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moonchildstyles · 8 months

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élan

élan part one: harry is a bodyguard by trade and y/n would do anything just to be left alone

wordcount: 18.5k+

cw: her dad is really mean tbh!! pls skip parts w him if you are senstive to that kind of thing!

—————

(Y/N) fought to keep her eyes focused in the dark of her father's office. The longer she sat there, listening to the shout of his voice, the easier it was to block it out as she waited for it to be over. She stopped listening when he went off on his tangent about how terrible she was (he loved to use the word selfish and anything he could think of to diminish her intelligence). He wasn't very creative anymore, these berating sessions feeling like a necessary task as opposed to a hurtful punishment these days.

At least the interior designer he brought in last month had moved everything around, leaving his bookshelf behind his desk. This way, she could look over his shoulder and read the titles of his books. She was almost certain he hadn't read a single volume though he most likely told everyone that followed him in, that he had paged through each book more than once.

"Are you even listening, (Y/N)?"

Perking up at the sound of her name, she nodded on instinct. "Mhm," she hummed absently.

"What did I just say?" He was unimpressed—disbelieving.

(Y/N) stayed silent.

A heavy sigh fell from her father's lips. His eyes dimmed fro the angry fire she'd spotted before, leveling to disappointed embers the longer he looked at her.

"This is what I mean, (Y/N)," he continued, harshly spitting out her name, "You don't care. Never have you thought about the consequences to your actions. You're too selfish to think of anyone but yourself!" The blaze sparked up once more as he flicked his gaze to the glossy tabloid splayed across his desk. "Can you even comprehend what this"—he gritted out the word, tapping his finger against the photo—"means for me? My investors are going to have my ass only Monday because you don't know how to control yourself for five minutes."

She squirmed in her spot. Her gaze stayed locked on the tabloid cover. She was pictured with bitter features, her brows twisted in anger and eyes were ablaze. Her hand was outstretched as she dumped a full glass of rosé on Damien Moore's perfect, blonde head. Several angles were posted, documenting her gaped lips as she spat out venomous words while Damien looked on with seemingly innocent, wide blue eyes. The last in the series showed her walking out with the wine dripping down his features as he looked on in shock. A bold headline said: "Whore-mones or Another Drunken Rage?"

(Y/N) swallowed as she took the scene in.

Perfectly manicured nails clashed in her lap, the edges of her acrylics being worn dull from the restless ministrations.

"Do you want me to fail?" her father prodded, unsatisfied with her silence.

"It's not what it looks like—," she floundered, unable to keep her feelings out of it after looking at those photos, "He—Damien—"

"It does not matter what happened, (Y/N)! This is what it looks like and that is what people are going to believe and what they are going to care about!" He seethed as he looked at her, (Y/N) unsurprised. "You're going to make us lose everything if you keep this up, do you understand that? Your apartment, everything you have in Paris, your stupid shopping sprees—you'll actually have to work if you want any of that. Did you think of any of that?"

His harsh words slipped around her, filling every breath of air she pulled into her lungs. Any fight she had, any want to defend herself or give any kind of explanation, left her in an instant. "No," she answered, resigned.

"I didn't fucking think so. You never think, anyway."

(Y/N) just looked over his shoulder. Her gaze didn't shift even as his voice continued on, droning with insults and degrading remarks.

She hadn't even known she was being photographed that day. There wasn't a single flash or shutter of a camera. The restaurant had even gone out of their way to assure them that no one would be able to slip inside without a reservation or loiter along the sidewalk in wait.

But, inside sources and photographers always found a way, she supposed. Especially since it wasn't just her, it was her and Damien Moore on something that looked like it could have been a date. Of course paparazzi were going to find a way to get a photo of them together—anything to help fuel the rumors filling gossip pages and social media.

This particularly source even went so far as to claim they were close enough to overhear the argument that sparked the thrown wine. Supposedly, (Y/N) had been seeing someone behind Damien's back (something that was impossible given the fact she had Damien weren't even talking like that, let alone in an exclusive relationship), and when he confronted her she blew up. She was so hopped up on her "whore-mones" as the headline so eloquently put it, and the obviously unfinished glass of wine, that she just had to throw the drink in his face.

Because of course it was (Y/N)'s fault. Never could it have anything to do with Damien. He was the sterling Yale grad that came from the perfect family, while she was the "party girl" with divorced parents and a wild past. It was always going to be her fault, because that was more interesting than checking your sources.

At least, that's what the "journalists" and "sources" said.

It came with the territory, her dad had told her when she was freshly sixteen and photographers started waiting outside her private school. If you wanted to make the kind of money he made and be important in this world, there was going to be consequences, that's what he'd said when he saw the first photos of her and her friends having lunch on the quad. She was a pretty girl, anyway, of course there were going to be photos taken of her. She might as well take advantage of it instead of whining.

She became a tabloid bunny before she had even turned eighteen, with every misstep documented on the internet and whatever publication bought the photos as exclusives. Because of that, this lashing was nothing to her. She'd "poorly reflected the family image" enough time to let her dad's words roll off of her.

Her father was going to probably send her to the home in Malibu or whatever vacation rental was farthest from New York until he could stomach seeing her again. She'd happily take whatever location; it wasn't like she wanted to see him either.

"(Y/N), we can't keep doing this." Finally focusing her gaze, she saw her father sitting with his eyes sealed closed, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't keep doing this."

As much as she was numb to moments like these, it was when his anger melted away and she was left with a disappointed father that she felt cracks appear in her walls. The little girl inside still ached to see her daddy so upset with her; so disappointed he couldn't even look at her.

"I'm sorry," she offered, something genuine lying beneath the deadpan tone.

"I'm sure you are," he sighed, "But, that's not enough anymore."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, lipgloss smearing across her pout, she stayed quiet.

"At this point, it's like you need a babysitter again. You can't be left by yourself and expected to behave."

Not this again, she wanted to grumble. Her last "babysitter" was nothing more than an uppity handler that cared more about PR rather than her actual well being.

Beginning to shake her head, (Y/N) tried to politely decline before he steamrolled over her.

"I'm going to have to hire someone, whether you want it or not. A bodyguard, a handler, or something, just to follow you around and keep you out of trouble."

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes widened at his plan. Her last handler didn't do more than text her throughout the day and meet with her once a week. He wanted someone on her back all the time?

"Don't you think that's a little extreme?"

He still wouldn't look at her as he spoke, "Since you keep acting like a child, that's how I'm going to have to treat you."

A slight panic sparked in the pit of her stomach. If she couldn't have her freedom, then what was any of this for? None of this—putting up with her father, allowing him to jerk her around, take his berating—was fucking worth it, then.

"Dad, seriously," she tried again, her hands beginning to shake, "Those pictures aren't what it looks like, I promise."

"And the others?" he asked sharply, whipping his gaze to match hers intently, "The one with you and Francesca sneaking out of a club at three in the morning when you were nineteen? The one of you screaming at Terra at her birthday party? Or, of course, the clips of you showing off your underwear while getting out of some random man's car?"

(Y/N) shut down at the mention of her most famous and well photographed mistakes. He never bothered to get her side of the story to those photos either, he just liked to bring them up to taunt her. He'd rather believe an "insider" over his daughter. It didn't matter that she was his family. It only mattered what his investors thought, or the men at the country club, or whoever he was trying to cozy up to for his benefit. Every attempt to clear her name was thrown out; not even when she showed him that one of these insiders had found her home address and started sending her letters. Not even when she told him she was beginning to get scared did he even pretend to care.

"That's what I thought," her father continued after she left them in silence, "Now, I'm going to have to hire someone to ensure you don't keep causing trouble, and you are going to respect them. If you want any chance of me letting this go, you're going to respect them more than you apparently respect me."

She stayed quiet. There wasn't anything she could add to this.

"Is there anything you want to say?" he pressed. A faux offer of debate.

(Y/N) only shook her head.

"Fine," he spat out, "Then go to bed. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."

She was up and out of her seat immediately, not wasting a single second before her Dior heels were rapidly clacking over the cherrywood floors of her father's office. Her eyes were on the ground, watching the transition between the wood to the sparkling marble throughout the rest of the flawless Upstate mansion. Everything was high-end and fine, perfect and unburdened. It was full of everything her dad wanted her to be but she could never manage to be as well behaved as a lamp or as quiet as a Persian rug.

Trailing through the labyrinth of staircases and sealed doors, (Y/N) beelined to her childhood room. It was left exactly how it had been when she moved out at nineteen. It had way too much gold and hidden compartments her friends made to hide liquor for their slumber parties. Her bed was too big with a mattress that was too stiff and sheets too starchy from disuse.

Her dad never bothered to clear it out or even change a single piece of furniture—not because he cared or wanted her to have a space in his life, but because he didn't think of her enough to even remember this was here.

Shedding her Chanel sweater and dropping her skirt to puddle at her feet, (Y/N) dressed down to her undergarments before stealing an oversized shirt from a film festival she and Francesca had been invited to at seventeen. The fabric was soft and worn as it fell to the middle of her thighs, the fit slouching and stretched just like it was all those years ago.

That was all the comfort she could find as she slipped into bed, the sheets dragging across her bare legs. With her head cushioned by an overstuffed pillow, (Y/N) shuttered her eyes as she laid of on her back. Taking in deep breaths, she did her best to keep herself from shedding any tears.

There wasn't a single reason she should cry over her father. There was nothing there for her to be upset over; none of his words sliced the way he thought they did, that father-daughter bond having been severed when she was way too young. Her efforts were better utilized trying to figure out how to get out of this whole thing.

Aside from the fact she didn't want a handler—or whatever this babysitter's official title would be—following her around, she needed her freedom. Having the space away from her father's world was the only thing keeping her sane, even if she was barely hanging on.

She'd been suffocated enough of her life, she needed to find a way to get this pair of strangling hands off of her neck sooner rather than later.

—————

"He literally arranged a flight for me to meet him in Greece, but he only ever messages me after ten like I'm a booty call or something."

Francesca's babbling complaints were some of her favorite things. It was fun hearing what the biggest problems in her life were, as if it was really such a bad thing to have a billionaire entertaining a romance with you. Even if it only occurred after ten p.m.

"Isn't there a time difference between here and Greece?" (Y/N) asked, the Prada and Dior bags in the crook of her elbow brushing against each other as she raised her hand to flick a strand of hair off of her shoulder. Summer was beginning to fall over the city, that much she could tell from the humid breeze twirling around them.

"I mean sure, but that's not the point," Fran argued, breathing out a frustrated sigh, "It's like he doesn't think I'll ghost him if he starts annoying me. He's not the only one with a yacht, you know."

"I know, bu—"

(Y/N) was cut off by the sound of her phone vibrating in her bag, the device rattling against her lipgloss tube. Francesca paused her story, watching as (Y/N) pulled her phone out of her bag. Clocking the name on the screen, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. There had already been a photographer taking photos of them through the windows of Prada and she wasn't sure if they'd followed, but a picture of her rolling her eyes before answering the phone would surely be spun into something sensational.

"Hold on, it's my dad," she mumbled before pressing the phone to her ear.

Without waiting for a greeting, her father brightened through the receiver with a call of her name. "(Y/N)! Are you still out with Francesca?" She could hear his smile through the phone. The investor meeting must have gone better than he thought.

"Yeah," she answered absently, "We just finished lunch and shopping. I think we're going to go back to my apartment before we go out tonight. Why?"

"Would you be able to come home this afternoon, instead? There's someone I want you to meet."

The lax in her muscles evaporated at his words. Though it was posed as a question, she knew there was only one answer he would accept. It was never a good thing when he wanted her to meet someone, but it was a required thing she'd learned. More often than not, he wanted her to meet an investor's son, or some man he drank too much with at the country club.

Cautiously, she asked, "Who is it?"

"It's a surprise," he beamed over the phone, "Drop off your things and I'll have one of the drivers come to pick you up."

"I mean, I think Franny actually made reservations at—"

This time around, her father's voice had a curt edge underneath the faux sweetness he started the call with. "I think you're going to have to tell Francesca that you need to reschedule, sweetie," he said, voice too pleasant, "I need you to come home tonight."

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) resigned herself to the change in the day's plans. "Okay, dad," she muttered.

"See you soon, honey! Love you!"

(Y/N) didn't bother to reciprocate his performance, instead just hanging up. He wouldn't shout at her over the dropped call if someone else was present anyway, might as well take advantage she decided.

Beside him, Francesca looked at her with a matching pout. "You have to go home, huh?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathed, dropping her phone back into her purse as they crossed the busy intersection, "My dad wants me to meet one of his friends or something."

Francesca affectionately bumped against Y/N's shoulder as the car taking them back to her apartment came into view. "Well, if you don't like this one, send me his number and I'll take him off your hands. Just make sure he also has a yacht in Greece."

Though her features stretched into a smile with a bubbling laugh, (Y/N) wasn't too impressed with Francesca's comment. While she was the best friend (Y/N) had ever had, the only person that knew much about what happened at home and why she would do next to anything to avoid her father, Francesca didn't get it. She supported (Y/N) and didn't mind being the listening ear and the shoulder to lean on, but she never really understood why certain things bothered (Y/N). Everything was very light-hearted in Franny's eyes—there was never a reason not to be receptive if a rich man wanted to buy her a drink or a company wanted to use her likeness without permission. Everything was an opportunity, not a crossed boundary.

"I doubt he will," (Y/N) played along, setting her shopping bags at her feet after climbing into the black car, "But I'll make sure to put in a good word for you in case he has one in Florence."

Francesca's laugh filled the cab of the car though (Y/N) was already back home with her father, trying to navigate her way out of whatever he planned.

—————

"Thank you, Sully," (Y/N) chirped as her driver helped her step out of the car.

"My pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he offered, waiting for her to steady herself over the gravel of her father's long driveway, "Also, I wanted to say thank you again for the clothing you passed on to my daughter. She loved her prom dress and is already asking her mom if she can get it preserved so she can keep it forever. Thank you for taking the time and picking some things out for her—it made her night."

"Of course," she bubbled, allowing Sully to escort her to the front door of the mansion, "I'm so happy she liked any of it! Let me know if she needs anything else for graduation or anything at all."

The smile on his face made it especially worth it to let go of her favorite vintage Dior gown.

Waving goodbye to Sully, (Y/N) stepped over the threshold of the front door, already regretting not fighting harder to get out of this. Goosebumps touched her skin as the temperature dropped. She shut the warmth outside behind her, the lock ensuring nothing comforting could follow her into the lion's den.

Despite the place being her childhood home, there was nothing left for her here, she knew that. It barely even resembled the same place she used to celebrate holidays and share tense family dinners in. Her dad's favorite interior designer had the pleasure of redecorating the place every few years, erasing anything that made it not look like a catalogue.

Her heels clicked over the floors as she made her way up to his office. She wanted to take her time, but she was sure her father already knew she was there. It was better to refrain from keeping him waiting.

Scaling the stairs, she heard a pair of voices and distant laughter. She didn't need to see the space to know her dad had probably cracked open the decanter of whiskey he had on display on one of his shelves, crystal glasses filled for the both of them. It wasn't hard to imagine the kinds of lines her dad would offer in an attempt to schmooze with whoever was waiting for her. She'd heard it all dozens of times at this point.

The other voice, though, took her by surprise. This one was too deep and mature to be any kind of investor's son, and too sober and untainted by years of smoking cigars to be one of the men at the country club. Her steps slowed some. Her expectations shifted as she trailed down the hallway in the direction of the office, heels muffled by the long rug under her feet.

With the heavy door to his office in front of her, (Y/N) carefully knocked on the panel, listening as the voices inside stilled at her disruption. Typically, her father would just grunt a permission of entrance or already be raging when she stepped over the threshold, but she knew he was committed to whatever show he was putting on when he opened the door for her himself.

"(Y/N), sweetie," he greeted her, toothy smile on his lips. "Thank you for coming so quickly; I know you were busy with Francesca, but I'm happy you're here."

If that wasn't enough, the hug he pulled her into was more than alarming. The last time he hugged her when cameras weren't present was the day her parents told her they were divorcing. She didn't even know how to reciprocate.

Before she had a chance to screw her head on right, he pulled away and began leading her inside his office.

"Of course," she chirped, falling into her designated role for this scene. She kept her gaze high as she followed him in, feigning confidence in the midst of whoever it was that was awaiting her.

"I have someone special for you to meet," he continued, pitching his voice louder as to catch the attention of the one other in the room.

Around his shoulder, (Y/N) spotted a head of brown hair, black clothing stretched around broad shoulders and tan skin on the back of their neck. They faced forward despite the obvious way her father was trying to catch their attention. Pacing her breathing, (Y/N) fell into the loving daughter character, willing to do anything for her doting father.

Welcome to the show. She just hoped it would be a short viewing.

Approaching the pair of chairs positioned before the cherry-stained desk, her father held out a sweeping hand. "Harry," he said, looking to his guest, "This is my daughter, (Y/N)."

At the sound of his name, the guest—Harry—stood from where he was sitting, moving with calculated grace as he turned to face the both of them. He stepped away from the cushioned seats, a stoic expression on his features as he looked towards her.

He wore all black down to his shoes, standing taller than her father's height. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, tan skin and tattoos littering the space. He had beetles and mermaids, hearts and roses inked across, some sketches more faded than others. A cross had even been needed into his hand. The chain of a necklace glimmered in the lowlight though any pendant that may be attached were hidden under the neckline of his top. Moving up the column of his throat, his face was made of hard planes and sharp angles. His nose was strong and straight. Stubble shown blonde in the light across the bottom half of his face, a mole off to the side of his mouth. Everything softened as she matched his eye contact, mossy jade with sparkles of sunlight flecked through. Long curling lashes framed his gaze.

