

“Let’s just say your Dad had a knack for making things complicated, okay?” (y/n) says.

Megumi snorts.

“Yeah. He sucks”

(y/n) nods, smiling endearingly back at him.

“I’m not trying to lie to you,” She tells him honestly. “But there’s a lot you still need to learn, and it can be complicated. Is it okay if for now, we just take this all step by step?”

The child nods in agreement,

“Yeah, that’s okay” He says.

“Okay. So let’s go back to the big families” (y/n) says, drawing a chart on a scrap piece of paper of the big three.

The rest of their little study session goes well. Megumi is a good learner, who picks things up quickly once he’s shown them. (y/n’s) grateful he’s such a smart student, because she knows she’s a terrible teacher.

Once he’s got an understanding of the important families in jujutsu society, she decides to call it a day, with the promise of practicing with his shikigami over the weekend. Megumi seems excited enough by that, before he runs off to tell Tsumiki about everything he’d just learned.

(y/n) stayed at the kitchen table, and once he was out of sight, she allowed herself to hold her head in her hands. Her eyes fell shut, and she let out a shaky breath.

The idea of telling him the truth one day makes her gut twist into sharp knots. Had there been anything in her stomach, she certainly would have rushed to the kitchen sink, keeled over it, and emptied it out.

Was this a mistake? She asked herself. If I hadn’t gotten involved, could Megumi had happily gone with the Zen’in Clan? Now that I’ve harbored him and Tsumiki, have I made their lives worse?

Her fingers dragged against her skin as she lifted her head. Just as she opened her eyes, she noticed her phone was silently ringing on the table, the screen lit up with a photo of Satoru.

She answers it, bringing her phone to her ear.

“What’s up?” She asks.

“(y/n)...” Satoru’s voice is serious.

She sits up a little straighter in her chair.

“Satoru, what is it?” She asks. It wasn’t like him to hesitate.

“How quickly can you come to the school?” He asks her.

“What happened?” (y/n) ignores his question. “Is something wrong? Is someone hurt?”

“I can come get you. Where are you-?”

“Satoru,” (y/n) cuts him off, standing from her seat suddenly, causing the chair to knock over and clatter to the ground. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“(y/n), I don’t want to tell you on the phone. Just- please, I can come and get you right now-”

“Just tell me!” She’s yelling now, not thinking twice about raising the attention of the others in the house.

Unbeknownst to her, Megumi and Tsumiki had rushed into the kitchen as soon as she’d knocked over the chair. They stood in the doorway, watching her with worry.

“It’s Yu,” Satoru sighs. “He went on a mission with Nanami, he’s-”

“I’m coming” She says firmly, before ending the call.

She turns around, about to go straight to Megumi and Tsumiki to tell them she had to go, only to find them right in front of her. She startles, not having heard them come into the room.

“Hey, guys,” She sighs, crouching before them. “Something happened, I have to go a little early”

“Is everything okay?” Tsumiki asks worriedly. (y/n) forces a smile on her face.

“Everything will be fine,” She tells her. “But I need to go”

“You’ll be back on Saturday?” Megumi asks, his voice small.

“Of course,” (y/n) assures him. “I can’t wait to see your Divine Dogs, Megumi” She adds, bringing a small smile to the boy’s face, even though he knew she was hiding something, and things weren’t alright as she was trying to make them seem.

“Be safe,” She tells them as she stands. “I’ll be back on Saturday”

They both bid their goodbyes as (y/n) goes out the door as hastily as she can without running. She mutters the incantation to lower a curtain hurriedly, and as soon as she seals the house under her protection, she brings her middle and forefinger to her forehead.

___

(y/n) appears suddenly at the school, stumbling on her feet a bit from the messy and sudden teleportation. Her mind had been anything but clear when she’d summoned her cursed energy to bring herself here. However this was the fastest way she could get here.

Her mind grows foggier, and eyelids heavier as she takes a few steps forward, dragging herself to the front doors. Sleep threatens to overcome her, but she pushes forward anyways.

Teleporting like this was a risky choice, knowing she had yet to keep herself conscious after doing so. But she had no other choice, and she was here now. All that mattered was finding-

“Satoru”

As (y/n) opens the door, she finds her friends, along with Nanami and Yaga right at the corridor. She stands in the open doorway, or rather, she’s leaning on it, desperate to keep her body upright.

Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru rush right over to her, assuming the worst.

“Are you hurt?” Shoko asks, scanning her for injuries.

“Where were you?” Suguru asks.

She doesn’t answer either of them, she can’t focus on calming their worries when she knows something terrible has happened.

“Satoru,” She says to the man who hadn’t torn his gaze away from hers as soon as she’d arrived. “What- what happened? What happened to Yu?”

The room is silent. Shoko and Suguru step back a bit, realizing she wasn’t in any danger, she was just wiped and starting to lose consciousness as a result of prematurely using her cursed technique.

The white haired sorcerer frowns, and reaches out to try to help her stand better. She shuffles back against the door, shaking her head.

“Tell me,” She mumbles, her throat tightening, and burning. “Tell me what- what happened to Yu?”

“I’m sorry, (y/n/n)” He says softly.

There’s tears pooling in her eyes as she stares back at him. She starts to shake her head in disbelief, but no words come out.

“Yu is dead” Another voice answers her question.

She looks past Satoru’s shoulder, to where Nanami is hanging his head, eyes focused on the floor.

(y/n’s) breath catches in her throat, choking her. She sputters out a few shaky pants, before her knees give out and she’s crashing towards the ground.

Satoru’s faster than her fall, an arm wrapping around her shoulders to keep her steady on her knees in front of him. Her head lands on his shoulder, tears seeping into his shirt as she begins to cry.