He was gorgeous, that's for sure. Not the usual kind of person her father associated with. He must be some kind of new money millionaire, easily fooled by her father's charms.

The man took her in as well, his gaze observant as if there was a notepad he had in his head to take down every detail of her. It didn't feel like the affectionate gaze she'd felt before tracing down her body. Especially with the way his practiced expression stayed level, a wall hidden behind his eyes.

Nonetheless, she kept her facade up and ready, a beaming smile on her face. She reached out her delicately manicured hand, palm smelling of the Miss Dior cream she'd rubbed over her hands on the car ride over.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she greeted, a mild smile on her face.

His grip was strong as he grabbed her hand, palm to palm with callouses matching the soft parts of her own. "Likewise."

(Y/N) couldn't help but to recoil some as she retracted her hand. It wasn't a new reaction, especially some people who met her after reading too much into the tabloid stories and anonymous blogs. Half the time strangers waited for her to drunkenly blow up on them. Though it wasn't a typical reaction from those who requested to meet her.

Her father didn't seem to pay any mind to the chilled interaction, rounding the width of his desk to take his throne on the other side, leaving (Y/N) and Harry to settle beside each other across from him.

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?"

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now.

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now.

Harry was her new cage.

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away.

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbow propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for. He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."

Bodyguard.

Her personal bodyguard.

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler.

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story.

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out.

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them.

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months.

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed intact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!"

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted.

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge."

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind her back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning.

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused on her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later.

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie.

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act.

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room.

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar.

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her.

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—"

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you."

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier.

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy."

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room.

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach.

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack.

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll whose only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that.

Harry wasn't there to protect her, she knew that. He was a hired hand to put her back in her place every time her father wasn't there to do it himself. He was another body to crowd her into a corner and suffocate her as long as she kept smiling. Harry was another reminder that nothing was allowed to be hers; her thoughts, her time, her space was to be shared just like the rest of herself.

Besides, Harry might be the kind of person willing to sell stories to tabloids. Who better than someone tasked with observing her every mood to be an "insider"? It wouldn't be the first time a Secrets Edition came out about her.

With her eyes fixed to a knot swirling in the marble flooring, (Y/N) tried to unlatch the phantom hands wrapped around her neck.

What was going to be left of her if she was constantly going to be performing?

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) fisted her hands in her lap, the hem of her Dior minidress caught in the fray. She needed to calm down.

No matter what, she was still luckier than most people in this world. She needed to keep that in mind if she was going to keep her head on straight. She was going to figure this out, and she was going to be okay even if a tiny bit cracked at the edges.

Curling up on her dusty bed, she leveled her breathing as much as she could despite the shuddering of her lungs. Every spiraling thought had to be neatly rolled up and put away.

A breakdown was probably on the list of banned surprises her father had in mind, anyway.

—————

Poking at her dry salad, (Y/N) watched the drops of condensation river down her glass of lemon water. Across from her, her father tore at his too-scorched steak, a side of hearty potatoes and glass of whiskey to compliment the meat.

He hadn't said a word to her since she sat down, instead opting to focus on his tailored dinner while she was left with her pre-arranged salad. It was more lady-like, he'd told her once before, to eat like a rabbit. Leave the big things to men—they needed it after running the world, she'd heard him joke though she's sure it wasn't a joke to him.

As heavy as the silence was weighing on her, she wasn't going to be the first one to speak either. He was the one that requested she spend dinner with him, he was going to have to lead the conversation. That left only the clicking of utensils against the fine china plates.

Suddenly piping up, (Y/N) lifted her gaze to her father's as he spoke, "You're going to have to start being nice to Harry, you know. He's not going away until I say, and I could tell you were being fake today. If you're going to lie, at least try harder."

As if her father wasn't the king of phony facades and fake personality traits. He was the one that shattered that illusion the second he couldn't hide his temper with her earlier. It didn't take much to notice he didn't actually care about her.

Those hours in her room left her exhausted, though. She'd cried off and on until she finally convinced herself everything was fine and none of it truly mattered in the grand scheme of things; that her discomfort and fear was something minuscule enough to be pushed to the side and forgotten. She didn't have it in her to debate with him.

"Yeah," she dejectedly agreed, running her fork through the leafy greens on her plate, "Sorry about that."

Apparently, that was the worst thing she could have uttered with the way her father dropped his fork to clatter against his plate with his grip tightening on the handle of his steak knife. His jaw tensed, lips pinched.

"I don't care how you feel about this, (Y/N)," he gritted out, "Don't think I don't mean that. You are going to show him some respect, listen to everything he says, and behave accordingly. Otherwise, he has full permission to correct you as he sees fit. And, he will tell me every time he has to correct you, so keep in mind that any kind of punishment he gives—mine will be ten times worse."

She didn't doubt a word he said. If this was the kind of conversation he and Harry had after she left the room, there was no telling what kind of person her new security had to be to agree to a job with terms like these. She lacked faith in just how fairly he would "correct" her if his thoughts aligned with her father's.

"Okay," (Y/N) mumbled, all the fight in her gone for the day.

Her father sighed, disappointed as per usual. "This is going to be good for you," he told her, condescension tainting his tone, "I know you don't understand that now, but it will be. I just want you to settle down and stop giving people something to talk about. There's no reason to act like that if you want attention. You're pretty enough, people are already looking—there's no reason to be a bitch, too." Picking up his fork, he steadied his steak as he sliced off another too-tough bite. "Your life could be so much different—Damien might even take you back if you just apologized."

The ice cubes in her drink slid against one another, melting in her water. "Okay."

Chewing down his bite, her father took a long pull from his whiskey.

"He starts with you on Friday. I told him to take a look at your apartment and make sure there isn't anything or anyone that isn't supposed to be there." His pointed gaze landed on her over the rim of his glass. "I will hear about everything, please remember that."

His thinly veiled threat swept over her with nothing more than a meaningless brush. She kept her eyes on the drip of water traveling down the side of her glass. A melting ice cube clinked against the side.

"Okay."

—————

Phone pressed to her ear, (Y/N) flipped through her mail while Francesca bubbled in her ear. No matter how hard she tried to condition herself to be the same, Fran was always a much better morning person than she.

"When do you see him again? Do you know yet, or is that a mystery, too?" Francesca was a little too excited to hear how inexpressive Harry had been in her father's office. His stoic coldness translated to mysterious heat to her.

"My dad said he was supposed to start today, but I'm not sure. I woke up early and made an extra smoothie just in case, but he still hasn't shown."

The envelopes in front of her were nothing but junk so far, her attention waning.

"Ooh!" Francesca sang over the phone, "I'm so excited to meet him! We're still on for brunch this Sunday, right?"

(Y/N) faltered where she stood, hands pausing on the collection of mail. "I don't know, Fran," she muttered, shifting her weight over the tiles of her kitchen, "I just—... He'd have to come with me."

"I know, that's the point!" she bubbled, "You said he was cute and young, I want to meet him."

"I know, but I wanted to talk about stuff, you know," (Y/N) pointed out.

"And we will! You remember Barry from when we were in school, right? I promise you, your guy isn't going to care about anything going on as long as you aren't in danger," Francesca continued, referencing her security form when they were young.

Sighing, (Y/N) wanted to correct Franny. Harry wasn't going to be eyeing out any suspects or worst case scenario moments, not if he was following her father's directions. He would be listening in and watching her for any and all infractions she could commit, including any topic of discussion that might be considered unbecoming.

Francesca must have picked up on her lingering reluctance through the phone. "(Y/N), please," she pouted, "I know you're stressed and all about everything, but I don't want this to take you away from me. You can still live your life, you'll just have an extra shadow. That's all."

A beat passed before she felt herself resign. "Okay, but if today is weird with him, I might be calling and cancelling."

"Okay!" she squealed out, feeling as if this was her win no matter what, "Just keep an open mind today, and have fun!"

"I'm sure I will," (Y/N) laughed, "Love you."

"Love you, too! Bye!"

With that, the call went dead leaving (Y/N)'s previous scroll through instagram lighting up her screen. Locking her phone, she took a breath to take a sip of her purple smoothie, hoping the addition of matcha and cherry juice this time would tap into some of her stress points and calm her.

She kept up with her chosen routine for the morning, rifling through the remains of her pile of mail. Under a few more loose pieces of mail and catalogues was a navy blue envelope, stamped with silver starts and sparkling script spelling out her name. A faux wax seal laid the flap shut but gave away easily under a slight pick against the edge. Inside was an invitation to the annual 132 Gala—a benefit for the art gallery of the same name—she'd attended for the last couple of years, the dress code detailed out along with an RSVP request. Honestly, as much as she and her stylist had been anticipating the event, she almost forgot about it in the midst of all the variables entering her life. She was going to have to touch base with Dom to ensure he still had an idea in mind for her gown before she made any commitment.

With the invitation being stowed away for later, a few more pieces of mail were thrown in the trash until she reached the final slip in the stack. She sighed when she spotted the familiar computerized script on the front. It was crumpled and creamy as opposed to a clean white. She was sure that if she had picked it up earlier in the week it would have still had that distinct woodsy scent as opposed to smelling like the inside of her mailbox.

(Y/N) didn't need to peel open the flap to know that inside there would be a stack of glossy photos of her along with a typed letter. She knew there would be photos of her this week entering her apartment, going out with Francesca, driving to her father's, and the infamous event with Damien. Some of those photos would no doubt end up in a publication or posted along with a too-long article analyzing her outfit or body language. They always did.

Without opening the envelope to verify her suspicions, (Y/N) bent to lay this letter with the rest in a drawer filled with junk and things she wanted to ignore. After pushing the drawer closed, she wiped every thought about her "admirer" from her thoughts. They weren't allowed to occupy her brain when there were much more pressing things to worry about.

Flicking her gaze to the time blinking on her stove, she had to keep from rolling her eyes. While she wasn't much of a morning person, she couldn't believe her dad would allow someone to start a work day—no matter how informal—after nine a.m. With the time blinking well past ten in the morning and the sleep officially having been wiped from her eyes, she was growing unimpressed with the fact she was still waiting.

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) centered herself, leaning back against the lip of the counter. She knew there was no reason to be upset with Harry, it wasn't like she had any say in his schedule nor was this lag truly disrupting anything for her. Her anxiety was beginning to manifest in ways she wasn't proud of and weren't helpful in any way.

She thought some early morning yoga and a string of meditative poses would help settle her, work out that energy, but obviously none of that had the desired effect. Every time she tried to picture even what this Sunday's outing was going to be like, she wanted nothing more than to hide away and keep from encountering anyone or anything. It would be easier that way, she figured. That way she wouldn't have to explain who Harry was or why she needed any kind of security.

Francesca was right, though. She knew that. Staying holed up and avoiding the world wouldn't do anything to get her father off her back. If it went on too long, eventually her father would begin picking out events for her to attend, and that was always a much worse outcome than just leaving her house on her own.

Breathing the way her therapist from her teenage years taught her, (Y/N) centered herself as best she could with her bare feet on the cool tile of her kitchen. The chilled glass with her smoothie was slick against her palm, condensation dripping down the crystal.

Everything was going to be fine.

A buzz coming over the intercom knocked (Y/N) out of her head, her eyes flying open with her hand almost letting go of her smoothie. A stunted breath exhaled from her lungs as the moment she'd been waiting for laced together.

She knew that was Harry waiting to be buzzed up to meet her for the second time.

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) fell easily into her role of bubbly socialite. She had nothing to be afraid of, she told herself, it wasn't as if he was going to find anything her father would be ashamed of. She wasn't even his top priority, she reminded herself, her father and his company were Harry's clients, not (Y/N).

Pressing the small button on the stainless steel panel beside her front door, she dipped close to the microphone. "Good morning, how can I help you?" she asked as if she didn't already know what the answer would be.

"Good morning, Ms. (Y/N)," answered the doorman from the lobby, the usual quiet settling in the background as he spoke, "I have a Mr. Harry Styles waiting down here for you. He said he's a part of your security team."

"You can send him up, please," she replied, forcing a chirp to her voice. "Thank you, Claudio!"

"Of course, Ms. (Y/N)," was all she heard back before the static went dead. Claudio was always a bit cold to her, but he never let any of the lurkers into the lobby so she'd take what she could get.

The waiting game started again after the brief intermission, leaving (Y/N) in the silence of her apartment. She was suddenly too aware of the silk of her pajamas brushing her skin, the intricate threading on the hem of her shorts too heavy now.

Lucky enough for her, it wasn't too long before she heard a knock reverberating through the door. It was firm and short, matching the man on the other side.

A shot went through her system, a moment of static hitting her brain. She'd gone through worse bouts of anxiety and stressful situations, there was no reason to get worked up over something—someone—like this.

With her mask on, complete with a reserved smile and detached gaze, (Y/N) opened her front door. The hinges glided like butter, welcoming Harry in where he stood in the hallway.

Dressed in all black as she was starting to figure was his signature, he was waiting with an observant gaze being cast through the corridor. This was one of the few penthouse floors in the building leaving a bare space between where the elevator was stationed before leading to her front door.

"Good morning," she told him pleasantly, "Come in."

With a flourish, she stepped to the side with a space cleared for him to step into her apartment.

"Good morning," he said, a slight smile on his features that appeared for a flash before he was back to his stoic state, "Thank you."

Harry stepped in, acting as a dark spot with his fitted black t-shirt and trousers of the same shade against the understated hues of her home. (Y/N) locked the door behind him before turning to face him once more, a pleasant smile on her face.

"How are you?" she asked, her voice even and warm despite how detached she felt.

"Good, thank you," was his abrupt response, no followup about her own well being for the morning. He cast his gaze around her apartment, taking every corner and curve. She wasn't even sure he had properly looked at her at all since coming here.

"Good," she said, trailing off awkwardly into the space around them. What kind of small talk do you make with a member of your security team? Especially one that didn't seem too keen on knowing their client.

Leaning against her front door, she waited as he observed everything. He looked at her couch the same way he had looked at her days prior, as if he was compiling a list of all its attributes and deciding whether it not it had anything of value within.

It was an odd feeling; she typically wasn't so blatantly compared to furniture to her face, that was usually left to the tabloids and internet trolls.

Seeming to remember that she was still there, Harry stopped his game of finding everything in the room. He settled his eyes on her, a pointed look with a small pinch to his brows.

Taking him in for that moment, she was reminded of just how pretty he was. He didn't look like the kind of man that would be guarding the models and gorgeous people, he should be one of the YSL or Gucci models that needed protecting from the crowds of people trying to get a closer look at him. Off-duty model, she figured would be the name of the article that Vogue would write about him, full of street style photos of him.

With the green of his eyes meeting her own, he didn't waver where he stood. "Jus' go about your day like normal," he instructed her, arms crossed over his chest, "I want to learn your habits and your space first, but if you need to do anything out of the norm, let me know."

"Okay," she sounded, voice quiet to her own ears.

As much as she was sure she was meant to completely ignore him, she still felt odd crossing through her place towards her kitchen. She finished her smoothie and had left her blender and other supplies in the sink, so she could at least do the dishes maybe? At least that way her hands would be busy without plucking at her manicure.

Filling the sink with water, she did her best to treat Harry as nothing more than a shadow. To be fair, it wasn't that hard given the fact he barely made any noise as he traipsed around. It brought back memories of the way Barry used to hover around she and Franny when they were teenagers; it was easy to not pay too much attention to the extra body in the room, but her muscles never fully relaxed.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him poking his head up the stairs to where her bedroom was, casting his gaze towards her ceiling, catching a view out her various windows as he went around. He was a perfect shadow dressed in black, but he seemed a bit too unimpressed for a neutral being.

Harry stepped into her kitchen, the rubber soles of his shoes silent over the sparkling white granite flooring. "Do you have any kind of security system set up here? Cameras or anything like that?" he probed.

Humming, (Y/N) picked up the rag she placed out for drying. "The building has some of those alarms installed with the codes and everything and there's the guys downstairs, but I don't have cameras set up in here or anything."

Perpetually unimpressed, Harry only let out a, "Hm."

She fixed her eyes onto her pink onyx countertops, tracing the swirling white lines in the faint pink of the stone. Why did he even care, she wanted to ask. What good would cameras in her home do when she was a nuisance outside of these walls?

Watching as he headed down towards her guest rooms, she felt her tongue moving before her brain allowed it. "What are you looking for?" she poked, her question simple as he kept drying her dishes before placing them in cabinets.

It wasn't like she was hiding any of the drugs or alcohol her dad surely warned him about, telling him to seek out and destroy before truly starting his job. If that was what he was toeing around her home for, he was going to be disappointed.

He didn't even turn to face her as he called back down the hallway to her, "Nothing in particular. Jus' noting things as I go; vantage points and the complete lack of any useful security around here."

Propping her hip against the lip of the counter, she let out a small sigh. Her hands twirled the rag she had used to dry her dishes, gaze following after her new security detail.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," she started, saving them both some trouble by starting the conversation, "I know my dad didn't hire you to protect me or anything. He wants you protect the public, and his business from me."

His ghosting footsteps came to a stop where stood down the hallway. He was in complete control as he turned to face her, that usual placid look molding his features. "Last I checked, you were my client. Not the public or your father's company."

"But he's the one that's paying you," she countered, unwavering from the point she was trying to make, "I just don't want you to waste your time pretending to find something to protect me from."

That deadpan look never changed from Harry's face. "'M not pretending, 'm doing my job." He paused only for a moment, his gaze bored and heavy on her skin. "Let me know if y'decide to go anywhere."