Shoko and Suguru look at each other, while the Six Eyes user silently tries to comfort her, his hand rubbing circles over her back in smooth motions.

“I don’t- I don’t-” (y/n) stammers over her words, despair, confusion, and exhaustion clouding her ability to form a proper sentence. “I don’t understand- how- why-”

Satoru shushes her quietly, knowing any minute now she was going to close her eyes and succumb to the fatigue. He dropped his head so he could speak quietly to her.

“I’ll explain everything” He murmurs into her temple.

Her body shakes against his. He has to close his own eyes to keep himself from tearing up just from seeing her in so much distress.

“Satoru- don’t-” (y/n) mumbles, fists weakly grabbing at the front of his uniform.

“I won’t go,” He assures her.

Her body starts to feel a little heavier in his arms.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up, I’ll tell you everything”

Her eyelids feel too heavy to bear, and when their weight is too much, she finally lets them close. Shortly after, her breathing evens, and her body is slumped in Satoru’s arms.

“She teleported here,” Yaga says as Satoru gets a better hold on her, lifting her up with ease. “That was the longest I’ve ever seen her stay awake after teleporting without a hex”

“She was anxious” Satoru replies, about to walk away.

“When she wakes, tell her when she’s ready I’d like to speak to her” His teacher says, before he could walk too far away.

Satoru turns on his heel, his eyes fixed in a glare.

“She was only able to keep herself awake so long because she was grieving,” He said with a harsh tone of voice. “She just lost someone she cares about. And when she wakes up, she’s going to go through it all again,”

Nanami watched Satoru intently as he spoke sharply towards Yaga.

“Don’t you dare try to get her to use that to perfect some stupid cursed technique,” He continues. “Not a word of this to the elders” He says, head jerking around the room to make sure everyone present understood he was meant to be taken with absolute seriousness.

Everyone slowly nodded their heads.

“Understood” Yaga sighed.

“Good,” Satoru muttered. “Now I’m taking her to rest. Tell everyone not to bother her, or I’ll rip their head off”

He finally leaves, teleporting himself to (y/n’s) room. It’s dark, but Satoru leaves it that way as he carefully tucks the dozed off girl into her bed. She doesn’t squirm or make a single noise as he covers her with the blanket.

Once he deems her comfortable enough, he wanders over to her desk, grabbing the chair from it and quietly placing it beside her bed.

He rests his head in his hands as he sits.

Why wouldn’t she just let me come to her?

Selfishly, he doesn’t want her to wake up anytime soon. He doesn’t want to face her and relay to her how Yu’s mission had gone wrong. He doesn’t want to be the one to bring her such bad news, to break her heart.

Yet at the same time, a part of him does want to be the one to tell her, so that he can be there for her if and when she needs him. To dry her tears and tell her good, sweet things to comfort her.

It’s all a mess, he thinks, bringing his gaze up to the sleeping girl before him. ___

[TWO YEARS AGO]

(y/n) leaned further out the window of the classroom she was currently hiding in, making sure that all of the smoke she blew out her lungs went out the window. Sneaking a cigarette on her first day of being at Jujutsu High was a bit reckless, sure, but her nerves needed to be relaxed and so far this was the first method that worked.

“That’s a bit stupid, isn’t it?”

She jolted at the sudden voice behind her, the cigarette in her fingers falling from her shock. It fell straight out the window, and onto the ground. Her jaw dropped as she watched a group of jogging upperclassmen run right over the thing.

Well, at least it was stumped out and she didn’t have to worry about starting a fire on her first day.

Annoyed, she spun around to see the perpetrator that had so rudely interrupted her.

It was a boy, standing in the doorway of the classroom. He had lightning bright hair and an even brighter grin. The oddest part wasn’t even the sunglasses he chose to wear inside, but how it seemed that even when she scowled at him, that grin remained.

“Having a cigarette on your first day here?” He chuckled. “Do you know what they would’ve done to you if you’d been caught?”

“Kicked me out?” (y/n) scoffed. “Don’t you think I already knew that consequence when I lit it?”

The boy laughed. It was bubbly, and as annoyed as she was with him, she found herself fighting the urge to laugh as well.

“You’re right. I owe you one. Luckily I’m friends with the biggest nic addict here, so you’re lucky”

“Lucky?” (y/n) repeated in a monotone voice.

“Sure are,” He replied. “You’re the new first year right?”

(y/n’s) brows drew together, disturbed that this overbearing boy already seemed to know who she was, and she had no idea who he was.

“Yes…” She answered slowly. “I’m (y/n)”

“Gojo Satoru” He introduced himself, walking into the classroom with his hand outstretched.

With a huff, (y/n) reaches her hand out to meet his, only to find something stopping her just an inch before touching him.

She retracts her hand instantly, and suddenly his name clicks in her mind. He seems amused that she’d reacted to his Infinity in such a way.

“Shit,” She mumbled, her wide eyes staring up at him. “So you’re the Six Eyes everyone’s been talking so much about”

“Oh yeah?” He raises a brow, tucking his hands into his pockets. “They sayin’ good things?” He asks.

“They’re saying you’re the most powerful sorcerer,” (y/n) replies. “So I suppose it depends on who you ask,” She answers. “Whether or not that’s a good thing”

Satoru scoffs, his grin faltering for a brief second. He had not expected such a cryptic answer. Usually people flocked to him, always wanting something from him. Clearly he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with this one.

“Normally being the best at something is a pretty good thing” He said smoothly. (y/n) raised a shoulder and cocked her head to the side.

“Maybe,” She mused. “But I can do something you can’t”

He leans forward with a smirk, entering her personal space and peering down at her through his shades.

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” He asks slyly, clearly expecting some sort of sexy response.