That was the end of the conversation as far as (Y/N) was aware, Harry turning and leaving her as he went about doing whatever it was he considered to be his job. She didn't try to stop him again. If he wanted to waste his time, he could do just that. Not her problem, anymore.

Draining her sink, (Y/N) crept through her apartment to settle upon her plush couch. Clicking her television awake, she fumbled through streaming services until finally tuning into a rerun of a cooking show she was fond of. Though she couldn't quite sink into the cushions or yell to the T.V. as the contestants didn't see the obvious win she did, at least he wasn't right behind her.

—————

"No, dad, I didn't give him any trouble yesterday."

(Y/N) could practically hear the eyeball through the phone. "You know he's going to tell me, right? Lying won't change anything."

It was her turn to give a petulant reaction, lashes fluttering as she almost got her eyes stuck in the back of her head. "I'm being serious. I'm not hiding anything, and I haven't even gone out or anything. There's been nothing to get upset over, dad."

The trademark sigh of disappointment fluttered through the speaker. "What's the point of having a bodyguard if all you're going to do is stay home, (Y/N)?"

"I'm going to brunch tomorrow with Fran and the girls," she countered, feeling her blood pressure rise over his argument. She was damned if she went out and was seen, damned if she stayed home and out of the public eye. She couldn't win.

"Good," her father said, sounding all too pleased as if these plans were his doing, "I want him to see how you act in public, then we'll be able to start working on your problems."

There was no argument she was going to give after that. She wasn't going to reward him or validate his claim that she is the problem. Because of course she was; it was never the photographers hounding her the second she turned sixteen, never the men around her that treated her like a tabloid bunny there for poking and prodding, and never him who didn't think to be a father for longer than it took for a flash of a camera to capture the moment.

Dead air settled between them, (Y/N) pressing her phone to her ear with the help of her shoulder as she began to collect ingredients for her dinner. Her way of ignoring him came in redirection, instead focusing back on Harry, his new favorite person.

"Harry thinks I should get a security system at my apartment," she offered, hoping the mention of his name was enough to get her father's head turning elsewhere.

The beat that passed after her words showed she garnered the opposite reaction. "Did you tell him about those letters, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice hard as stone.

Her lips thinned. "No."

"Good. Don't." It didn't take much for (Y/N) to picture the way he was surely hanging his head over his dinner, perpetually disappointed in his only child. "Do not waste his time over those. Plenty of people take pictures with you, and if I find out you're having him worry about the one person that's actually a fan of you..." he trailed off as if she didn't know exactly what threat was about to leave his mouth, "I'm going to send you to stay with your mother."

"Right. I won't."

His worst punishment was always to push her off on others. The nannies she bonded with growing up, different boarding schools and summer programs, anyone that was willing to glance at her for longer than five seconds was in the running to take her off his hands. Her mother was always his favorite to threaten her with as if he knew where she was.

(Y/N) didn't bother to listen to him anymore when it came to these moments. While she knew he'd never—could never—follow through with this particular threat, it was more than a little disheartening that he'd consider her calling for help as something that deserved a punishment.

"Well," he started, speaking around his mouthful of whatever his chef had prepared for the night, "if I don't hear from Harry, I'll be calling you to see how tomorrow goes. Don't embarrass yourself, (Y/N). It's not worth it."

"I know," she answered absently, her voice bored, "Goodnight, dad."

"Night."

Pulling her phone from her ear, (Y/N) focused on preparing the zucchini for the pasta primavera she'd been craving. Her thoughts turned methodical now that she had something structured to give her attention to. It was much easier to think when she wasn't firmly planted in her stubbornness and trying to ward off the kind of anxiety she hadn't felt since she was a teenager.

Harry had gone home late into the afternoon yesterday, and didn't return today. He didn't tell her anything other than he'd see her on Sunday morning for brunch, but she had figured he'd have paid her another visit in the meantime anyway. It was an odd arrangement anyway, as far as she could tell.

Stretching her memory back, Francesca's security was always there. Even when (Y/N) would spend the night or go away on trips with family, Barry was a constant shadow. The pool house in their backyard was his, an extra room for every rental or new vacation house taken into account so Francesca was never without her bodyguard. While she hadn't really wanted this, she figured Harry would be the same way—his services a button away in case of any kind of moment in need from her.

He hadn't even taken her number down when he was over.

It had only been a suspicion before, but perhaps her dad really had been honest with Harry: there was no real danger surrounding (Y/N), just her as the problem that needed fixing before interacting any with the public. There would be no reason for him to watch over her as she slept or be available to any emergency that might appear in his absence.

Whatever, she figured, sliding the half-moons of her zucchini into a bowl. At least she cleaned out her guest room, something she'd been meaning to do.

(Y/N) was going to take her time alone as if it were gold. She had a feeling tomorrow was going to be rough enough without a bad night's sleep.

—————

Swimming to the surface of sleep, (Y/N) was half aware of the sound of the static buzzing coming through her apartment. It was far enough away, the buzz panel situated by the door, that she could ignore it easily as she shifted between her sheets with her eyes cinched closed. Brunch wasn't for a few hours anyway, she knew that, and if any of the girls needed her they would have called prior.

Soon enough the buzzing ceased, allowing her brain to fuzzy further and to retrace her steps back to her dreamland. Whatever that was, wasn't an emergency, then.

Until the banging knocks started.

These, she wasn't able to ignore. Forcing her eyes open, she reached for her phone on her night stand. No missed calls or texts filled her notifications, but the time of seven a.m. reflected at her. There was only one person who could be giving her this wakeup call, but there was no reason for him to be here already.

With no contact to reach out to see if it was Harry waiting for her, she just had to trust that the doormen downstairs wouldn't send anyone up that they didn't recognize or who wasn't on the list to be cleared for her penthouse elevator.

Her hair was a mess on the top of her head, tangled and falling out of the braid she had twisted for the night, eyes crusted with sleep in the corners, and limbs shaking from the abrupt pull from her sleep. The only clear thought she had was that she was goin to have to give him the access code to her apartment or a key after this; early morning wakeups like this were something she was ever going to be happy about.

Swinging the door open for him during a pause in his banging, (Y/N) barely looked at Harry before she was trying to usher him in with a sweep of her hand.

"Morning," she grumbled, voice sticky in her throat.

"Morning," Harry reciprocated, "Are you ready?"

"What?" she asked over the click of her lock going back into place.

"I thought you had plans to go out with your friends this morning." His voice was bored as if he couldn't believe he was having to remind her of her own agenda.

"Yeah, for brunch," she added, "We don't have to leave for a while."

"Hm," was all he had to offer in response. Unimpressed.

(Y/N) didn't have it in her to care whether or not he liked brunch or thought she was silly for whatever reason. She was too tired, and her bed was too soft.

"I'm going back to bed," she told him, edging towards the staircase to her bedroom, "You can do whatever you want."

A beat passed before Harry offered an acknowledgement in the form of a hum. He was much more interested in investigating more of her home, she figured with the way his eyes traipsed through the space.

The second her head hit the pillow in her bedroom, (Y/N) happily relaxed into the mattress.

While there was a part of her that felt odd knowing that there was someone else in her home, settling in while she was elsewhere, there were other parts of her that didn't mind it all that much. She'd never felt lonely before, but she also never had known what it was like to have someone else around like this.

Even if he was being paid to, it was nice to her soft, sleep-molded brain that he'd care if something happened while she slept.

That thought made it a little bit easier to fall asleep again.

—————

Standing before her bathroom mirror, (Y/N) sharpened her features and pouted her lips at her reflection. With her hair pinned back and a silky robe draped over her body, she looked every bit the dreamy socialite she pictured herself as in her teens. Except for the wreck that was her makeup so far.

Breaking her pose, she let out an annoyed grumble as she took a closer look at the section of eyeshadow that just wouldn't blend out. She felt like a toddler having a tantrum the way she wanted to stomp her foot on the ground and throw her makeup brush and eyeshadow palette away.

Everything had been going perfect until she decided to daringly dip into a slightly deeper shade than she was used to on her eyes, and now she was stuck with a semi-sweet chocolate blob on the outer corner of her eye when she was hoping for a milk chocolate fade. And, she didn't have time to redo anything.

Life could be so unfair sometimes.

From down the hallway, she heard footsteps glancing over the flooring towards the bathroom. Moments later, Harry appeared in the mirror behind her, something a little more urgent than she was used to in his gaze but just as serious and uninviting as she remembered from this morning.

When he didn't say anything, only tracing his eyes over her bathroom, (Y/N) piped up, "Is everything okay?" He hadn't come to see her once since she woke up.

Catching her gaze in the glass, he said, "I heard you."

"Sorry," she started, dropping her eyes to her palette of neutral powders, "I'm just annoyed right now. My makeup looks dumb, and I don't have time to redo it."

Harry relaxed some where he stood, his arms dropping from across his chest as he leant against the doorjamb. The observations never stopped, even as she resumed trying to blend out her makeup.

"I thought you had people to do that for you," he said, brows furrowing just a pinch.

(Y/N) shrugged, fluffing a creamy shade over the deep mass in hopes of lightening the whole thing up enough to go out for a morning. "Sometimes; usually for really important things. Otherwise, I just like to do it myself."

When the makeup cooperated, anyway. What she wouldn't give to have the hand of a makeup artist here to fix her mistake.

"Oh," Harry sounded behind her, silence settling between them.

Expecting him to leave then, (Y/N) refocused on her eye makeup only for Harry to linger in the doorway. He stood there in his too-pretty glory, watching her as she worked. She felt as if each of her moves were being dissected, analyzed and broken down as if there was a chance he would have to step in. She guessed that technically was his job, though she could argue there might be much better things for him to do rather than watch her blend eyeshadow and bobby pin her hair to perfection.

Once she had her face applied, extra blush and fluffy lashes added in hopes of distracting from her most disastrous shadow look to date (at least that's how she felt in the moment, but she was sure there were photos off er teen years that would love to beg to differ) and hair styled down to the single strand, she was left with her short robe on and her outfit picked out in her closet. Harry's eyes had documented each of her moves, grazing along her skin and observing every stretch.

Finding that gaze in the mirror, she looked at him with a mild expression. "I just need to get dressed then we can go."

Harry blinked at her. "Okay."

That was all he had to say before she was left to head to her room.

—————

Stepping through the lobby of her complex, (Y/N) couldn't help but to scope out the street as much as she could through the tinted glass doors of the entrance. Waiting on the curb was the all black SUV she called with pedestrians scattered along the sidewalks and recklessly stepping onto the street. All she was looking for was anyone lingering a little too close to the building with too nice of cameras to be normal.

She'd always been a little cautious leaving her building once the address to her complex had been leaked, paparazzi having camped out for a week afterwards in hopes of catching her off guard, though now that Harry was going to be stepping out with her another layer was added. She could already imagine the headlines and blog posts that would be made when others caught wind of the fact she was seen with a member of the opposite sex.

Some of her favorites loved to recount her "relationship timeline" as well as call into question her "body count" and how long this new "beau" will last. She was dreading reading those words again; it was bad enough when she actually liked one of those people in those photos with her, but Harry's new job required his presence around her. He couldn't even leave this narrative if he wanted to.

Staying focused, (Y/N) gave a wave to the doormen standing behind the front desk though their stony faces didn't sway. Harry was quiet at her side, allowing her to take the lead as she took them out onto the street, a blast of air hitting them once the seal of the doors was pushed open. Outside, no one paid her any mind, her driver being the only person that acknowledged her with a grin on his face.

"Morning!" she chirped, feeling more relaxed now that he was nearby.

"Morning, (Y/N)," he greeted, opening the backseat door with a flourish for her. His gaze only shifted for a moment to her companion, but she knew he was much too polite to ask for details about any of her guests.

Setting one foot inside, (Y/N) hesitated as she looked around the SUV door to Sully. "Sully, this is Harry," she started, tossing her hand in Harry's direction, "He's my new bodyguard"—her tongue felt odd around the word—"Harry, this is Sully. He's my primary driver."

Sully gave her a momentary look the second he heard the word bodyguard. Out of most people in her life, he knew her almost better than Francesca, so he knew just as well as she did that a security detail wasn't something (Y/N) was in need of. Nonetheless, he kept his polite smile on his face when addressing Harry.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," he said, offering a gentle hand out to shake.

"Nice to meet you," Harry said with a gruff anchor to his voice.

That was all that was shared before (Y/N) stepped into the car, Harry following behind her. Though she was sure Sully felt the same way she did about the situation, he didn't let any of it show when he took his spot in the driver's seat, his eyes meeting hers through the rearview mirror.

"The new place still, (Y/N)?"

"Yes, please," she answered, a soft smile on her face.

As they started the drive through the city, skyscrapers towering on either side of the street and too many people on the sidewalks, (Y/N) pulled out her phone. Though she was aware of Harry's presence on the bench seat beside her only inches away, she ignored him in favor of pulling up Francesca's text thread in her messages.

Fran🫧

are u bringing your bodyguard?????

jk ofc you are he has to come w u everywhere lol is he still cute today tho or was the other day just bc you saw him for the first time????

As much as she loved Franny like a sister, she didn't really want to talk about Harry at the moment. She knew much of brunch was going to be spent talking about her new security or talking around him as all of the girls were going to be varying levels of nosy about it all. (Y/N) didn't have a lot of interest in starting that trend any earlier than needed.

Instead, she began scrolling through her Instagram explore page full of photos of nail art and cooking videos she planned on looking up the recipes for later. Ever-polite, Sully was the one to break the silence that filled the cab of his vehicle.

"How long will you be joining us, Harry?" he asked, kind blue eyes shining in the rearview mirror.

Uninterested as ever, Harry didn't break his gaze from where he was observing through the window. "As long as it takes for her father to be convinced that she's finally grown up."

It was a callous remark, but one (Y/N) had heard before just in a different voice. It was an interesting thing to hear those biting words lack the familiarity of her father's tone. She'd never heard them like that before.

Flicking her gaze up from her phone, she spotted Sully in the mirror through the fan of her lashes. He gave her one of those soft smiles he'd also seen him give his daughter before. It made it a bit easier to let that remark slide off her back when she knew he was on her side.

"Won't be very long then," Sully continued, tipping his chin up in confidence, "It doesn't take very long to see how kind and responsible Ms. (Y/N) is, despite what all those silly magazines like to say."

(Y/N) directed a quiet smile down at her phone. She hoped Sully knew just how much she appreciated him.

—————

"I'll be back around noon, okay?" Sully said, offering a helping hand to (Y/N) as she stepped out of the SUV and onto the grey concrete sidewalk, "Let me know if you need me sooner or want to stay longer."

Nodding her head, she gave him a bubbly smile with soft lips and warm cheeks. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," he answered, squeezing her hand in his as she steadied herself on the concrete.

With Harry at her side, Sully was sent off with a wave from her manicured fingers.

Though it wasn't new to feel eyes on her at time when she was out, it was different to have someone following along with her. His job was to watch her, and he made it known with the way she could feel his gaze stitched to her. He only drifted when he made a point to take in their surroundings.

Was he even supposed to sit with them? Was he going to eat beside her? What was his job when it came to events like this?

(Y/N) tried to think back to what Francesca's bodyguard would do, but she couldn't remember him ever joining them for a meal in public. Barry was typically meant to watch over Fran when no one else was around, leaving those group settings without him. Was Harry to do the same? Was he going to sit elsewhere or guard their table like a circling vulture?

Her head hurt just thinking about it. Harry would do whatever he decided to do, she settled on. This wasn't his first security job, so hopefully he would do whatever he was used to with Camila and Monroe.

Harry pushed the entrance door open for her, taking her by surprise as she stepped into the trendiest brunch spot in the city at the moment. Everything was sleek and warm, glass with golden hinges, wood pieces with uniform swirls and knots. Inauthentic authenticity. Falling into character, a bright smile landed on (Y/N)'s lips, her phone clutched in one hand with her purse hanging from the crook of her elbow. The clack of her heels was drowned out by the sound of chattering patrons and a busy kitchen.

"Hello, how are you?" The young man stationed at the host stand greeted her, a dark denim uniform adorning his form. (Y/N) almost cringed for him; she couldn't imagine how hot it must be to work all day in a heavy outfit like that.

"Hi, I'm good thank you," she greeted, feeling Harry just behind her as if he were breathing down her neck. How would he analyze this conversation? "I'm here to meet a few friends—there should be a reservation under—"

Cutting her off, the boy piped up with, "Francesca, right? She and a few others just got here."

Now that she wasn't so distracted by his outfit, she could see recognition in his gaze. He knew who she was and was definitely peeking over her shoulder to see who her companion was.

"That's them," (Y/N) chirped, canting her head as the boy tapped away at the computer in front of him.

"Perfect," he beamed, glancing up nonchalantly at them, "And will he be taking the sixth seat at the table?"

A clear attempt to fish, but not one (Y/N) was going to be able to ignore. "Yes, please."

The way the boy's eyes brightened had (Y/N) already dreading the articles that she would be tagged in across every social media platform, the headlines teasing about her new "mystery man" with all of the sources being an anonymous instagram account known for spreading gossip. Because that's journalism.

"Follow me," he said, waving his hand as he stepped out from behind the podium.

Harry was a ghost behind her as (Y/N) made small talk with the host, answering with polite chatter about the weather while being led through the restaurant. Through the crowded tables, Francesca and the three other girls they frequently went out with came into view. Glasses of bubbling mimosas and an appetizer of cheese and crackers adorned the table, matching that of the rest of the patrons indulging in the brunch rush.