(y/n) doesn’t give him the reaction he was looking for, instead keeping her face blank as she responds.

“Fly under the radar,” She answers.

His brows pinch together, chuckling to himself. As if he’d ever want to do that. What a stupid thing to brag about.

(y/n) steps around him, heading out of the classroom.

“Don’t forget you owe me a cigarette, oh powerful Gojo” She calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

[PRESENT DAY]

Back when he’d first met (y/n), Satoru remembers that more than anything, she confused him. She was probably the first person in his life to ever treat him like he wasn’t the most important person in the world. She had weird opinions and a weirder personality.

And he was enamored with her.

It had taken him some time, maybe more than most, to figure out what she’d meant that first day they met. He spent nights awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering why he’d want to fly under the radar, as she’d said. But as he found his friends, Suguru, Shoko, and found himself in the meantime, he finally figured it out.

By that point, she’d already written him off. Perhaps she didn’t hate him, but she certainly didn’t want to spend time with him if she didn’t have to. Lucky for him, their mutual friends brought them together more often than she would have liked, so she had to get to know him anyways.

Years of training together, class together, hanging out with their friends, going on assignments- little moments and inches of steps brought them closer together. Eventually he saw her give in a little, and (y/n) let him care about her, even if she wouldn’t reciprocate.

She stopped ignoring his texts, started laughing at his dumb jokes, and sometimes, Satoru swore that he would catch her smiling at him. She openly enjoyed going on assignments with him, even if it was just from her competitive nature. When Yaga would hand them the same mission, she’d smile at him, followed by her typical attitude. But there’d be a bounce in her step.

He had been there the first time she’d tried to teleport without a hex. She had been trying to save someone. A kid.

The poor thing had been standing before a Grade One curse, trembling, frozen in fear. Satoru had seen him first, but (y/n) was acting before he could. She was too far to make it on foot, but without a second thought she did something she didn’t even know she was capable of. It was as if human instinct and cursed energy merged in that moment, her drive to save that child overpowering her body and teleporting her there in the same instant she’d seen him.

In a second (y/n) was no longer by Satoru’s side, and was a few hundred feet away. Her arms wrapped around his small body, and she stood there just long enough to scream for Suguru to exorcize the curse. He came just in time, and once more, (y/n) disappeared from where she stood.

Kneeling at Satoru’s side, she kept her hands securely on the young boy’s shoulders. He remembered the rushed, worried way she’d spoken to him.

“Are you hurt? Are you alright? Do you know where your parents are?”

Satoru remembered when the boy finally ran off to where his parents were just a block away, (y/n’s) hands were shaking. Just as he was about to congratulate her and help her to her feet, her body gave out. Her eyes were shut and she was passed out before she’d even hit the ground.

That was a year ago.

Now, Satoru thinks that his stance with (y/n) is even messier than before.

He’d thought that he’d made some progress, redeemed himself a bit in her eyes. At least he’d hoped he had. She spent more time with him than she had before, and it wasn’t completely against her will. Satoru had been overjoyed when she’d agreed to join him for breakfast. He’d spent the whole day with her after that, and not for a second was he able to stop looking at her. She’d only grown more beautiful, more confident and sure of herself, and as they matured bit by bit together, Satoru was certain he was only going to fall harder for her.

He’d known her for years now, and every day she challenged him in some new and exciting way. He used to enjoy that about her.

Now, it brought him an immense amount of stress.

Not knowing where she was going when she snuck into town, not knowing what she was up to when she snuck back in late into the night, it had him worried sick. He knew she was capable of protecting herself, she was a strong fighter, and loved her cursed tools almost as much as her friends.

But no matter how slowly the curiosity killed him, he knew he had to drop the subject.

After a lengthy discussion with Shoko, where she told him in all seriousness that she was certain (y/n) was meeting up with a lover, someone she cared about deeply and wanted a future with, he had buried every last feeling he’d had for her.

He’d decided he had to. If he didn’t want his heart broken, he’d have to move on from her.

That was easier said than done. ___

(y/n’s) eyelashes fluttered for a brief moment, followed by a small groan. It took a few minutes of stretching her tired limbs before she finally opened her eyes, and to her surprise, Gojo Satoru was sitting right there.

“You’re awake” He said softly.

(y/n) sat up and looked around herself, just to be sure she hadn’t woken up in the infirmary. Just as she thought, she was in her own bed, her own room.

And then it all came flooding back to her.

“Yu…” She mumbled, her voice cracked over his name. “He’s really gone?”

Silently, Satoru nodded his head.

(y/n) leaned back against her headboard, her eyes on her lap as she processed this information rather slowly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Satoru said quietly, reaching his hand out to her. “I know you were close”

To his surprise, she took his hand when he held it out, her thumb pressed to his palm and her fingers wrapping around his securely.

“He just wanted to be nice and walk me home,” She said softly. “He was just trying to be a good person and I- I pushed him away”

Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes as she remembered the last time she’d really spoken to him. She’d seen him in passing since that day in Tokyo, but she’d been in such a rush all the time that she’d barely said more than a hello to him.

And now he was gone.

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Don’t blame yourself for anything,” Satoru said, his thumb stroking over the back of her hand gently. “What happened was an accident, no one could have known”

She looks up at him, her tears falling freely now.

“What happened?” She whispered out.

Satoru sighed, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head.

“Him and Nanami went on an assignment. It was supposed to be a Grade One… but…”

“Special Grade…” (y/n) mumbled, eyes falling away from his, glazed over as she thought it over.

Her hand that wasn’t in his tangled in her sheets, fisting them tightly until her knuckles turned white.

“Did they exorcize it?” She asks, her voice dropping an octave.

Satoru shakes his head.

“Nanami brought Yu back as soon as it happened. They sent Suguru first thing this morning”

“It’s morning?”

“Almost seven” Satoru nods.

“It’s Friday” (y/n) confirmed, and he nodded again.

She nods back at him, the gears in her head turning.

She didn’t have to be at the Fushiguro house until tomorrow.

“Have you heard from Suguru since he left?” She asked.

When her eyes meet his again, there’s something there that he’d never seen before. Something cold, and calculating.

“Don’t even think about it” He told her before she could even suggest what she was thinking.

(y/n) releases his hand, shuffling off the bed, but as soon as she stands, he grabs her by the shoulders to stop her.

“I said don’t even think about it-”

“I’m going” She cuts him off, staring him directly in the eyes so he could see that there was nothing that could stop her.

“(y/n), Suguru will take care of it, you know that-”

“It has nothing to do with that,” She snaps back at him. “Yu was my friend. I cared about him- and- and now he’s gone and he’s not coming back and I can’t just sit here and-”

She’s getting choked up over her tears, and she raises her hands to violently wipe them from her eyes.

“I can’t just sit here and cry about it!” She wails.

She falters then. The tears spilling over her cheeks won’t stop flowing no matter how much she wipes them away, she’s sobbing now, her whole body trembling.

Before she can fight him, Satoru pulls her into his chest. She doesn’t put up a fight. She lets him hold her and she doesn’t hold back a single sob that wracks her body. He carefully sits them down on the edge of her bed, and she throws her arms around his neck as she continues to break down.

They sit together for quite some time. (y/n) doesn’t leave his arms. Satoru doesn’t let her go.

It’s a long day spent in the darkness of her room. He brings her food and a new box of tissues every few hours, but for the most part, sits with her while she lays in bed. Sometimes he holds her hand, sometimes he rubs her back. She falls asleep here and there, but never longer than half an hour.

When it’s well into the middle of the night, she calls to him.

He’s sitting in bed with his back to her headboard while she’d been laying on her side, faced away from him. But suddenly she turned over.

“Satoru?”

Her voice is strained, tired. Her throat was surely sore from her day of grief.

He looks away from the book he was reading, something he’d stolen off her shelf. Her eyes are sad, but no longer filled with tears, as she looks at him. He hums softly in response to her, his hand sliding down the mattress to find hers.

When her fingers weakly brush into his, she tangles them together, slotting her own through the spaces between his. His hand is warm, and comforting.

He’s warm and comforting.

“You’ll stay?” She murmurs, briefly looking from his eyes to his hand in hers, and then back up to his eyes. “Through the night?”

Satoru sets the book down in his lap, and now that it’s in her line of sight, she can see that he’s reading her copy of Charlotte’s Web. The smallest of smiles tugs on the edge of her lips. She had pulled it out of a box of old storage from her childhood just a week ago, having a newfound soft spot for the story after reading it cover to cover for the Fushiguro kids.

“Of course, sweetheart,” He tells her, and when she looks back up at him, she can see that he means it with every ounce of sincerity.

He picks the book up again, only to slide it onto her bedside table. She watches as he then throws back the covers, sliding his long legs under them, and then the rest of his body.

He’s eye to eye with her as his head hits the pillow, and she can’t bring herself not to stare at him.

They’re incredibly close, since her bed wasn’t exactly made for two people, but the nerves that she would normally feel having him so close to her that she could feel his soft breath on her lips is nowhere to be found.

In fact she smiles. It’s small, and her lips tremble in the slightest, but it’s a smile for him nonetheless.

Satoru squeezes her hand.

“I’ll stay as long as you’d like me to,” He tells her, his voice a hushed whisper. “I’ll stay until you force me to go”

She squeezes his hand back.

“Can I request one more thing?” She murmurs. He nods. “Would you read to me?”

He turns to reach for the book right away, double checking what it was he’d been mindlessly reading just moments ago.

“Charlotte’s Web?”

She nods.

“It’s grown to be a favorite of mine” She tells him.

“Then of course I will”

He rolls onto his back, and he lets go of her hand so that he can open the book, flipping back to the first page. Once he’s found a comfortable angle, he slides an arm around her shoulders, tucking her in close to him, to keep her comfortable, before he begins to read.

Satoru doesn’t even make it through the first chapter before (y/n’s) dozed off, her head resting on his shoulder, the rest of her body completely curled into his.

He finds himself getting tired shortly after as well. When he finally gives into the drowsy feeling, he places the book on her bedside table, and lays his sunglasses on top of it.

He forgets all about how he was supposed to be burying his feelings, he forgets about the stranger she’s been going out with, and all that’s on his mind as he falls asleep beside her is the hope that tomorrow will be a fresh start for her. He hopes that she’s able to work through her grief, and begin the journey to move past it tomorrow. He hopes that she’ll let him help her.

Satoru falls asleep listening to the soft, steady buzzing of her cursed energy beside him. It pulls him away like a lullaby.

___

xoxo - jordie

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fanfiction #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo imagine #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

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miraclewoozi · 10 months

Text

UNDER THE COLLAR. -l.sm

your unlucky-in-love best friend goes on a date with someone who, by all accounts, should be his perfect person. so... how exactly do you end up being the one who tucks his sorry, drunk ass into bed?

pairing; lee seokmin x gn!reader. (he calls reader pretty once but that is all<3) content; fluff / some mild angst towards the middle / pining / friends to… still friends but with some ~tension~ and a snuggle? w/c; 4.6k and a smidge. warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption (offscreen), drunkenness, some suggestiveness (MINORS DNI), reader has some hard thoughts, a bit of affectionate touching but nothing deliberately sexual? seok is needy and cuddly (and a terrible flirt). let me know if i've forgotten anything! note; this was originally gonna be part of a mini-series/multi-chap situation but!! i ended up hating the full thing and only being attached to like. two parts of it lol so here we are! there could potentially be a second part to this? if people want it? i don’t know yet! but this kinda just works as it’s own standalone thing anyway i think~ happy sunday <3

The first text comes through just after you finally set your phone down on the bedside table. Your eyes are dry and have started to sting from a long evening staring at screens, your bones feel impossibly heavy, and you think maybe you’re settling down for a semi-decent night’s sleep when you hear the buzz of a notification. A buzz you initially plan to ignore. It can’t be anything that important: who would be trying to reach you at this time of night, anyway?