Francesca was the first to spot them once the host dropped them off with a quiet wish for she and Harry to enjoy their food before he was off again. Fran's eyes lit up when she saw her, only for them to widen that much more when Harry came into view behind her.

"(Y/N)," she cheered, gaining the attention of the other girls who broke their absent chatter to turn to face them. Fran no doubt had told them that (Y/N) would be bringing a guest.

"Hi," she smiled, maneuvering around the table to the two empty seats between Emma and Rita, "Sorry I'm late. My makeup was not doing its job this morning."

Emma piped up then, "No worries, honey! We're just happy you could make it. We already ordered a mimosa for you and some appetizers and all."

Despite the girls seemingly talking to her, their eyes continuously drifted to her companion that ghosted behind her. Pulling out her chair, (Y/N) dropped her purse on the table before looking across from her to where Francesca was sat. Even she was pretending as if she wasn't bubbling in anticipation over Harry.

"Thanks, guys," she said, taking her seat with Harry doing the same beside her, "Everyone, this is Harry. I bet Fran already told you a little bit, but he's going to be my personal security for the next few months or so. We're still trying to figure out how this all works for it, so thanks for letting him tag along today."

"Of course," Kita giggled, leaning with her elbow on the table, "Fran did tell us that you were bringing someone special today."

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, feeling slightly exposed despite the fact none of the girls were even looking at her. "I promised him we'd be on our best behavior today, so don't ruin this for me."

The laughter that bubbled around the table was just a touch too melodious, too airy and light. Francesca even made eyes at (Y/N); she approved of him, that much was obvious.

"I'm sure we'll still have fun with him," Toriana said, her spot right across from Harry making it easy for her to reach across and offer her hand up in greeting, "I'm Toriana, but the girls just call me Ana."

"Nice to meet you," Harry answered, taking her hand into his in that same firm grip (Y/N) remembered.

A domino effect started then, each of the girls taking the time to personally introduce themselves. Toriana and Kita were more than a little interested in him, asking questions right off the bat that (Y/N) wished they would keep to themselves. Franny and Emma seemed to prefer to watch, piping in at moments with their own bubbly comments or peals of laughter. Harry, reserved as ever, barely interacted.

(Y/N) didn't know why she liked that as much as she did. Maybe it was just nice knowing she wasn't the only person he was cold with. Even if he did still end up talking to the girls more than he had all weekend with her.

Soon enough—long enough still that (Y/N) sipped through a glass and a half of water, the cheese plate had dissipated to crumbs, and breakfast orders had been placed—the shine of Harry had finally been lost on the girls. The shorter his answers became the clearer the message that he wasn't interested in sharing became. Though Kita didn't pull too far away from him and Fran had eyes on him every few moments, there wasn't much fun in talking to a wall.

The gossip shifted around the table, new topics being introduced as wait staff appeared to refill drained mimosa glasses. (Y/N) was seventy percent sure she saw one of the denim-clad employees pull her phone out and snap a shot of the table while clearing their small appetizer plates. No one seemed to notice the girl other than she and Harry, his eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the camera tilted in their direction. She wouldn't be surprised if the photo captured Harry's harsh gaze.

Ignoring the snooping employee, (Y/N) tried to tune into the story Emma was sharing that had the rest of the table enraptured. As funny and kind as Emma was, she loved to gossip; she loved knowing things, even if the information had nothing to do with her. More often than not (Y/N) preferred to check out of her particularly scandalous stories, just because she knew what it was like to be the name coming off of other's lips in a spit. Francesca was the same, preferring to stay out of it all.

But, this story caught both of their attention for all the wrong reasons.

"Then, I heard that Christal's parents are separating, because her dad also cheated with one of Christal's friends that got an internship at his company," Emma chattered, dipping her chin as if she was actually trying to keep this information a secret for only the table to hear.

Toriana gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with wide eyes. Leaning over the table, she conspired with Emma in a hushed tone that was far from being any level of quiet, "I heard they were separating because her mom was paying off her doctor to write prescriptions for, like, everything. Her dad is so over it, so he's supposed to be filing officially next week."

The mention of prescriptions and doctors who didn't care to help anymore stung at (Y/N) behind her walls. It was bad enough speaking about Christal and her family dynamics when they barely knew her outside of nights partying in the Upper West Side, but those kinds of rumors weren't something (Y/N) could ever imagine repeating. Drug use and the breaking up of a marriage—no matter the reason—were things none of them should be discussing when they had no idea what was truly going on.

It made (Y/N) think of her own parents and the years of swirling tabloids trying to figure out just how long her parents were on the rocks and what exactly had gone wrong. It was more than invasive.

(Y/N)'s nails quietly tapped on the table as the attention was placed on her, her voice piping up once Emma finally paused for a breath, "We probably shouldn't be talking about this stuff, guys."

Emma was the first to turn to her with a slighted look on her face, surprised to have anyone stopping her in the middle of her speculations. The remaining pairs of eyes turned to her, Francesca the only one that seemed to match her protesting while Kita and Toriana were just as taken aback as Emma.

Saved by the bell, their waitress chose then to appear with trays of their food in her arms. Bowls of salads and plates of eggs were distributed amongst the girls, Harry's order being of avocado toast though she couldn't imagine him picking off more than a couple of bites with the way he was so focused on the scene around him. The women had settled while they were being waited on, beaming smiles and assurances that everything was perfect, they would love a refill, and whatever chattering small talk was started by the waitress in the meantime.

It wasn't until everything had been cleared away, a plate of eggs Benedict with a kale apple salad off to the side in front of (Y/N), that Emma turned to face her once more.

Now she was less shocked and more bewildered that (Y/N) had tried to end her conversation. "Don't you want to know what happened though, (Y/N)?" she asked, incredulous, "Her parents always seemed so obsessed with each other, doesn't that make you want to know even more?"

"Sure," (Y/N) started, "But, it's a little too personal, don't you think? Especially if any of this is true, it's all probably really hard on Christal. I don't think it's fair to talk about it when we don't know anything about it, and she's not even here."

That expression of furrowed brows and parted lips didn't leave Emma's face as (Y/N) spoke. "I mean I guess, but—"

Before she could get much further, (Y/N) couldn't help but to step in. "Honestly, I'd rather hear about you and your fashion designer," (Y/N) started, leaning towards Emma with a conspiratorial smile on her face, "You haven't brought him up at all, even though you've posted him on your story at least five times now."

Watching her friends' features light up told her just how effective her new topic was. There was nothing—not even hot gossip—Emma loved talking about more than herself.

"You mean Stavros? What could you ever want to know about him?" Emma bubbled, acting coy with a lift of her shoulder and flutter of her lashes.

"Stavros?! You never told me that was his name!" Kita chimed in, filling in where (Y/N) had left off.

All it took was Emma starting with a Well... to get the table submitting again to conversation full of bubbling giggles and blushing cheeks, teases of Stavros's name and Emma's story telling about their time together so far. Even Francesca, after shooting (Y/N) a small smile, became invested in the chronicle of Emma's love life.

Falling into silence, satisfied at the reroute of the conversation, (Y/N) finally tried the food in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry observing her with calculating eyes, a pinch in his brow.

Suddenly, she felt more exposed than when dozens of cameras were posed in her direction. Was she not supposed to interfere like that? Was this new topic somehow equal to the one Emma had initially embarked on?

Honestly, (Y/N) had almost forgotten about Harry's presence when she stepped in and redirected Emma into safer territory, but now she was wondering if she would have benefited more from keeping her mouth shut. Who knew what he would report back to her father with; how he would spin these events.

"(Y/N), don't you know his cousin? That Ferrill girl we met in Milan?" Francesca's voice chirping out her name had (Y/N) dropping back into the conversation, grateful for a distraction from what she was overthinking in her mind.

"Oh, yeah, Ferrill! She's Stavros's cousin?..."

—————

"You really have to go home?"

Kita's over-pouted lips and pleading pulled a laugh out of (Y/N) as she pulled her into a hug.

"I know, I'm sorry," she started, reciprocating her friend's hold, "You know I'd love to go with you guys if I could, but I already promised I'd call my stylist later today."

"I know," Kita whined, pulling away with her hug still around (Y/N)'s middle, "I just feel like you barely talked this morning, and I miss you."

Despite being around them and having spent the better part of two hours with these girls, (Y/N) missed them too. Kita wasn't wrong in that she barely talked for the morning, Harry being a constant, extra fine sifter that filtered her thoughts before she even had them ready to go. It was hard to talk as freely when she knew he was analyzing every single syllable on her lips.

"I'm sorry," (Y/N) pouted, playing along, "But, I'm sure I'll see you again soon. And, if you want, you can FaceTime me later so I can see what you got."

Kita seemed satisfied with that answer, pulling (Y/N) in for another hug before joining the rest of the women who were beckoning to join them as they started down the sidewalk. Hugs and goodbyes had already been shared amongst the rest of them, Francesca promising to text her before she even had a chance to make it home.

With a final wave from the three of them and calls of "Bye, Harry!", (Y/N) was left by Sully's car with an extra shadow.

The truth was, she couldn't imagine trekking down Fifth Ave with Harry following behind her. It was uncomfortable enough to have him sit and eat with her, even more so thinking about him watching as she chattered with her friends and tried on different pieces of clothing.

"Ready to head home?" Sully asked, hand poised on the handle of the back passenger seat for her.

"Yes, please," she sighed, eagerly stepping in when he pulled open the door for her.

Following behind her, Harry settled in beside her in the back seat, the faux-leather soft under their weight. Sully smoothly integrated himself within the New York traffic, maneuvering around in ways that made (Y/N) that much more grateful that she wasn't the one in charge.

Decompressing, her eyes fluttered closed with her shoulders untensing. It wasn't until now that she realized just how tightly she had been wound during the meal. No wonder she could feel the beginning band of an ache forming in her head.

Breaking the static silence in the cab, Harry asked, "Is it always like that?"

"Like what?" (Y/N) pressed, brows knitting together in the middle though her eyelids didn't flutter.

She could hear the sound of him shifting against the leather. "Like, everything going on at once?"

"A little," (Y/N) admitted, the words leaving on a breathing laugh, "This was on the tamer side. Usually, Toriana will try to debate everyone into agreeing to get a mimosa tower for the table—that's when things start happening all at once."

A beat passed, (Y/N) assuming he was fine with the stopping point of the conversation until he spoke again.

"Y'didn't drink today."

Though it was less of a question and more of a statement, she still answered with, "No."

"Why not?"

Shrugging, her clothing shuffled against the faux-leather. "I don't really like drinking this early—it makes me too tired, so I don't usually do it."

Despite the fact she didn't hear his voice again, (Y/N) could feel Harry's eyes on her through the remaining drive to her apartment.

—————

Laid flat on her back on her bed, (Y/N) raised her hand to look at the time on her phone once more. The closer the clock numbers to ten a.m., the more she wanted to curl up in her sheets.

Dressed in her pastel pink workout set with her hair braided back and tennis shoes on her feet, (Y/N) was more than ready to head to her pilates class. She wanted to luxuriate in her poses and breathing, get a smoothie afterwards as her cooldown, and live her normal routine. The only problem was Harry.

Though she loathed to admit it, she knew he was supposed to accompany her. Even if he wasn't policing her at home, she knew there were no exceptions to the rule of him going with her throughout her day should she chose to go out and about. That was the whole point of his job.

She wanted to do as Francesca had told her—that she still needed to live her life even if it was with an extra shadow—, but, even with the fact that the Sunday brunch had gone well enough, taking Harry to her pilates class was completely different. She lacked friends in her class anyway, and this wouldn't make it any better. Most of the women already judged her enough, adding Harry into the mix wasn't going to help her case in not looking as pretentious and spoiled like they thought.

Maybe, she could get away with only sending him a text? It wasn't as if she were going to an event or a high-profile dinner. Maybe her dad wouldn't care, leaving Harry to not care either. There wasn't much trouble she could get into while controlling her breathing and wiping sweat off the back of her neck, anyway.

Looking at the time once more, she saw the minutes click that much closer to the start time for her usual session. Her chest rose as she pulled in a deep breath.

If she wanted to get there on time and get a good spot, she was going to have to text Harry and move on. Sully was on the way anyway, she had to make her choice now before she had to cancel the car and instead curl up in bed just like she had been for three days since brunch.

The sound of (Y/N)'s nails tapping at her phone screen filled her room as she made to sit up amongst the folds in her duvet.

morning, harry! just wanted to let you know that im headed to my pilates class right now. it should end around 11 and i'll probably grab a smoothie after, so i'll be on my way back to my apartment after that. lmk if you need anything like to get into my apartment or anything like that before im home !

As soon as she pressed send with the blue bubble inflating against the dark background, she locked her phone. She couldn't overthink this whole thing anymore. She had plans she needed to stick to if she wanted to stay normal.

The notification that Sully was downstairs waiting for her couldn't have come soon enough, not when she finished packing her things much too quickly.

"No Harry?" Sully asked once she was secure in the back seat, the morning sun shining on the grimy streets of the city.

Avoiding his gaze in the rearview mirror, (Y/N) shook her head. "Not today."

—————

Buzz-buzz.

(Y/N) cinched her eyes closed tighter at the sound of a phone vibrating deep in someone's bag. her breathing came in even waves, chest rising and falling in even measures.

Buzz-buzz.

One of the other students faltered on their breathing, the teacher pausing just a second too long in-between instructions as everyone heard the incessant noise.

"Now, take a breath and stretch into your high plank," the morning's instructor directed, voice calm in the middle of the studio, "Keep the height to your comfort, no reason to strain past a slight burn."

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened with her hands planted solidly on the mat under her. Her back stretched slowly, legs keeping her steady as she fell back into the rhythm of the session.

Until another round of buzzing started, this string clearly from a phone call that was going to be ignored.

The strength in her core faltered with her eyes cinched to a tight close at the sound.

(Y/N) knew good and well that it was her phone that was going crazy at the bottom of her bag, but there was no way she was going to make that obvious to anyone else in the class. She was sure a good chunk of them already assumed it was her anyway, but that didn't mean she had to admit to it.

Instead, she kept up with the poses and the directions given, ignoring the device as best as she could. She was going to enjoy this class as much as she could before she would be forced to renter her reality.

She already knew what kind of notifications were waiting for her, anyway. Either Francesca and the girls randomly decided to start up another group chat, or Harry wasn't pleased with her decision to head out for the day with nothing more than a text sent his way. Either way, (Y/N) didn't want to deal with either of those things at the moment.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but would the owner of the phone that keeps going off, please, either silence or turn off your phone for the remainder of the class? I'm sure the class would appreciate the chance to keep their focus without any more interruptions."

Despite her tone of voice being respectful and calm as ever, (Y/N) knew the instructor was pissed. No matter how well-paying her clients were, there was no way she could keep standing for disruptions like this. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the rest of the class on the same level as their instructor: just as annoyed but feigning calmness as if the last half hour hadn't been spent ignoring phone call after phone call with text messages in between.

She couldn't get up now, (Y/N) thought. Not when everyone was waiting to see who the culprit was so they could shoot daggers with their gaze. She could only imagine what the post-class powwow of complaints would sound like.

(Y/N) cringed when her phone went off once more, the device rattling against a tube of lipgloss to make it that much lounger.

Fuck. This was worse than waking up and seeing drunken photos of her posted. At least then she didn't have a dozen other people staring at her in the process.

When her phone went off once more in what she hoped was a reminder notification and not another set of messages coming through, (Y/N) couldn't take it anymore. She had to fix this if she wanted to at least be welcomed back.

Just as she went to break her pose, a clatter could be heard on the other side of the door. Muffled voices broke through the curated tranquility of the studio, sounding more and more aggravated as they drew closer to the room she was in. The doorknob twisted, resistance found on the other side when a clear "Sir!" was called through.

A beat later, that resistance was broken, Harry barreling through the door. With a furrow pinching his brow and a blaze in his eyes, he looked just as bitter and grumpy as a stereotypical bouncer and not the seasoned security detail he was. His usual uniform of all black was crumpled and creased with his hair a mess on the top of his head.

"Sir, there is a class in session!" A voice (Y/N) recognized from the front desk of the studio burst in behind him. Harry didn't flinch back for even a second.

The second his gaze landed on her, his jaw hardened. "(Y/N)," he gritted out her name, "Come here, now."

Having crumbled from her pose to sit with her legs folded underneath her, (Y/N) felt stuck where she sat. She could practically spot steam coming from the top of Harry's head. Her skin heated when she felt others' eyes land on her.

This was definitely much, much worse than if she had just answered her phone.

"Harry," she started, unsure of what exactly she was going to say but feeling as if she needed to say something anyway.

His nose flared. "Sully is waiting outside. Let's go."

There was a finality in her tone that had her scrambling to collect her things as soon as possible. The room was silent as she messily rolled her mat and clumsily stepped into her shoes.

A mumbled thank you was offered to the silent instructor as she passed, a matching apology being told to the class though she was sure both sentiments fell on deaf ears. (Y/N) was definitely going to have to switch studios again.

She wasn't surprised to see the rest of the studio having fallen in line, patrons and classes quiet and paused after the ruckus caused on her behalf. (Y/N) could only imagine the photos others snapped of her following after Harry like a puppy with her tail between her legs. She already knew what this was going to look like—the loud scene as well as following after Harry the way she was.

Sully didn't say anything when (Y/N) quickly slipped into the backseat, Harry coming after with a loud slam of the door behind.

The interior was almost humid with the way Harry fumed beside her, his arms a tight cross over his chest and his jaw anchored closed. From the corner of her eye, she could see the way his fingers were curled into fists under the shelter of his arms.

(Y/N) felt silly to be sitting there with her cardigan and leggings, hands in her lap like a reprimanded child.

The silence stretched on as Sully pulled away from the curb, routing directly back to her apartment without question.

It wasn't until there was a stop in the traffic that any of them dared to speak a single word. Of course, it was Harry.

"I don't know what you were thinking this morning," he started, voice deceptively calm, "But, you almost cost me my job with that stunt."

Staying quiet, she didn't know what to say. Honestly, she hadn't really thought about it like that when she left without him this morning. She had only been considering the pit in her stomach and how much she hadn't wanted to disrupt her own life. She acted just as selfish as she was sure Harry thought her to be at her core.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the way Harry's gaze on her profile sharpened. She kept her eyes on her hands.

"I thought we had a good understanding after this weekend, but I think I need to make a few things especially clear for you," he started, (Y/N) finally chancing a look at him. Harry's gaze steeled when she matched him. "When I was given this job, I was told to go with you everywhere, and 'm sure you were told the same thing. I don't care if you think your fathers's company, or the 'public' or whoever you think is my client, because that is not the truth. You are my client, and if you make trouble like this again, I will lose my job. Because of you."

(Y/N) had never been reprimanded like this before, not as fat as she could remember. Her father's scoldings had never been this effective, even when she was young enough to still care what he had to say.

Her throat was dry as she piped up, hoping to explain herself, "It was just my pilates class. I didn't think it would be a big deal."

That seemed to be the very worst thing she could have said with the way Harry's shoulders tensed with hot air with his jaw quirked. His eye contact was unwavering as he glared at her.

"I knew I was going to have to babysit you, but I didn't think it would be this much of a problem. Going forward, I do not care where you are going, I am going with you. I know you don't want me here, so the quicker you follow this and get over whatever princess complex you have after getting everything handed to you, the quicker we'll both be free of this contract. Please keep that in mind the next time you decide to go off with just a text."

Harry's tone was harsh and grating, flaming hot underneath the calm facade he was just well-versed with as her own bubbly princess role. He could rival her father in just how much disdain he held for her.

She couldn't blame his perception of her, really. With the way both her father and the media spoke of her, she could only imagine the kind of person she looked to be in his eyes.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) could still feel that sting of hurt.

But, he was right. Now, she knew where they stood. Now, she could try harder to get over her princess complex and show her father she didn't need a ghost and everything could go back to normal.

If she tried hard enough, she could hopefully still make it to spend the winter in Francesca's family's Swiss cabin free of an extra shadow. That was a goal she could work towards this summer.

"I understand," she told him, checking out of the conversation now that she had her own plan working in the background, her own terms to follow, "I'm sorry I put you in that position. I didn't mean anything by it, I just didn't think it was the kind of thing to bother you over."

Deflating some, Harry blinked, his gaze falling down her features. "Okay," he settled, golden flecks swimming in his irises, "Now, we're both on the same page."

(Y/N) quietly agreed with a small nod.

The rest of the car ride was silent.

—————

Without a second thought, (Y/N) stowed the newest heavy, photo-laden envelope into her drawer of the others. She already knew what kind of pictures would be inside and the kind of story her admirer had spun in her honor. It would be the same photos that had been distributed by the same anonymous Instagram blog that always posted them along with the same story that all the tabloids picked up the next day.

According to the internet as well as a few gullible publications, (Y/N) had shown up drunk to her class and Harry had come to collect her. Harry was also no longer her mystery man, and now her affair partner that she had cheated on Damien Moore with. Damien was also reportedly very hurt to be seeing her with Harry after everything that had gone down. Broken-hearted by the ice queen, one publication had been so bold to claim. Blurry photos accompanied the articles and tweets, with her looking to Harry with watery eyes ("alcohol-glazed") like a reprimanded child as she followed him out.

Her admirer had no doubt clung to the claims that she was in a romantic relationship, their own version of events meandering around it all to erase the legitimacy of the claims along with photos of her back at her apartment without him to solidify their theory. While they would be right this time, that she and Harry were not linked in any way but professional, it still didn't make her feel very safe knowing they had gone to the length they did to verify as much as well as send a letter to prove it all.

It'd been days since the incident and one day since the news hit the circuits, and (Y/N) was more than comfortable hiding out at her apartment to ensure she wouldn't have to deal with anyone, including Harry, until her nail appointment on Thursday. The whole thing was more than stupid, full of baseless claims and low-quality photos. It didn't deserve her attention.

The only thing that had truly caught her off guard, was the lack of phone calls from her father. A full day had passed with the story being tweeted and mocked, and yet there was no scathing text message or berating call sent to her phone. This was just the type of story that would have him up in arms and fuming all throughout the mansion. The longer it didn't come, the more she felt on edge.

Her father was built on being predictable, so when he deviated from the norm she couldn't help but to fear the worst.

Ignoring it all for the time being, (Y/N) returned to her kitchen eager to take her mind off things in the form of trying out one of her stored up recipes.

While she didn't usually have the chance to share it with others, cooking was one of (Y/N)'s favorite pastimes—a therapeutic hobby. She liked putting flavors together and the technique that went into making everything just the way she liked it. There was structure to it all—even the bendable rules gave her guidelines.

Especially when she was attending her private school and spending her time in dorms and weekends alone at her parents' home, food was the one thing she could control that gave her a routine. She liked making cute meals and lunches for her friends at school and taking advantage of the illustrious pantry and fridge she had at home. It was easy to nurture her love for it when there was no other outlet open for her feelings.

While there was nothing special she could imagine herself doing with her passion like she was sure that her father would have wanted, it didn't cheapen the love for her at all. It was the easiest way to fill herself with love even when she felt as if everything around her was hateful.

Turning her phone to silent, (Y/N) happily turned on a rerun of her favorite cooking competition show, and started on her own meal.

—————

élan is a French word that describes the sense of a movement coming; the grace with which time moves towards the next chapter

eeeek! thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and please lmk if theres any fun ideas or thoughts you have!

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ghost-proofbaby · 9 months

Text

twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you.

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen.

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on.

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour?

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time.

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through.

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened?

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s.

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now.

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks.

Eddie’s phone number.

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone.

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it.

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant.

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out?

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer.

EDDIE: Excuse me?

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone.

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them.

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers.

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh.

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke?

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that.

EDDIE: Debatable.

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two.

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke.

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant?

This time, he plays along.

EDDIE: I don't know, what?

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight.

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom.

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny.

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD.

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face.

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do.

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me.

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out.

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying.

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are.

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings.

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him.

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you.

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful.

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene.

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.”

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him.

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.”

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?”

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.”

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you.

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains.

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent.

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips.

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,” you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

He didn’t believe you.

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.”

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb.

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.”

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.”

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.”

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.”

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.”

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated.

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.”

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs.

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.”

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.”

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.”

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists.

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him.

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught.

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you.

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?”

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?”

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.”

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move.

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred.

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip.

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him.

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to.

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts.

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now.

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy.

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them.

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking.

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly.

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in.

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down.

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks.

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers.

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?”

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you.

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?”

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance.

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply.

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.”

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.”

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on.

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack.

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on.

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.”

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin.

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning.

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory.

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember.

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control.

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him.

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you.

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it.

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days.

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.”

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.”

“Yeah? Only for me?”

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him.

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned.

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?”

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.”

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.”

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down.

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said.

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.”

“Why?”

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release.

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.”

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed.

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.”

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need.

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed.

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain.

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers.

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.”

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!”

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat.

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him.

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm.

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said.

Loved you.

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done.

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #if it's bad do not tell me #stranger things

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octuscle · 1 month

Text

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

There are holidays that I'm convinced the world doesn't need… St. Patrick's Day, for example. I think it's perfectly fine to be proud of your heritage. I mean, I have an Italian grandmother. I'm totally proud of that. She makes the best pasta in the world. Hehehe, if you look at my belly, you can tell.

You see St. Patrick's Day parades on every channel. It's pure brainwashing! I look at my stomach again… Maybe I'll use the day to do something for my fitness. The streets are full of happy people. Intrusively cheerful people with funny green hats.

The guy at reception is wearing a green T-shirt. And has a shamrock painted on his cheek. I could puke. "Hi mate, nice to see you. Not much going on today. But we'd like to take a few pictures for social media later. Something along the lines of today-we've-trained-in-green. Would you wear this tank top for training?" He holds something green out to me. Fortunately without a shamrock or a funny gnome. It looks like a rugby jersey. Maybe a little big. I smile painfully. "Mate, give yourself a jolt! I'll give you a protein flat rate and free training for three months!" You don't care about the protein flat rate. But free training for three months… You'll save a good 150 dollars. Then it won't be so bad that you come here so rarely.

"Come on, give it to me!" you say and give him a fist bump. Fist bump? What's wrong with you today? All right… Put on your jersey, half an hour on the cross trainer, then maybe a bit of chest training. And then that should be it. And if you absolutely have to post pictures of it. You go to the changing area. Yawning emptiness. Exactly to your taste, actually! You undress, put on the sweatpants and then the jersey. You take a quick look in the mirror. An overweight quarter-Italian in a green rugby jersey. You doubt that this will bring the gym even one new follower, let alone a customer.

You usually start on the cross trainer with low resistance. Today you can try something new. It's empty, no one is watching, you can't embarrass yourself. So you go to the rowing machine. You have no experience with that. So you hit the maximum resistance. And off you go! After half an hour, you wipe the sweat from your forehead. Your jersey sticks to your chest, soaked with sweat. The gym employee stands in front of you with a grin. "Bro, those were some really awesome shots! What are you up to now?" You grumble that rowing is a good base for lat training. And that you're currently doing antagonist training. So combine it with chest training. "Nice, that should make for great pictures." You don't give a damn that the camera is following you the whole time. Focus on the training. And finally, no consideration for others. Moan and grunt when you feel like it. And today you're lifting the heavy weights. That requires a loud scream or two.

Shit, you've been here for almost three hours. You're done. You shout to your gym's social media representative that it's time for the final show. You take off your slightly too tight jersey with some difficulty. And wring out the sweat. You smile at the camera and say "Happy St. Patrick's Day, bros! Stay focused and train hard!" Your buddy gives you a fist bump and says it was a lot of fun with you again. You hand him your cell phone and ask him for a photo. For your own account.

Caption: "Is as Éirinn a thagann fir réadúla i gcónaí! Buailigí, a chairde, agus go raibh Lá Fhéile Pádraig iontach agaibh!"

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #ginger tf #race change #ai image

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liyahin4k · 27 days

Text

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 pt2

(𝐁𝐖𝐖𝐖)

(𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐇)

( just to say i have no idea what the process is for two women to get pregnant so I just went with the flow just let me know if I have to change anything)

It’s been about a few months since you and Paige had the baby talk you two took that month to tell all your friends and family then started trying.

After you got the surgery it took about a month for you to find out you were pregnant when you did Paige could not stop smiling the second you told her she called her parents and told them the news.

That night you two took the team out for dinner to tell them kk basically ran around the whole restaurant almost getting herself and the rest of you kicked out.

The team along with Paige’s family were happy for you two all Drew could do was ask questions question you didn’t know how to answer.

You were now 25 weeks pregnant and those 25 weeks were the best Paige wouldn’t let you out her site when ever you tried to get up to go anywhere she would move 10 times faster to go get it for you.

She even almost broke her back you had spilled water on the floor you went to clean it up but before you could Paige ran to the rescue to do herself but she ended up slipping and almost broke her back all you could do was laugh.

The most important thing for her was keeping you safe especially from the press even though there was a photo taken of you two seen at your doctor office the press being the press they posted and started rumors about your pregnancy.

Even though they were true, you didn’t want them to know that.

You were sat next to kk smiling as Paige made the ball into the net making the crowd scream you were wearing regular leggings and one of piages sweaters hiding your baby bump but you could definitely feel eyes on you and cameras.

You jumped when you felt pain in your stomach not caring anymore you placed your hand and your stomach not knowing what’s wrong kk turned to you looking away from the game when she felt you jumped.

You good she frowned I don’t know you mumbled feeling the pain again something wrong you panicked looking up at her.

You took her hand in yours placing her hand on your stomach there was a pause until the pain was there again see you told her.

She just looked at your stomach smile then at you what you asked nervous…the baby’s kicking she smiled.

W-what you asked still in shock your baby’s kicking she laughed you looked down at your stomach feeling the baby kicking again making you smile happy nothing was wrong.

Hearing multiple flashes going off you looked up and saw the paparazzi snapping pictures like crazy.

You looked away when the crowd shouted when Aaliyah made her shot you looked at Paige to find her eyes already on you you then realized she saw everything her eyes held worry as she ran across the court you just gave her a soft smile.

The game ended with UConn winning the crowd went wild as soon as the game ended Paige ran to you before you could say anything she cut you off what wrong,are you ok,is the baby ok.

She rushed out still out still out of breath I’m fine and so is the baby you smiled watching her panic t-then what’s wrong she pasted..with out saying anything you took her hand in yours placing it on your stomach letting her feel the baby kick.

Her eye went wide you were pretty sure they were gonna pop out already she asked shocked the doctor did say 16 to 25 weeks you smiled.

But we do have a little problem you said making her frown you pointed behind her she looked to see the paparazzi, taking pictures they saw you whispered.

She slowly looked back at you who cares she softly smiled there gonna find out sooner or later and besides when she’s born I’m gonna show her off and spoil her.

You smiled 𝐡𝐞𝐫 you asked yep she said proudly you shook your head laughing let’s go home you goof.

You were both home laying in bed Paige whispering to your stomach you know they can’t hear you right you asked looking away from your phone.

Yes 𝐬𝐡𝐞 can she looked up at you you softly run your fingers through her hair going back to scrolling on instagram when you came across a picture of you and Paige that was took earlier at the game.

Paige bueckers and her girlfriend Leah rose seen a little to excited..but what about you read out loud showing Paige the picture they took of her hand on your stomach next to another one when you were talking to kk her hand on you’re stomach as well.

She took your phone to get a good look she scoffed throwing the phone next to you laying her head on back on your stomach.

Why can’t just mind their business she mumbled into your stomach the vibration making you laugh because it’s there job you answered whatever she huffed pouting rubbing your stomach until you both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

(If u want a part 3 let me know or if you have any requests😇)

#paige bueckers #kk arnold #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #lesbians #pregnancy #Spotify #uconn huskies #azzi fudd #nika muhl #black reader

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kurosaaki · 1 year

Note

would you be able to do hcs of ellie partying with her s/o? i saw your post about something like that and it got me thinking about it hehe

hope you’re doing well 💞

PARTYING WITH ELLIE HEADCANONS

WARNINGS: weed & alcohol mentions, mentions of sex too. not proofread so apologies if there’s a mistake :)

TAGGING: @hazelnutsforellie @icedcold @prrimordiais @elliesstar @anchoeritic @elliephobic @apricxtt

A/N: i want to go party with ellie. rb’s & support is appreciated!

*set in a modern!au*

it’s not a secret that ellie prefers to have a quiet, chill movie night with you instead of going outside. she loves to be at home with you, but let’s get this clear: she only likes to go outside and have a fun night just because she’s going with you.

i get the vibes that she’d love to go partying once in a while, simply just to have fun with her friends and get a little drunk and high with you.

let’s talk about one of the best moments of the night: the pre party. that moment where you and ellie put on your favorite playlist on your speakers, the loud music filling the room just to get in the mood while she dresses up and you try to find the best outfit for the occasion.

if you’re having problems, she’ll gladly help you choose the outfit.

“does this look good, els?” you ask for the 3rd time, your girlfriend on the edge of the bed watching you walk around the room.

“honestly,” she says, walking towards you, trying to hide that cheeky smile while she puts her hands on the zipper of the dress you’re trying on. “this looks fucking hot on you babe”

“ellie” you say, earning a “hm?” from her, “up. you have to zip it up, not down”

(she knew that)

even if you choose to dress up more comfy, she’ll ask you to match outfits. if she’s wearing all black, you better wear something black too. if her shirt is white, yor better have something white on. she loves to match outfits with you, please let her ;-;

she loves it when you help her do her hair. she lets you choose too. want a bun? she’s alright with that. you feel like she would look hot with her hair down? she approves it.

she’d smell amazing too. just saying.

ellie also likes to smoke a blunt before actually going out, just to “warm up” a little bit. she always does it while you’re still dressing up, and she finds it relaxing and arousing to watch you dance around the room while trying on your clothes, putting some make-up on if you’re feeling it, or even taking some pics.

talking about taking pics: going out with ellie means having to take pics with her. that is a MUST. and i’m talking pics in the mirror of your room, on the bathroom getting ready, walking to the party, AND on the party.

some of those pics (especially the “in the party” ones) actually make you laugh and feel kinda embarrassed the day after when you look at them.

you know that part on the hangover movie where they take the digital camera and look at the pics they took the night before? YEAH. I’M TALKING ABOUT THAT.

“BABE YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS” ellie shouts from the other side of the living room, making you run towards your girlfriend, who had her phone in her hand

“let me see!”

she lets you grab her phone and you see the photo she’s talking about. it’s a photo where you and ellie look WASTED on the dance floor, ellie with a cowboy hat grabbing your hips from behind smiling and you biting your lip with a smile too, and with two drinks in hand. you didn’t notice dina was behind you both pointing at jesse, who (for some reason you wish you remember) was laying on the floor wearing dina’s sunglasses.