You roll away from the device and snuggle down into your pillows, pulling the sleeves of your — his — jumper down over your palms and resting them just in front of your face. This particular garment stopped smelling like Seokmin after the second time it went through your washing machine, but there’s a familiarity in the slightly rough inner lining that makes you want to wear it to sleep in every night, forever. He never liked it when his hoodies were too new, too soft, leaving balls of fluff all over his t-shirts and vests; you don’t know when you started to feel the same way, but you’ve realised recently that you do.

Your eyes flutter closed and your body relaxes, head starting to feel fuzzy in that calm, white-noise, lovely way. You haven’t felt this tired and genuinely sleepy for… months. It’s bliss.

And then your phone buzzes again. You squeeze your eyes tighter, determined not to lose this warm, comfortable feeling, but your phone vibrates and vibrates and vibrates and with an audible groan, you sit back up, reaching over to see what, exactly, is so damn important at 02:23 in the fucking morning.

Seokmin’s contact name flashes up on the lock screen and you see that there are seven unread messages from him in the space of the last 3 minutes. Instantly, your brows draw together: he’s seldom shied away from a double text, but you’ve never known him to pull a septuple, and you can’t feel but feel a little bit of dread in your stomach as you read through them.

> seokmin: yn

> seokmin: ynnnnnn

> seokmin: i lied

> seokmin: i didmt go homr yet

> seokmin: can you come get mr

> seokmin: mr

> seokmin: m e

You shoot back a message instantly asking where he is, turning on your bedside lamp and already swinging your legs out from under the covers. You keep hold of your phone in one hand, waiting for it to buzz again to tell you he’s given you his location. With the other, you search for and pull on some sweatpants, sliding into a pair of sneakers. His replies come simultaneously too quickly, and entirely not fast enough.

> seokmin: u knkw the bar in town with the bear statiiue oitside

> seokmin: lol

> seokmin: do you think i ciuld beat thsi bear in s fight???

> y/n: christ. okay, wait inside for me. i’ll be there in 15.

> y/n: also, no. you couldn’t. x

Your veins feel alive with adrenaline and worry as you grab your keys and head down the stairs to your car. The drive is quiet — you don’t even waste the few seconds it would take to plug into the AUX and pick a playlist, leaving it up to the radio to keep you company on the way. It doesn’t take too long: soon enough, you’re pulling up alongside the infamous bear statue to find your best friend sitting on the curb, propped up against the marble base.

“I thought I told you to wait inside?” you chide, rolling down the passenger side window so you can announce your arrival. It’s like he’s moving in slow-motion, or maybe your words just take an extra few seconds to reach him? Either way, he doesn’t lift his head until a silence has settled between you, and he doesn’t smile until his slightly glazed-over eyes land on your face.

“Y/n!” He cheers, lifting himself off the floor and staggering upright, pushing a hand through his hair. “Hi! Yeah, I know — but look, it was too hot in there. It was so hot. And I didn’t want you to wait-…” Hiccup. “To have to wait for me.”

He slides into the passenger seat with a contented sigh, a mess of long limbs he can’t quite control, adjusting the vent in front of him so that the cold from your air-con breezes against his flushed cheeks. As he settles, you reach over him, pulling his seatbelt across his chest.

“I was getting to that,” he whines, pouting his pretty lips at you, and you click the belt in place with a laugh. History tells you that when he’s drunk, Seokmin doesn’t always believe in the power of the seatbelt, among other things, so you think maybe you could be forgiven for not believing him this time.

“Okay, dumbass. Sure you were.”

He reaches down into the passenger footwell for your AUX cord, bumping his head on the dashboard and letting out an exaggerated hiss as he sits back upright. Nonetheless, he plugs his phone in and presses play on his own night-driving playlist, holding the device between both of his hands as you start off towards his place.

“So…” you prompt, because he’s staring blankly out the windscreen with a tiny smile on his lips and you’re concerned that maybe, this time, he has actually managed to drink himself stupid. He rolls his head over to look at you, and fond bliss is written into every line of his face. “What happened?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, still just… staring at you as you drive. Staring, even though every detail of you is committed to his memory already. Staring, even though he knows how your eyelashes flutter when you blink. Even though he knows how the muscles in your throat bob as you swallow the saliva on your tongue. Even though he’s sat in your passenger seat enough times to remember exactly how the late-night glow of the street-lamps overhead catch and illuminate the curve of your nose, how they highlight the point of your chin. He knows all this, but he can’t help himself. Staring is… indulgent. So, so indulgent. But he is pretty drunk and he can get away with it when you’re focused on the road — at least, that’s what he tells himself.

When he does attempt to speak, just as you slow to a stop at a set of traffic lights, the sparkle in his gaze falters. He faces forward again, shoulders rising and slumping in a meek ‘I don’t know’.

“She was… perfect, I think,” he tries to explain, and you glance across to look at him; his lips are both non-existent, pulled between his teeth and he has worry lines creasing up his forehead. With the hand not holding the wheel, you reach over, pressing your fingertips to where his eyebrows have scrunched to try and get him to relax the muscles there. It sort of works, if only because he releases an involuntary breath of a laugh.

“Not perfect,” you gasp, dramatic and teasing even though it stings a little to hear him say that out loud. “I mean, that definitely explains why you were out drinking, alone, three hours after you told me you were heading home.” He turns his head fully away from you, now, letting your hand drop dangerously towards his lap. You pull it back to yourself before it collides with his jeans, clearing your throat. The traffic signal changes to green, and you drive ahead. “I’m kidding. Come on. Talk to me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, despondent, crossing his arms over his chest. You’re not sure you’ve seen him acting like this since you were teenagers. It’s a strange twist away from your usual, very easy-going banter.

“Seok...” You try again. “I won’t stop for nuggets if you don’t tell me.”

“Don’t stop, then.”

“Seokmin…”

“Don’t-…” It comes out quickly, the vein in the side of his neck popping until he takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “Y/n. I’m tired, I just-… I don’t wanna talk about it. Can you please just… take me home?”

He’s still struggling with his words, but he isn’t abrasive in the way he speaks; that’s something you learned about Seokmin very early on in your friendship. He doesn’t raise his voice at you. He doesn’t get deep and gravelly when he’s pissed off. He just… seems to let himself feel things super intensely for a few seconds at a time and then he short-circuits, goes flat. It might be convenient for him, but it gets frustrating for you. Especially when he encourages you to open up to him as much as he does.

His head is bowed and cradled in his hands when you pull up outside his apartment block, and you unfasten his seatbelt for him which jolts him upright. You stay facing front, though, guilt coursing through your veins at the thought of maybe having pushed him too far. You just want to understand. Why was his date being good such a bad thing?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be,” you tell him, and he scoffs, but quietly.

“Y/n,” he sighs, his crown falling against the headrest; he reaches over to you, places a hand just above your knee, and you try to ignore how it feels like someone has crashed their car into you from behind. How your heart lurches forwards in your chest. How your adrenaline spikes.

“I mean it. I shouldn’t have kept pushing. I’m sorry.”

He chews this over for a moment, but he doesn’t remove his hand, and you find that maybe you don’t want him to. Not yet, at least.

“Will you help me get up the stairs?”

“Of course I will.”

With one of his arms over your shoulders, your own supporting his waist, the pair of you begin the obnoxiously long ascent up through his building to his apartment. He’s lived here for a year and a half, and you think maybe the elevator has been working… for a total of about a week, since then? God forbid he ever got injured and couldn’t climb six flights just to get himself home. The climb is bad enough as is.

Somewhere around landing number four, Seokmin pulls away from you, mumbling something about having the spins and needing to sit down. You ease him to perch on one of the windowsills, sitting down next to him with your arm still around his hips to keep him balanced on the narrow ledge.

“You should’ve taken me back to your place,” he grumbles, doubling over with his elbows against his knees and his fingers linked behind his neck, taking deep breaths.

“Get your feet flat on the floor. Look at your shoelaces. Breathe slow. It’ll help,” you coo, and he shuffles a little so that he can do exactly that (not without wobbling and almost landing on his face, and he thanks you and your “super strong arms” for keeping him from such a fate). After a few more seconds of deep breathing and grounding, he lifts his head. Crisis averted.

“Are you-… like, a witch, or something?” he asks out of nowhere, and you snort so loudly that your throat hurts. He keeps staring at you, waiting for you to answer. Apparently your laugh wasn’t response enough.

“What are you talking about, Seok?”

He rolls his eyes at you, as if you should just know. “How did you know how to fix me? It’s like magic.”

“Because I know you, stupid. Come on. Two more flights and I’ll get you into bed.”

“S’that a promise?” he asks, grinning to himself as you haul him back to standing, and he stumbles slightly against you, hands braced on your ribs. Sweating a little, you manoeuvre yourself away from him, landing a gentle, playful hit to his side.

It doesn’t make your heart flutter, hearing what can only be a drunk rendition of his bedroom voice. It doesn’t. It doesn’t. It doesn’t.

“Save it for your next date with Ms. Perfect, would you?”

“Agh. You’re the worst.”

“I know. Now come on.”

After a few minutes of fumbling through Seokmin’s pockets yourself for his keys (it’s as if he’s forgotten how both hands and pockets work in his now very giggly stupor), apparently brushing every single one of his ticklish spots on the way, you’re inside his apartment and on your knees, untying his shoes for him, easing them off his feet. You don’t think he can be trusted to lean down to do it on his own without breaking something.

Or himself.

“If you go get ready for bed, I’ll bring you some water?” you suggest, sitting back on your heels, smiling up at him. There’s a weight in the gaze he’s looking down at you with, in the way his tongue darts out over his lips, and how his mouth doesn’t fully close after. You tell yourself he’s definitely only looking at you like this because he’s drunk, because you’re helping him — the boy doesn’t know ass from elbow, right now — but there’s no escaping the fact that your stomach drops a little at his intensity.

“Okay,” he strains after a moment, and you stand up and away from him, kicking off your own shoes. He heads in one direction towards his bedroom, and you move in the other towards his kitchen.

Stop it, you tell yourself, leaning over the sink and splashing cold water from the faucet onto your face. Stop thinking about him like that. He’s your best friend. Stop it.

But… shit, you can’t get those big brown eyes out of your head. The way he looked down at you, the softness of his brows, the heat radiating off him. There’s nothing you can do to stop the way your thighs press together standing in his kitchen, in clothes that— you realise now— are entirely his. The hoodie. The sweatpants you pulled on. They’re an old pair that he let you steal just after your most recent breakup, when you’d stayed on his couch for a week straight just so you didn’t have to look at how ugly and empty your own apartment was. Everything. Even down to the socks.