“this will not be on the photo dump i was planning to post” you returned the phone to ellie, who was laughing out loud.

“if you don’t post it, i will” she kept laughing at more of the photos taken last night, “this is so funny”

for some reason, you and ellie are always late.

a quickie before going out never hurt nobody, right?

when you finally meet up with your group of friends, you start to drink a bit and let the alcohol flow through your system. by the time you arrive at the party, you’re already tipsy.

ellie has a moderate tolerance to alcohol. she won’t get drunk if you give her two drinks, but she will definetely be tipsy if you give her three or four. and it’s SO funny to see her stumbling over her own words, laughing at everything, and being extra affectionate in public.

we all know ellie is the coolest girl ever. so, what makes us think she wouldn’t be the life of the party? everyone knows ellie there. everyone wants to party with her at least once. everybody wants to say “i partied with ellie williams and it was awesome” but only a few people can say that. that includes you, jesse and dina.

ellie likes to dance with you. she likes to tease you a lot while she’s at it, too. grabbing your hips, pulling you closer to her, leaving a sneaky kiss on your cheek…all while she’s guiding your movements with hers.

alcohol gets her horny sometimes too. so, you know what that means: bathroom. immediatly.

SCARY!GF!PRIVILEGE!

if there’s someone who dares to look at your direction the wrong way, they’re in big trouble.

if looks could kill, ellie would have buried that person before they looked at you twice.

with ellie by your side, there’s hardly anyone who dares to go and ask for your number or try to flirt with you. but if that happens, she’ll grab your chin and she’ll give you the hottest kiss ever. after that, she’ll just wink at you and grab your hand while looking at the poor person who tried to get your number.

“sorry dude, she’s taken” she’ll simply say before guiding you to another place where they can’t find you anymore.

she pays for your drinks!

if you feel like you need a break, she’ll always be there to guide you outside and take some fresh air once in a while. that’s also a moment where you realize how drunk you are. and how hot your girlfriend is. and how your feet hurt from dancing.

by the end of the night, ellie always makes sure to search for your friends at the party to go home together.

if you feel too tired to walk, she’d give you a piggyback ride <3

and if the party was held way too far from your house, she’d call a friend of hers to drive you both there.

fun fact: she called joel one night to drive you both home. it’s safe to say that he never volunteered to do that again. though it was funny for him to see you and ellie drunk.

once you’re finally at home (and if she’s not too tired to do it) she’ll help you take your make-up off and put your pajamas on before hitting the bed.

post party sleep is the best sleep ever. but the headache from the day after is not.

but it’s definetely worth it, because partying with ellie is just amazing and the hangover doesn’t matter when you both try to remember what happened last night.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #tlou x you #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #tlou2 x reader #ellie tlou x reader #ellie williams hcs #ellie williams headcanons #tlou headcanons #the last of us headcanons

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ingravinoveritas · 7 months

Note

Hi!

Have you seen Georgia's insta story? She's filming david and one of the kids called her a creep

https://instagram.com/stories/georgiatennantofficial/3212913988487468030?utm_source=ig_story_item_share&igshid=MTc4MmM1YmI2Ng==

The only purpose of the video is just showing that even the kids think that her filming david all the time is weird

Like, yeah all of it is probs a joke but it rubs me the wrong way🤔

What's your opinion? Your blog is the 1st place i go to when i see news abt DT, GO or MS

(Grouping together since these are related.)

Hi there! Oh, I hadn't seen Georgia's Insta story until I saw your Ask, so thank you for bringing it to my attention.

A little backstory, for those who haven't seen it: Today was David's panel at NYCC, and he started to tell an anecdote about being given a pair of shoes for Christmas when members of the audience began shouting out telling him to tie his (very pink) shoes that were untied on stage. David actually tied the shoes, and the video of the moment was posted by NYCC on Twitter. An hour or so later, Georgia jumped in with a response and at the same time, posted this story on Insta (and the photo in Georgia's tweet appears to be from the same day that the video was taken):

For my part, I was under the impression that this was not a recent video, so to your question @phantomstars24, I don't think she is actually at NYCC with David. Rather, it looks like Georgia was searching for David's name on Twitter (again) and found a place to jump in with the screenshot and video.

In giving my opinion on this, I have to reference Georgia's Insta story from last month at the festival she and David attended, where she recorded him while he was walking and eating his ice cream:

vimeo

Here, we see David take notice of the fact that Georgia is recording, after wondering why she was walking so slowly. He turns away for a moment, then looks back at her and says, "It's never gonna stop," and his voice is uncharacteristically...terse. He doesn't smile, or laugh, or give any indication that he is kidding (that I picked up on, at least). David's energy and the video as a whole just seemed off, but like many of Georgia's posts, it was written off as a joke.

The voice we heard of one of Georgia's children in today's video reminded me of that. Leaving aside the fact that this child actually flat-out called Georgia a "creep" (for which I'm also hard-pressed to find some alternate/jokey meaning) for recording David, the theme in both of these videos is Georgia constantly recording David for the sake of having content. And as we saw with today's Insta story, her then saving that content to use at a later date. I know the people who hate-read my blog will insist that Georgia gets permission from David before posting anything on social media and that he's fine with it, but it is really hard to think that he seems fine in the video from the festival. And how okay would any of us be if our partner constantly took video of us not to make cute memories, but so they can use it to prove a point later on?

As I've said before, all we get is this little slice of their lives that Georgia shares on social media. But increasingly, those little slices are starting to look like moments that might have been better left unrecorded/not posted to social media. To hear Georgia's own child call her out like that was jarring, but it also made me wonder how much they do see/what they think of what they are seeing. Even now it says something that they're already aware of her social media use and the lengths she is going to for content. (For that matter, I wonder what they will think in the future, such as if/when Birdie sees Georgia's Insta post calling her a "drunken accident"...)

Again, this could easily all be chalked up to me just missing whatever the joke/dry humor is here, but these were the impressions I had from seeing Georgia's content today. Happy as always to hear what others think, however, so feel free to chime in on this post...

#electronic-chocolate #phantomstars24 #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #georgia tennant #it is puzzling to me that everything with her gets written off as a joke #because at some point there are things that stop being funny #but it seems increasingly difficult to tell where that point is #i know if it were i would find it unsettling to be with someone who is constantly storing things away to use as 'ammunition'#but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds #thoughts #nycc 2023 #discourse

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dxckgrxsonx · 1 year

Note

saw this post once (i genuinely have NO idea whose post it was and i wish i could credit it but i can't remember for the life of me) that said that jay is the typa guy to grab your phone from you when you get sent an unsolicited dick pic and send one back, thus completely humiliating the owner of the other picture. just... can't stop thinking about it... help...

Oh…oh, my head is suddenly empty, no thoughts only this,

“You’re not paying attention to me.” Jason whines, soft fingers tugging insistently at your sleeve. He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand and theres a quick flare of something fond and affectionate at the action. “I’m your best friend, you’re supposed to lavish me with attention and laugh at my jokes.”

You think he’s sweet when he’s needy and your mouth waters with the taste of sugar when Jason plasters himself to your back, arms thrown over your shoulders to tug you in close.

“If you don’t give me attention, I’m getting you a mug saying ‘worlds worst friend’.” Jason threatens, chin resting on your shoulder. “Are you even listening to me?”

The message notification flashes up on your phone screen whilst you’re in the middle of jabbing your finger on little cross in the top corner of the screen to get rid of a pop up add.

It opens up a picture message from the guy you went on one date with a few days ago and you recoil in shock, the back of your head nearly smashing Jason in the face.

Behind you, Jason goes deathly still, “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yup.” You confirm.

Swooping in with the grace of a seagull scrounging for food, Jason yanks your phone out of your hand and takes off in a sprint through your apartment.

“Jay! What the fuck are you doing?” You exclaim, kicking yourself into a run to try and catch him. You’re not quick enough and Jason launches himself into your bathroom and locks the door. “Please tell me you’re not jerking off to that.”

A shout of horror echoes through the door and you cackle.

“Uh excuse me, my spank bank consists of only the finest photos and videos. None of which, contain whatever the fuck this is.”

Resting your shoulder on the wall beside the door you wait impatiently for him to come out of the bathroom.

“You best not be going through my nudes.” You say, mouth tipped up in a grin. “Those are for a select audience only.”

Jason swears loudly and grumbles out your name, “You really at the worst friend in the world. We’re supposed to share everything and I find out you’re withholding sexy pictures from me? For shame.”

Rolling your eyes Jason unlocks the door after a few minutes and hands your phone back. There’s a soft flush to his cheeks but he gives you a wolffish grin when you unlock your phone and stare, mouth agape at his response to the message.

“Why am I looking at your dick?” You point out, struggling to resist the urge to save the photo to your own spank bank. “Why am i so turned on all of a sudden?”

“Gotta show him what a real dick looks like.” Jason shrugs, like he hasn’t just ruined your entire sex life with one photo. “And what can I say, I’m gifted. Now…you’ve seen a naughty pic of me, how about you show me one of yours?”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader drabble #jason todd x you drabble #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #ella writes #asks #answered #anonymous

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igotanidea · 6 months

Text

Blocked: Dick Grayson x game streamer!reader

He's so clueless and concerned in this photo it just fits the whole plotline :D

***

„DAMMIT!” her sudden yelling coming from the game room got him on his feet, running inside immediately, in search for any possible threat to her life or health.

„What is going-?” Dick stopped in the middle of the sentence, his gaze focusing on her perked up ass in those devilishly tight jeans. The view he couldn’t stop himself from indulging in for a moment, even if it was as nice as it was confusing. „Babe, what are you-?”

„Damn the stupid Internet connection!” she yelled, flexing and twisting around her gaming computer, playing with some cables and plugs, desperately trying to fix whatever was broken and failing spectacularly. „I was supposed to post a new stream today! I was supposed to do a live! Screw that! Dammit! Why is it always happening to me!?”

„Y/N. Love--”

„Agh!” she groaned in frustration and just to make sure he was not going to be hit with something she might throw his way, Dick took a step back raising hands in surrender

„Princess why don;t you calm down for a moment and --”

„Calm down?!” she snapped ,twisting head his direction, fury in her eyes, blush of anger on her cheeks „How am I supposed to calm down. Redlotus95 is hot on my heels!”

„Red Lotus....?”

„I can’t drop on second place Dick. I’m serious! I’m not giving this little piece of shit the satisfaction of stealing my fans!”

„I think you take it a little bit too far, baby. It was supposed to be fun and relax, remember. What happened to taking things casually? Why the bloodlust?”

„Screw having fun. I am quite literally at war now Dick!”

„when did you became so competitive?”he frowned at her, taking a step forward and peeling the cobweb from her face. Clearly her head office needed cleaning.

„Since I was called a petty girl doing a in a men field!” she cried out, becoming exasperated in a second.

‘I’m sorry, what?” Dick blinked once, shocked by her words. Who in their sound mind, would ever dare to call his beautiful, wonderful and killer girlfriend such words. „gimme a name, Y/n.” he hissed, clenching his fist.

„Dick.”

„A name, love.”

„Can I please see Dick Grayson again?” she rubbed her forehead, the sudden change in his demeanor, his I-will-avenge-her-name eyes included, giving her extremely clear sign of which part of him, she was currently speaking to.

„What do you --? Oh, oh, okay, i get it. But babe, I don’t need to be Nightwing to punch whoever call you that name. I can still do it in my civilian version. I mean, have you seen my muscles?” he grinned, flexing his biceps. „Hands down I can beat anyone.”

„As sweet and chivalry as that is, I don’t need you defending my honour or whatever” she rolled her eyes, equally amused and annoyed. „I can do it myself but I freaking need a stable internet connection and new hardware! I can;t possibly work with this shit!” she had to gather all the strength she had to not kick the device.

„Y/N....” Dick grinned at her, showing literally all of his teeth.

„What--?!”

***

Computer store.

That was the what.

And damn, let’s just say that were advantages to dating a billionaire’s son, cause she definitely didn’t have to cut on the expenditure.

***

„How does that even work!?”

„Could you be quiet for a moment!”

„ But I don’t know how to use that! What do I do?! Y/N!! What do I do!?”

„You just sit here quietly and look pretty!”

„Oh, that I can do--”

„God!” she groaned, even though deep, deep down inside she was laughing at his beginner attitude. „Hey everyone” she turned to speak to her followers active online waiting for her live stream. Sorry for the little shouting and screaming. That’s what you get when your charming boyfriend try to get involve in your hobby” she chuckled a little.

The comments started appearing a moment after she explained the little commotion and Dick almost jumped on his chair, rushing to read them all.

„Oh, look Y/N! They say hi to me!”

„Mhm.. sure they do.”

„They can hear me now, right? I can tell them hi too?”

„you know I’m starting to question if you were really raised by Bruce Wayne, the CEO of the most advanced technology company in the country...’

„Hey that’s mean!” Dick huffed, his eyes still scanning the comments carefully, almost as if he was watching a villain during his patrol. „but I guess your followers think it’s cute. Oh!” he gasped and smiled wickedly upon noticing one particular message. „Been-there-done-that is asking if you can post a picture of me. Sure she can, I’ll be more than happy to show you my face and --”

She cleared her throat in a very suggestive manner.

„Sorry...” he send her that flashing smile again and turned back to computer as if keeping his eyes on the screen made the attenders hear him better. „Ok guys, listen up, before we start the -- um--?”

„Streaming session.” she gave him a prompt.

„Yeah, right, streaming session, I got one important message for you all--”

„Oh, no, Richard, don’t--!”

„Fuck you RedLotus95 for talking shit about my girlfriend!”

Youtube blocked her for two weeks.

She blocked Dick for ever attending her live sessions forever.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x y/n #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff

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sxtaep · 2 years

Text

ALL I WANT - JJK | five

after distancing yourself from jungkook because of the indirect confession you made, you never realised how much you’d miss him, and what better way to show him that than through the phone?

pairing — jungkook x female reader

genre — fluff, smut

word count — 10.5k

chapter warnings/tags — bestfriends2lovers!au, fuckboy!jk, textbooknerd!reader, dom!jk, sub!reader, joon is a drug dealer, tae is a junkie, vmin sideship, soft shower scene, indirect confession, lots of touching, jk is so oblivious, late night texting, jk loves your glasses, explicit content, sexting, mutual masturbation, exchanging of illicit photos, exchanging of illicit videos, teasing, male masturbation, female masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, praise, so much cum +more.

a/n: this is LONG overdue, but the loml loma @velvetwicebang should’ve been recognised earlier when posting this series for her everworking writing skills and input (especially for jungkook’s pov of things) so pls show her all the love 🥹 i swear she doesn’t bite ☹️🫶

also, apologies for the inactivity, your girl was dying in a&e with a cyst (it’s still there) and is now on indefinite sick leave from work 💀😭

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

Oh.

So maybe Jungkook didn’t have a valid reason to narrow his eyes once you left him alone after he’d mustered up the energy to sit up on the bed, pouting to himself after he was turned away in the midst of tossing his leg over the edge of the mattress, about to boldly follow your footsteps into the shower until he heard the lock click.

“Wha..” Confusion spilling from his doe eyes, he stopped dead in his tracks and ruffled the back of his fluffy bed hair, staring at the door with his brows slightly furrowed as he made out the sound of the shower from outside the connected bathroom, “Whatever, fuck you.” The man raised his voice to shout the following, already knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hear him, “Not like I also wanted to shower or anything!”

Jungkook was clearly pouting and he’d rather get a hundred carpet burns than let you see that side of him no matter how much it bothered him, so the man ‘brushed it off’ and scooted his bare ass further up the bed, stopping when his back met the wooden headboard behind him.

He figured this would be the perfect time to catch up on his texts, now that you decided to leave him completely alone. (It wasn’t even that big of a deal, honestly, yet the sulking man seemed awfully desperate to look for other ways to distract his brain from thinking about it, naturally tapping on his and the guys’ groupchat).

He always prepared himself for the most chaotic situations, just a few weeks ago the chat went crazy bickering over who would pay for Hoseok’s bail money after the latter got drunk off his ass, and funnily enough, the week before that one Hobi sent a long ass text declaring he decided to stop drinking.

Just like that, out of nowhere.

Of course, no one believed him.

Unlike those times, this morning’s topic of conversation seemed to be…normal, which was rare.

namjoon added ‘chim’ to the chat!

chim: hey guys! 👋

yoongi: holy fuck he’s alive

hoeseok: who💀 jimin or joon?

yoongi: damn both of em😭😭😭 just 30 mins alone w you can’t be easy

hoeseok: fuck u.

namjoon: we all know you want to dude, but he’s happily taken remember??

hoeseok: i’m gonna kick myself out this gc 😭

u guys need to chillllll

jin: just like how jungkook chilled w y/n in your bed last night 😏😏

yoongi: bro 💀💀💀💀

hoeseok: nah bc i’m actually still pissed that fucker offered to buy me a new bed set under 50 bucks????? what world does he live in

namjoon: 😑😑 okay wheres tae? he has to know where jungkook’s at

jin: he’s probably at y/n’s place but there’s also a possibility that he ran back to his dorm like a pussy

namjoon: taetae

TAEEEEEE

namjoon: tae answer or no more hard drugs for you to get addicted to 🙄 your choice

yoongi: dude shut up the guy’s probably still sleeping

jin: tae did you call a chick over after i dropped you off last night?

hoeseok: i wouldn’t blame him

he was babysitting joon most of the night, he had no chance to shoot his shot

tae: fuk no

i dropped dead on the couch as soon as i got home

yoongi: so jungkook didn’t come home last night?