You thought it was hard enough hearing that he was going out for dinner to your favourite restaurant with someone who wasn’t you; nothing could have prepared you for standing in his kitchen at three in the morning, hot under the collar over five seconds of tipsy eye contact, knowing he’s getting undressed behind the door you’ve been staring at for… minutes, now. Actual minutes.

Oh, you think, feeling your blood run cold.

Oh.

I want him.

More minutes pass as you stew in this information — in the knowledge that you’re fucking desperate for the man who has been there for you through everything important enough to remember, and probably everything you’ve forgotten, too. The boy who took you to all of your school dances and was the perfect date, the perfect gentleman, the perfect partner. The man who has sat next to you in the doctor’s waiting room more times than you can count, waiting for results and sitting outside appointments that he told you that you were brave enough to book. Seokmin, who has been under your nose this entire fucking time — you want him, the man who went for dinner with his dream woman, today, and he said she was perfect. Acid burns the back of your throat as you fight not to run all the way back down to your car.

Fuck. It gets astronomically worse. I love him.

“Y/n?” you hear, and his whiny, gentle voice glides across the apartment like it’s been mounted on a cloud, blown straight into your ears. It floats around in your brain in the most beautiful way, and you think there could be love-hearts in the reflections on your eyes even despite the stress you’re now under. It occurs to you that his faucet is still running, and you still have two empty glasses sitting on the counter. How long has it been? Get it together.

“Just a second,” you call back. Your voice breaks as you say it and you can hear him fucking giggle from behind the ajar door to his bedroom. The fluttering in your stomach worsens, and by the time you’ve shut off the tap and you’re walking through to him, you’re wondering if it’s possible for people to grow butterfly gardens inside themselves without noticing. No-one has ever made you feel this nervous, before.

Breathe, you tell yourself as he comes into view, already snuggled down against his pillows with the top of his bare chest and shoulders visible in the low light.

Fuck.

This is the last thing you needed.

“Hi,” he greets you, pushing to sit up with eyes softer than the glow of the setting sun. “I missed you.”

You stand corrected. That is.

“You’re such a loser.”

You set his glass down on his bedside and crouch next to him. “Did you brush your teeth?” you ask, and his face transforms from a stupid childish pout at being teased to a devastatingly bright grin.

This running joke you’ve shared between yourselves since your first night on the town together illuminates him, and he nods, proudly, his hair falling down over his face. You reach up to push a few strands away from his eyes, despite yourself.

“Sure did,” he tells you, and you believe him but you raise a brow anyway. He’s so pretty. With his playful smile, tongue held between his teeth, his nose a little scrunched. Fuck, how can anyone be so pretty?

“So if I go check your toothbrush, right now…” His smile turns into a laugh, his head lifts into your lingering touch until his cheek is fully rested in the palm of your hand. Stupidly, you tell yourself that this could mean something. Maybe he wants to feel you more.

“You could find out another way,” he says, his voice dropping half an octave as his already heavy eyelids blink slowly at you. It’s a good thing you’re already on your knees because that tone could have you sinking to the ground in a split. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth fleetingly and you think you’re one more line away from melting into the floorboards.

“You’re so out of it,” you murmur, shaking your head at him. “Did she make you get the oysters? Are you high on aphrodisiacs right now?”

He groans again and rolls onto his back, a hand dramatically coming up to cover his eyes.

“Stop talking about her,” he whines. “I’m with you. I don’t wanna talk— I don’t wanna think about her right now.”

“Seokmin-…”

“Y/n,” he interrupts, lolling his head to the side, looking at you through impossibly long, dark lashes from between his fingers. “Please.”

You’re not sure what the pull in his voice is in aid of but you force yourself to let it go, pushing yourself up to your feet before you can fall forwards into him.

“I’m gonna head home,” you say, the quiet between you laying thick and heavy against your skin. “Text me when you’re awake tomorrow, okay?”

He contemplates this for a second, frowning; he doesn’t say anything as you start backing towards his bedroom door. Then…

“Please don’t.”

He says it so quietly. So hushed, you think you might have misheard. So delicate, you hold your breath just in case you somehow manage to shatter the moment.

“Don’t what?” You ask, stopping in your tracks. He breathes deep and props up on one elbow, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t go.”

Glued to the spot, you stare at him. You feel your head tilt to the side without really controlling it, and an eyebrow creeps up your forehead, slowly.

“I left some lights on in my apartment,” you say feebly, and even though it’s true, a selfish part of you hopes that he’ll still keep trying to talk you around. It won’t take a lot to convince you. It never does.

“So?” he asks, the duvet slipping just a little further down his upper half, baring more of his chest to you. “Please. I don’t want to be-…”

You swallow, waiting. The cogs in his inebriated brain are surely rotating at a few hundred miles a minute, his eyes almost desperate. Certainly glossy. Absolutely breath-taking.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Your already fragile resolve snaps under the pressure of his words and you’re moving towards his bed before you can stop yourself.

“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you say, offering him one last out if he wants it, but Seokmin just shrugs and peels the duvet back for you to slip in beside him.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, and you gesture for him to look away so, at the very least, you can shimmy out of his sweatpants. He does, and you do — a few seconds later, with the garment in question folded neatly on the floor by his bed, you’re pulling the sheets over your legs and burying down against his cushions.

His breathing matches yours inhale for exhale and the more you let yourself think about this, the worse you feel even though maybe you shouldn’t. How many times have you drunkenly shared Seokmin’s bed, or how many times has he shared yours? This isn’t new. Even sober, you’ve been curling up together on the couch to watch movies and sleeping with your heads in each other's laps for years. There’s no reason for the guilt that’s burrowing its way deep into your brain, but you can’t seem to get rid of it, no matter how hard you try.