Taehyung chewed on his bottom lip from his bedroom, hesitating on whether he should throw his best friend under the bus just to save himself from any more unsolicited revelations in front of new interest Jimin, or suck it up like a man.

tae: no, he’s still at y/n’s

jin: I FUCKING CALLED IT

jeon: DUDE

Jungkook was never gonna hear the end of it. The guys already teased the hell out of him because of you, and now that he actually fucked you, he would never live it down.

jeon: i’m never covering for ur ass again 🙄

yoongi: ….u guys are such best friends it’s disgusting

namjoon: mf have you been lurking all along

jin: he probably has 💀

hoeseok: PUSSY

jeon: oh fuck off hyung i get more play than you

Maybe that was a little too far, but Jungkook was sticky and sweaty and your bedroom was hot as shit. A nice shower would’ve sufficed.

jeon: respectfully. sorry. ily. pick out a new bed set xoxo.

yoongi: DAMN 💀💀

namjoon: ...

jin: 🙇‍♂️ me bowing bc i taught him well

hoeseok: make it a $100 bed set 😒

jeon: ur crazy if u think i have $100 on me

but deal 🤝

After that’d been set in stone, readying for his pockets to hurt, Jungkook carelessly tossed his phone aside and combed one hand through his oily hair, on his feet and on his way to invite himself into the shower with you.

You wouldn’t mind, right?

It’d only been 5 minutes since you stepped into the shower, just standing under the shower head and letting the steaming hot water run down your body.

What if he left?

No, he wouldn’t leave again.

But what if he did?

The thought left an unsettling feeling in your stomach and you had this sudden urge to hit pause on your shower and check he was still there, lying naked on your bed, but you held yourself back. Caring this much was not a good sign.

“Open up,” Jungkook annoyingly rattled on the doorknob with his forehead pressed against the door, unknowingly soothing your anxiety while acting like a needy child, not once stopping his tugging and turning on the metal knob. “Let me innnn!”

Alright, now he was fucking with you, grinning whilst waiting to meet you face to face.

The constant rattling of the doorknob startled you, but Jungkook’s whiny voice was one you could always recognise, even if he was faking it. At least he didn’t go home, so that was a win for you.

You stopped massaging your scalp, bits of bubbles following your every move as you stepped out of the shower, leaving the water to run. The bathrobe that was hanging behind the door was now draped over your body to cover your front, now holding onto the doorknob and fighting off the hopefulness in your eyes.

“God, I thought someone was breaking in,” you sigh, holding the bathrobe tightly to your chest. “What do you need, Kook?” You try to sound as unamused as you could spotting the stupidly attractive grin on his face, yet the sight of him from the neck down played as a distraction.

“What does it look like I need? A goddamn shower.”

Jungkook was right about a shower. Things got so messy and he was walking around the dorm with his dick out, he probably made more mess for you to clean up.

Pushing past your dumbfounded self, Jungkook didn’t question why you were covering yourself up after what you both just did, but he figured he’d get to see you naked soon enough if you were about to shower together.

Like regular friends did, of course.

“What are you waiting for?” The man turned to look over his shoulder after stepping under the lukewarm stream of water, staring at you past the wet hair that fell over his eyes, “Join me.”

You stared back at him, mouth slightly ajar as your eyes dipped a little too low and met with droplets of water rushing between every crevice of his abs. He had no right looking like a nude model right now

“Right…” you mentally rolled your eyes and let out a huff, pulling the bathrobe off your body, but you felt a little exposed; more focused on the fact that now neither of you were exactly ‘in the moment.’

The bathrobe pooled at your ankles and you parted ways from it, hesitantly climbing in and standing in front of the much larger male so you could also snag some of the water from the shower head. Jungkook had an advantage, being much bigger and taller, most of the water would land on his shoulders and just bounce off, ignoring your presence.

Being this close to him once again; your soaked back pressing against his built chest and practically sticking to him, you felt the urge to apologise because there was absolutely no way you were doing this on purpose. “Sorry, it’s a little tight in here,” you speak up, glancing back at him over your shoulder and making sure you weren’t making him uncomfortable, yet your apology was useless; you were still unknowingly, pressing up against him.

The part of Jungkook that didn’t always think with his dick found your newborn shyness awfully endearing.

‘It was a pattern,’ he’d noticed, ‘after we’re done fucking, she suddenly gets real shy, even avoids looking into my eyes as if she wasn’t just batting her eyelashes up at me minutes ago’.

Sometimes he wished to dive into your mind without any sort of heads up, just him as he came, pocketing a handful of your thoughts and knowledge for himself along the way (maybe then he’d actually know what went on in your head during moments like these, where all that spoke was the running water as it caressed his naked body and shunned yours).

“You don’t have to apologize, dummy,” Jungkook shook his head, although you couldn’t see him, taking a minute to expand his eyes down your unblemished back, not exclusively sexual, but heavily aware of how he was practically hogging the shower all to himself.

“Here,” with both hands clasped over your shoulders, Jungkook stepped back and let you take over his spot, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead and running a hand down his face to get rid of any water droplets.

Grabbing a bottle of soap he found on the side, Jeon thought about washing himself but changed his mind upon realising there was someone else that could do it for him.

You.

Maybe this would help you get over your timidness, and in all honesty, Jungkook felt a little out of place for being so casual and nonchalant about all of this..

“Yo, shower hogger,” the taller tapped your shoulder with his index finger, waiting until you turned around to raise his brows and glance down at his body expectantly, extending the bottle of soap out towards you, “I’m just so tired, help me wash?” He felt like he was quoting the beginning scene of a porno, and Jungkook knew that you knew that he was exaggerating.

You looked up at Jungkook with an ‘are you serious’ kind of expression, raising a brow at him as if he was crazy. “You’re tired? Please,” you shook your head. If anything, you should be the one that’s tired, especially after that mind-blowing head session you have him, but still, you gave into the big man, grabbing the bottle of berry scented soap from his grasp and squeezing a generous amount onto your palms.

“Since when did you need help taking showers? Last time I checked, babies needed that.” you lather the soap in your hands, rubbing them together to create more bubbles before taking a step back and looking the man up and down, deciding where the hell to even start. “You’re a big baby, aren’t you, Jeon?” you tease, finally deciding to set your palms flat on his chest as you kept your eyes trained on him, very much mocking him with just your eyes.

Jungkook was definitely not built like a big baby, but there were times where he’d do the most endearing things that made you wanna squeeze his cheeks and gauge out his doe eyes. Like, when you’d upset him over little things, he’d sit around pretending he wasn’t upset but you would clearly see the pout on his face, with the added crossing his arms over his chest (exactly like a child).

You grabbed onto his bicep, pulling his body closer to yours a little and snaking his arm around your waist just to keep a secure hold on you so you both could catch some of the water running up above. You wondered about your next move. It seemed a little unusual, massaging his chest under the shower, but then again, you’d already done far from appropriate things; including sweaty bodies, someone’s tears, and a shitload of cum.

Despite all that, you gently caressed the damp skin of his chest, awfully slow and counting each tiny little bubble bursting against him. “Like this?” you prompt, gliding your fingers across his chest and the action itself left your own chest tingling.

This was next level intimate.

Jungkook hadn’t said anything else after childishly puffing out a, ‘I’m not a baby’ with a comical roll of his smiling eyes, studying your face and changing expressions in comfortable silence whilst you roamed your hands over his soapy chest, the arm that curled around the you holding you securely with one palm pressed flat over the small of your back.

Fuck, Jungkook hoped you couldn’t make out how fast his wild little heart was beating even behind all those bubbles. You couldn’t… right? It would quite literally kill the man to try and explain himself out of that one because— he didn’t fucking know why his heart was running laps either!

He already worried enough that he made himself look dumb in front of his super smart best friend; he wanted you to think he had the brains of goddamn Einstein, like yourself, and looking for the right words to explain himself wasn’t going to do him any justice.

Either way, Jungkook just knew it was nice having someone else wash him up… like a servant.

A pretty servant with great tits, at that.

“Yeah..” Jeon finally breathed out another word, unaware that he was inching in towards your face quietly enough that you didn’t catch on and stop your scrubbing, “Just like that.”

He had to uncomfortably tip his neck down a little to reach you, but when his parted lips were merely inches away from yours, Jungkook didn’t waste any time and trapped you in a surprisingly slow moving kiss, raising one hand to cup the side of your face as his thumb traced over your cheekbones.

‘He kissed me first!’ was all you could think about right now. And the kiss easily held a deeper meaning behind it, one that didn’t scream ‘we’re kissing because of sex’. Unless Jungkook thought exactly that..

Then that would be a lot of damage.

Were you hearing yourself right now? You felt pitiful; falling for him after fucking him and now you were head-over-heels for the man just because he kissed you first.

What were the chances of him deciding to settle down? And would Jungkook settle down with you? It was a question you never wanted to answer, or hear the answer to, because there were very high chances the answers to both those questions wouldn’t benefit you. You did hold a tiny bit of hope, only the tiniest, that maybe, just maybe, Jungkook could be feeling the same way. His heart literally on the verge of bursting against your palm struck up a couple questions in your mind, but you easily dismissed them, using the water as an excuse to cover for him.

Yet, with all those doubts, you didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. God knows you wanted to kiss him and he was merely doing you a favour by getting Jungkook to make the first move. It was unexpected, but that’s what made it all the best.

When he did finally pull away after a full minute of tasting your soft lips, his tongue cheekily swiped over his bottom lip while still cupping your face in his big hands, looking into your eyes with that endearing smile that made your heart jump.

You stopped moving your hand, leaving it to rest again his chest whilst your free hand made home on top of his, your fingertips briefly brushing over your cheek as you intertwined your fingers, pulling his hand down to your chest.

Right over your beating heart.

“You don’t realise it, but you have my heart running laps,” you whisper softly, squeezing Jungkook’s hand and suddenly releasing him from your hold, doing your best to turn your back on him and bask under the warm water raining above.

Good idea, leave him confused with words.

Jungkook wasn’t that stupid though, he was perceptive only when it seemed advantageous to him, which was something you picked up on over the years. He’d be able to crack this one. Surely.

You groaned quietly to yourself, lulling your head back a little to have the water slip down your front, but you were too distracted by the warmth to notice your head falling back against his chest, your body relaxing as you released a soft breath.

Nothing outright witty or smart-assy slipped out his mouth during the shared, tender moment between you both; Jungkook acknowledged your words within his own mind, quietly, digesting whatever it was that that had the back of his neck and tips of his ears drowning red.

The man thought about your— ‘you have my heart running laps’ —for quite a while now, a week to be exact, and sometimes it’d pop in his head at the most random times, it was lowkey starting to freak him out.

Wherever Jungkook was, so were you. Figuratively.

In his mind that was usually blank, you were there, present as always while prompting his heart to beat recklessly and his lungs to stutter whilst they filled with air, often catching him off guard.

Truthfully, Jeon had been too busy battling it out with noobs on Call of Duty, to really question what you meant that day. You weren’t making it easy for him to talk to you either. You completely shut him out after the shower ‘incident’ (which was approximately 2 days ago) and used the excuse of ‘I need to catch up on my assignments’, to avoid him.

Obviously he didn’t know that, but he wasn’t suspicious either. It was normal for you to go radio silent for a couple days to focus on your studies, and Jungkook respected that. Normally he’d bug you, but not this time around.

Which was weird.

Even Taehyung found it odd, coming back home and finding Jungkook still playing his game. He was high as hell, but he knew something weird when he saw it.

Slumping against the empty space beside Jungkook, Taehyung carelessly throws his arm around the younger’s muscly shoulders. “What’ve you been up to, then? You been sitting on your ass this whole time?” he asks, eyeing the TV screen and seeing that he was currently in the game lobby, waiting to start a new match. “No girls over tonight? Not even Y/N?”

Even though he was high, a part of him wanted things to set sail between you and his roommate.

“Were you too shy to call her? Or did she just reject you when you tried?” Taehyung’s assumptions weren’t impossible. He’d been around long enough to watch Jungkook’s countless invitations to hang out or get something to eat, get straight up rejected by you because you were too busy studying.

“Ah, Y/N?” No use in brushing it off now.

Two days without seeing you or talking to you, felt like an eternity, but Jungkook was determined to stay quiet. Ever since you both hooked up for the first time, he’s mostly been the one to text or call to ask if he could come over and y’know what, that is if Jeon excluded the times he’d just show up at your doorstep unannounced.

Point was.. he was waiting for you to need him, not the other way around like it often was.

Now, Jungkook wasn’t expecting you to text him and blatantly say how much you needed him to come over and fuck you so good you’d forget about everything you studied (even if that would make him harder than anything else in the world), but even just an ‘i miss you’ or ‘i’m done studying, come over’ would make him drop anything and everything for you.

It was a new and weird feeling, thinking like this. He never waited around for a girl, even if he had a line of them waiting to get dicked down by him.

“I’m not shy, we’ve just been busy doing our own thing.” He huffed out at Tae’s assumption, not daring to make any eye contact since being best friends with Taehyung since middle school meant the latter knew when he was bullshitting, always. It was weird as hell and even more impressive when Tae could point it out when he wasn’t sober..

Jungkook was looking straight at Tae now with big eyes and his teeth busy nibbling at his lip, like he was caught red handed and it was too obvious that that’s been something that’d been on his mind for a while.

With a low groan, the younger ran both hands down his face and slid down the couch, muscly legs lazily spread as he leaned his head back on the headrest and remained silent. Until he didn’t; Taehyung had a way of getting information out of him without barely saying a word. Something about his deadpan gaze…

“I know she’s not the type, but a text saying that she needs me- if you know what I mean, and not the other way around? I’d give her my kid, man.”

That was a complete reach and even if Jungkook did chuckle a little at that, his feelings and everything else he said were true. The younger shrugged and played off those strong feelings, “It’s whatever, though. You probably felt the same way about a girl you hooked up with at some point in time, right?”

All Taehyung could think about was ‘who the fuck possessed his roommate?’ No, even better question; ‘why is a girl making his best friend feel like this?’ In all the years Taehyung knew Jungkook, never had he ever seen the younger male care so much about a girl he fucked.

But… there was a difference. You weren’t just any girl he fucked. You were Jungkook’s only girl friend that he fucked.

Given the history between you two, things obviously felt more fragile and more… intimate? At least that’s what Taehyung thought. He wasn’t even part of the relationship, but because of the younger being so new to experiencing such feelings, it was almost second nature for him to feel the same way (out of sympathy). “I don’t know, dude… I’ve never felt like that, but you sound like you’re having withdrawal symptoms being without her for so long,” he shrugs, eyeing the male who looked like he was so far down the ‘I’m in love with her, but i’m gonna act like I don’t care’ hole.

Taehyung could’ve easily lied and told Jungkook that it was normal for him to feel so attached to his girl friend, but who was he kidding? It wasn’t normal to feel so attached unless you were deeply in love.

“You sure you’re not… in love with her, dude?” he teases, ruffling Jungkook’s hair in the most brotherly way possible. He was only trying to scare the im younger male and make him overthink a little. “I’m kidding! Just stop being a pussy and go to her. Tell her what you want. Like, straight up. I’m tellin’ you, girls dig that. There’s nothing girls want more than a guy being straight to the point.”

Jeon Jungkook was most definitely, most surely not in love with you. What even was love? He could think of a few examples..

His dad cutting off the crusts in his mom’s sandwiches, Hoseok babysitting Namjoon, Mrs. Kim working hard to make sure her small, country-boy Tae went off to a nice college (and got away from his ego-filled dad. Jungkook met him a few times and he was an A class asshole).

Either way, the younger never really saw that kind of love for him. It all seemed unattainable and whatever Jungkook was feeling towards you, it couldn’t have been love. Maybe lust, just in his own special way..

“I’m not in love with her, are you crazy?” Jeon sighed out loud and considered taking Taehyung’s advice for real, just maybe not at 12:30 in the morning.. “Okay, fine, but,” Jungkook turned his body to chuckle at the irony in his roommate’s words, “When have you ever been straight up with a girl, Tae? Was it when you asked her to give you that fresh hickey on your neck tonight?”

It was huge and Jungkook had been eyeing the red bruise just underneath Taehyung’s jaw for a few moments prior. “Was this before or after you went to meet up with Jimin because damn,” the younger was laughing now, inching to take a closer look at possibly the biggest hickey he’d ever seen, unaware it was Jimin who left those very marks.

As if he couldn’t be any more skeptical than he already was, Taehyung’s palm was quick to smack against his neck, making himself wince in the process as he discreetly rubbed the bruised area and avoided all eye contact with Jungkook. His jaw tensed as he tried to stop himself from blushing. Remnants of tonight’s events were running through his mind, and he had to stop before his dick got hard again. But that seemed impossible. Jimin was just this ultra, superior, ethereal being with the superpowers to keep his dick hard and heart fluttering for days on end. “Hey!” Taehyung scowls, smacking Jungkook’s head (not too hard) and pulling away from his susceptive gaze.

“Firstly, mind your own, secondly, I got bitten by a mosquito.” That was the lamest excuse in the book, but once again, this is where Jeon’s cluelessness played at his advantage. “Jimin lives in this whole other area, like expensive apartments and neighbourhoods and shit. There’s palm trees everywhere, too so there were a lot of flies,” Taehyung explained; sounding as brief and unbothered as possible. In case Jungkook didn’t believe him, he added, “Seriously, It felt like I was in another country when I arrived.”

Hopefully he played it off well. The man was pretty good at acting, especially when it came to promising girls he’d spend another night with them. It never happened.