“Y/n?” he asks after a few minutes of you lying stiff as a pair of boards, a few inches of cold mattress between your wide awake selves, both of you staring up at the ceiling. You hum an acknowledgement, and he clears his throat. “Can I hug you?”

Your heart does something you’re a little bit afraid of, but you nod in the dark anyway, before you realise he can’t really see you now all the lights are off.

“Drink some water first,” you tell him lightly. “Then you can.”

There’s something undeniably nerve-wracking about the sound of him obediently swallowing a few mouthfuls from the glass you brought him earlier, even more-so in the way he sets it back down on his dresser. The bed rustles a little as he moves towards you, the sheets shifting over your bare legs, and then he’s got an arm slung over your waist, his head is on the very edge of his pillow, right next to your own… he slides a leg over one of yours, slotting it between your calves, and before you know it, you’re completely wrapped up in him.

He’s warm, and soft, and his fingertips gently soothe circles into your waist where they’ve slipped just underneath the hem of the sweatshirt you’re still wearing. You hum gently, moving your arm so that it snakes beneath his neck, curling up to wrap around his shoulders. This close, you can smell the cologne he will have put on before meeting his date. It makes you dizzy, slows down the neurons firing away in your brain. You wonder what’s going through his own head — what he’s thinking about, being curled up against your side like this. Does he recognise the slight stuttering in your breathing? How cold you are in contrast to him? Will he even remember this, in the morning? Or will you just wake up on opposite sides of the bed tomorrow, all this just a weird, foggy memory in the dark?

His head burrows slightly closer to you and all of a sudden, you can feel him breathing. Every exhale fans against your neck, right where it feels sweetest; Seokmin breathes through his nose when he’s sober, but through his lips when he’s drunk. You’ve never noticed before. It’s maddening.

“Comfy?” you ask, your voice dry and unsure, and he wriggles a little with a nod to affirm that yes, he is. Something about that makes your cheeks go hot.

“Always sleep better with you,” he murmurs, and your face grows even warmer. You tell yourself he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just drunk. It doesn’t help.

“Then sleep,” you say as his hand moves just slightly further up beneath the hoodie, the tips of his fingers gently tickling your lowest rib. You have to fight back a whine. “I’m here. You can sleep.”

“Thank you, y/n,” he breathes, and you turn your head: now your eyes have adjusted to the low light, you can sort of make out his features, so very close to you. This proves to be a mistake almost instantly, but you can’t look away. His eyes are closed now; you’re glad. He looks too sweet. Too peaceful.

“What for?”

“Everything.”

“Seokmin…”

“No, I mean — everything.”

You move your hand up slightly, fingers playing with the strands of his hair at the top of his neck, and he whimpers softly at the touch. You freeze, and he nuzzles back against your hand to beg you to keep going, so you do.

“You can’t thank me for everything,” you tease him, and he chuckles breathlessly, his palm now laying flat across your rib cage, curling around your side. Holding you. Claiming you, just for now.

“Can,” he protests, and you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh. Against the rules.”

“What rules?”

“My rules.”

“I didn’t know you had rules.”

“I’ve got hundreds,” you tease, threading your fingers through his strands and gently massaging his scalp. Another whine from him, but you don’t stop. Especially not when he hugs you closer, arm and leg both tightening around you.

“Hundreds?”

“Mhm. Maybe even thousands.”

“Well. Fuck.”

You breathe a laugh at him, and he laughs back; within a few seconds, you’ve both dissolved into giggles, and Seokmin has squirmed even closer until he’s half-covering you, actively chortling into your covered collarbone.

“You’re s’posed to be getting to sleep,” you sigh as his own laughter picks back up following a few seconds of deep breathing and quiet.

“I can’t!” He says. You can feel the pout in his own voice, even with his face hidden. When did he end up practically on top of you? When did your arm slip down to around his waist?

“You have to. You’re gonna feel so shitty tomorrow if you don’t.”

“I know. M’probably gonna feel shitty anyway, though.”

“Come on. Close your eyes. Count back from a hundred. You can do it.”

It falls silent again, and you delusionally tell yourself that maybe it’s working. Until…

“Can you lie on your side?” He asks, and you sigh dramatically but nod anyway: as he peels himself off you, you roll over, facing the wall in the foetal position. He’s right back against you in a blink though, legs tucked up behind yours, trying to find your hand under the quilt.

“S’this okay?” He asks as he accidentally brushes your thigh in his search, fingers lacing through your own when he finally succeeds. Your now joined hands work their way into the hoodie’s front pocket, and everything starts buzzing when he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Y-yeah,” you swallow. “S’good.”

“Good,” he mumbles. A few deep breaths later, his voice rumbles against your earlobe again. “You looked so pretty for me tonight, y/n. Dressed up in my clothes — you’re so pretty.”

“Go to sleep,” you whimper, grateful at least that at this angle that he doesn’t see how your face scrunches up, how wide your smile is, how ridiculously good he makes you feel.

Euphoria. This is euphoria; you never want it to end.

“Count for me,” he asks, dropping his head down so his brows rest against your back, now. So you do.

“A hundred… ninety nine… ninety eight… ninety seven…”

His breathing is slow and his grip on your hand is slack by the time you reach eighty three. You doze off too, not very far behind.

thank u for reading all the way to the end!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always appreciated<3

#dk fluff #seokmin fluff #lee seokmin fluff #dokyeom fluff #dk x reader #seokmin x reader #lee seokmin x reader #dokyeom x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #j writes.#*#(in case we wondered: i am not better at tagging things this time around heh<3)

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