“Whatever, man, turn the game off. I need the couch,” he yawns dramatically whilst stretching his arms above his head. “I can’t feel my legs.” It was a natural occurrence for Taehyung to sleep on the couch after a night of non-stop drugs. He would quite commonly complain about not being able to feel his legs because they’d be so numb, thus deeming him immobile until sober the next morning.

Taehyung executed the lame excuse perfectly, Jungkook completely brushed it off.. right after he finished tending to the minor concussion from his roommate.

Annoyed but kind, he ran off to the kitchen and paired an Ibuprofen with a tall glass of water to sit on the coffee table at an arm’s reach for the other male to quench his fleeting sobriety with, taking his earned title of ‘best friend’ extra seriously while throwing a spare blanket over Tae’s limp body on the couch, turning off the TV seconds later and going into his room.

Throwing himself to lie on his bed, the sudden urge to send you a text loomed over. He knew, he knew… he was supposed to let you reach out to him, but maybe you were just busy and forgot about him. Plus, waiting around was boring and nowhere near as exhilarating as—

jungkook: you haven’t forgotten about me yet? 🤓

Was it super obvious you was avoiding Jungkook?

Maybe.

What’s the best way to avoid someone?

Drown yourself in your studies.

It was probably advantageous to you now, since studying was always the excuse you used to get yourself out of unwanted situations. And this wouldn’t be a surprise to Jungkook. He had the shorter end of of the stick when it came to wanting to hang out, you would always reject his pleas.

This past week, you needed to ‘get back on your grind’ and all this faffing about with Jungkook left a lasting impact on your daily routine.

Every time you sat on your couch (which was often) you’re reminded of the very first night you both laid hands on each other. How could you forget? There was probably remnants of that night still burnt into your couch. Every time you’re sat at your desk, you’re reminded of the little note Jungkook left the following morning, apologising for leaving so early.

Hard to believe, your poor self displayed the note at the corner of your desk, right in front of your old textbooks. It seemed cringe, but you found it cute and got some sort of serotonin looking at it while you were studying. Every night when you go to bed, you mindlessly stare at the empty space next to you for at least an hour before falling asleep, thinking how it would’ve been Jungkook next to you.

And the shower… where you indirectly confessed to him, but instead, only confused yourself, and you had no doubt you confused him too (he wasn’t any smarter than you were).

In all honesty, you were waiting for Jungkook to approach you first, which was too much to ask for since he always texted first. But, you were hoping he’d say something about your last interaction. Was the “you got my heart running laps” not enough for him? Or was he really that clueless?

Whatever it was, you didn’t dwell on it, almost jumping out of the comfy seat at her desk and lungeing to reach your phone off the bed. Your heart was doing that annoying racing thing and your fingers were twiddling at your screen.

you: y’know what?

i completely forgot you existed for a sec

what was your name again?

john?

Damn. Jeon was torn between laughing or having a go at you for that line as he laid out sprawled over his bed thinking of what to make of it, a tight lipped smile settled things and pushed through Jungkook’s efforts to take small offense to what you said.

“Pfft, John?”

However, that sly grin always appeared whenever you were confident and smart-assy with him. With shame lesser than -10000, Jungkook could easily admit he found it hot. He could stupidly stand in the middle of a street with both arms outstretched and yell, ‘I find it really hot when Lee Y/N gives me a taste of my own medicine, so what?! She’s very hot to me!’

Obviously that wasn’t going to happen, but trust that he would if it came down to it.

jungkook: john huh? who’s that, textbook #1? 😕

but uh. how’s jerry doing?? yknow. textbook #3 😉

It was the highlight of his night; Jungkook hadn’t even realized his cheeks were turning sore from smiling so big. If any of the guys walked in they’d think he won the lottery and then some, but no, it was just you.

It always seemed to be about you— is what the guys would say, surely. No one else.

jungkook: and i doubt you forgot about my existence, you like me too much

hell, you probably even missed me, i know i missed you

Anyone could bet you were forcing yourself not to break out into a fit of giggles (resulting in you just writhing in your seat) because there was no way a man was suddenly making you laugh this hard. Jungkook was making you laugh so hard.

It took you a couple seconds to regain your composure before tapping at your keyboard again.

you: john and jerry are doing good

they’ve been keeping me company and treating me well

i wouldn’t have it any other way 😩

Having Jungkook keep you company would obviously be better, but you can’t always get what you want.

You didn’t catch the next couple messages he sent, instead opening your camera and snapping a quick photo of the mess of scrap papers and opened textbooks lying on your desk, not even realising the note Jungkook left you a couple nights ago was peeking out in the corner of the frame.

You attach the photo to your next message;

you: this sums up my week

you know the drill

As you waited for the attachment to deliver, you scrolled down to finally see the recent message he sent, and you swore your heart skipped a beat.

Jungkook missed you?

A faint hint of pink drowned your cheeks as you contemplated on how to respond?

Do you reciprocate, or just be passive and ignore him? The second option seemed pretty appropriate, because if he missed you so much, why didn’t he do anything about it?

That option however, would just open up a whole other can of worms and would probably end up with the pair bickering until the early hours of dawn.

You missed him so much this week, you didn’t want this interaction to go to waste.

you: i think YOU like me too much since you missed me so bad

are you obsessed with me?

it’s okay if you are, but you’ll have to wait in line for your turn

That joke was no longer valid ever since you guys fucked.

you: if it makes you feel better, i guess i missed you too

Unlike you and your adorable stickling for structure, it was a shock Jungkook waited until all the blurbs of texts were done coming through considering how restlessness was naturally wired in his veins, but he preferred to indulge in each individual bubble once they disappeared from the bottom of his screen.

He didn’t want to take the risk of saying something stupid and fucking everything up, not after so long (2 days), so for you, he’d learn to be patient— even if that sounded difficult to actually go through.

Almost immediately his eyes widened at the amount of individual texts that finished pouring in (he always had a way of knowing if you were mad at him. If you sent him no more than three individual texts at a time, that meant he needed to hide).

But more than taken aback, Jungkook had an idea of what that meant on a deeper, more obvious level. It was so clear that you missed him and if his heart didn’t pound enough at the idea of it, the beating organ nearly jumped out of Jeon’s chest when his eye accidentally skipped down the list and landed on the last text, confirming that what he thought was true.

Now he had the urge to giggle.

The male didn’t know what the fuck was going on or why he felt this way towards simple texts that were meant to come off as light teasing and nothing more. All he knew was that if he kept this up, his head would swell because of all the confusion going on inside it..

jungkook: jesus nerd, how you’re still breathing surrounded by all that paper is beyond me

smh don’t get too ahead of yourself tho 😒 i like you a very small amount

and that joke is no longer valid ever since we fucked

Jungkook was still thinking about the fact that you also missed him and for that reason, he failed to catch his little note in the corner of your attached photo, for now.

His mind was just… focused on something else.

You missed him!

jungkook: that does make me feel better, god what would i do without you? 😫

but truth is… i won’t really believe it unless you go into detail, miss lee. tell me, what did you miss about me?

OH! and i know that there’s a long list so take your time

Seriously, Jeon Jungkook never took a break from feeding his ego. You sat there wondering how you managed to put up with him all these years. He had a cute face back then, for sure, but now he looked like a hot hunk of goodness and everything nice, unfortunately.

you: for starters, i missed you blowing up my phone with hundreds of texts

surprised i didn’t even get ONE annoying text from you

It was almost tradition for Jungkook to spam your phone with nonsense texts and silly pictures of himself whilst you were studying. It only became a problem when he started spamming you with tiktoks, distracting you from your studies because after you’d watch them, you’d end up scrolling on the app far longer than anticipated.

you: i guess i missed your stupid face too 🙄

and the way you’d come over and inhale all the food in my fridge

and how you’d mark your territory on my couch

i also really miss our movie nights, it was the only thing that relieved my stress 😔

and, believe it or not, i miss arguing with you

i could say so much more, but i don’t think it’s appropriate unless you wanna hear?

You paused for a second, seeing that your list had taken up the entire screen.

Damn, you really missed him, huh?

you: why did we stop talking?

you know my door is always open for you, jeon 😕

Whether it be to pester you, hang out, or fuck, Jungkook was always welcome.

you: but enough about you, stink

what did you miss about me? 🥰

It’d been eating him up inside long before this special moment, gnawing away at his core and causing Jungkook’s blush to deepen in color and expand vastly over the smooth canvas of his cheeks that were puppeted by two strings pulling hard at the apples of his cheeks whenever his heart went crazy drumming to its own, particular beat. It was a type of drumming that was so rare, he worried it was an actual heart attack at its beginning stages…

jungkook: you’re making me and my “stupid face” blush, lee 😵‍💫

But he never dropped down to the ground dead—it was worse— Jungkook was left with the continuous stinging in his chest and a conscious mind full of consuming thoughts.

Jeon Jungkook never skipped out on an opportunity to feed his massive ego, but you never missed the cue as his ‘special best friend’ to always give in and singlehandedly create an even cockier version of the man; just for the moment you were together, be it over text or in person.

Truth? Jungkook would rather hear you say these things to his face, then he’d be able to show a more genuine reaction to how they made him feel— a kiss spoke volumes, for example. He was never the best at saying things the way he wanted to say them— but on the bright side, Jungkook was glad you couldn’t see him and his flushed being.

That seemed to be his thing; go big or go home.

jungkook: that’s a hell of a long list for a girl that said she forgot about my existence 👀

sure you weren’t thinking about me everyday, pretty?

He liked to think he was in control; he enjoyed being in control, but when his skin was lit up because of a few sweet words from you, confidence didn’t come as easily and smoothly as it usually did. So, Jungkook settled for playing a front over text.

Not like you had any way of seeing him.

jungkook: but hmm, what did i miss about you? 🤔 well for starters, i like it when you let me raid your fridge and let me mark my territory on your couch ;)

how you call me “stink” or “idiot” with a smile on your face after i say something stupid because deep inside you find it endearing 👀

your random fuckin GORY murder cases that always stick with me. a man is scarred

when you’re super concentrated while studying and quietly mumble to yourself under your breath. it’s cute

you in glasses. that’s it

our movie nights, especially when you let me pick ironman for the 100th time

i also miss arguing with you and proving your ass wrong

your ass.

sleeping with you in the way that you keep me warm during the night and you rest your head on my chest. i like feeling like i’m keeping you safe

and sleeping with you in the way that i can make you feel really good, help you relieve stress. feeling closer to you is being inside you

Fuck, did he go overboard?

Jungkook was only trying to match you in terms of quality, but now looking back at all the sent messages, he couldn’t help but cringe at himself for saying all that.

He should’ve taken quality over quantity more seriously..

“Damn,” He ran a hand through his hair and quickly got back to typing so that you wouldn’t sit on the last part for too long.

jungkook: and wdym “when did we stop talking” 💀💀 y/n, it’s only been two days 🙄

im coming over tomorrow tho, can’t have you missing me anymore 😉

For a brief second, you thought you were reading texts from the boyfriend you never had. It was worse since you were going overboard with the blushing, but how could you control that? His string of texts were like… a confession.

Could he possibly be in love with you? Never.

Jeon Jungkook was incapable of feeling such things, and having said that out loud, all your hope had disintegrated. Jungkook was too clueless, he probably couldn’t even remember what you said in the shower.

you: i’m starting to think you missed me more than i missed you

You stayed giggling quietly to yourself, reading on each line one by one and feeling the butterflies in the pit of your stomach erupt. If Jungkook were here right now, he’d probably tease the hell out of you, use it as a way to boost his inflated ego.

you: my fridge has been restocked for you, so you won’t have to bring over half-eaten pizza like last time 💀

ALSO

IM ALWAYS RIGHT! you have never ever proved me wrong in your life

you argue with bs, i argue with FACTS 😌

What’s something that would make the Jeon Jungkook fold?

A selfie.

But not just any odd selfie.

It was a blessing in disguise that you had your glasses on right now. A little selfie wouldn’t hurt anyone (but deep down you wanted to gauge a reaction out of him, for your own satisfaction) so you opened your camera and angled your phone up in front of you, your eyes peeking up from behind your lenses, unknowingly pulling off the whole ‘innocent, but not-so-innocent nerd’ look paired with a small pout.

The raised view might be familiar to him.

You were satisfied with the first picture you took so you sent it through to him, with another message following right after;

you: my glasses miss your face 😔

they’re tired of looking down at textbooks all day

When did Jeon become so totally and utterly fascinated with the casual sight of your dorky frames sitting high up on your cute nose, framing your face and making you seem even smarter and a bigger nerd than you already were?

He had no fuckin’ idea.

Glasses never looked as good on anyone else than they did on you— something about how your smartness aligned with the vivid image in his head of a sexy, intelligent librarian just did it for him without any misses.

Was it a fantasy or just simp behaviour?

Whatever it was, you had the brains and the looks; Jungkook honestly thought you were extremely cool and he could only dream to be as smart and dedicated to learning as you were.

Jungkook saved the picture to his camera roll after staring at it for a few moments in silence, lured in by everything from your puckered lips to deer-like eyes as they drove him wild in a manner he was way too familiar with.

“Fuck,” Jeon tipped his head to the side to take a look at the expected erection in his sweats, the bulge pitching a big tent against the bare material of his pants since Jungkook rarely wore anything underneath whenever he was alone.

None of this was fair.

Deciding to play your game his own way, he tapped on the camera and angled it towards his growing erection after pressing record, shamelessly zooming in on his bulge whilst breathing out a low, “This isn’t fair, y’know. Rubbing one out at 12am wasn’t on my list of plans for the night.”

Jungkook sent the video without another thought and added a provocative text to go along with it, his bottom lip close to going numb from biting down on it so hard.

jungkook: instead of looking down, how bout you look up at me? i think you’ll find that more fun

This was much more than the reaction you expected from Jungkook. You expected a little “you look pretty” or a “you look like a nerd” type of text from him, one that could stem as serious or just playful teasing, but watching the short clip and being met with his inane bulge, an overwhelming sense of pride took over.

You had awoken the beast with just a mere selfie?

No physical touch, no overly suggestive text message?

You had every right to believe you were capable of more. Maybe not right now since you had the clip on loop to bask in his ragged, deep voice, which gave you the most uncalled-for flashbacks to those nights where he’d praise you for taking him so good.

You quickly saved the video (for your own pleasure) and got to typing with your sweaty thumbs and clenching thighs.

you: life isn’t fair, sorry about that

Reading his last text message, your poor self had fallen into daydream mode. All the endless possibilities of you being on your knees and staring up at the man, doing God knows what. But you knew exactly what he meant, and you were not against it…

But you could always play dumb.

you: but why would i do that, koo?

enlighten a dumb girl like myself, would you?

Jungkook was this close to giving up on the sexual bantering over text and get up from his bed, go out his front door, hop on his motorcycle and drive the short minutes to your apartment just to show you what he meant— even if it was clear enough that you were only playing games with him.

jungkook: does acting clueless help you ignore the fact that you want me rn? bc let me know how that works out for you ;)

Before Jungkook could even acknowledge it, one hand extended downwards to grope his own cock, the firm contact pressuring a deep grunt to exit past his parted mouth and into the privacy of his bedroom where the darkness failed to conceal the slight twitch of his dark brows, the screen of his phone highlighting every minor gesture on his face as a response to him touching himself. His palm smoothed over his bulge time after time again as his heavy eyes stayed set on the picture before him— your selfie, breathing becoming just as unsteady.

Needy for something else, Jungkook eagerly slipped his fingers past the waistband of his sweats and pulled out his cock in one go, coming face to face with its angry tip that oozed precum moments before bucking his hips into his fisted hand, clearer groans and deeper moans making themselves known as he messily pumped his cock within his tight, slippery grip.

“Fuu-fuck.. shit,” for the first time, he looked down at the way his latched hand moved seamlessly down his girth instead of your picture, allowing his mind to run wild and imagine his slick fist was you, the tightness making him dizzy. His hips impulsively used the mattress as drive to thrust themselves upwards and fuck into his hand, his tip coming out the top drenched in more precum after each plunge.

Deciding it’d be selfish of him to keep you in the dark whilst he got off because of you, Jungkook opened his eyes and despite the minor shakiness, angled the phone above his face and started recording.

All he allowed you to see was his slack face, moderately sweaty and flushed at the cheeks, a glint of shine peeking past his hooded eyes and kissable lips split as his ragged breathing was heard. His messy hair fell over his forehead and brows just right, clenched jaw locked in place whilst his nostrils flared, the phone in his deadly grip shaking even more now that Jeon grew restless and pumped himself even faster— his arm was aching.

Finally, the man spoke, smirking lazily at the camera. “Does a dumb girl like yourself know what’s goin’ on right now? Don’t play stupid, hnghh— doesn’t benefit anyone, baby.”

Being the tease Jungkook was known for, he flipped the camera but didn’t show his cock by covering the lens with his fingers, hovering the device close to his dick for you to be able to clearly hear the wet sounds of his built-up precum sliding up and down his lathered shaft as he went crazy pumping himself to the sticky base, his grunts playing in the background.

He was so close, but all that was left was a push from you, and so Jeon sent the video straight away, going easy on himself for the time being.

You had never clicked on a video so fast in your life, and God, did Jungkook serve. The phone had been brought even closer to your face, as if trying to hide from anyone that could see (you still needed to get used to living alone) and the moment your ears picked up on his heavy breaths and flushed state, only a child would guess wrong about what he was doing right now.

Your eyes stayed glued to Jungkook’s face, admiring the sharp slate along his jaw and his parted lips, imagining just how soft they would be if you had the chance to kiss him again.

The ongoing ache between your legs remained steady (with a lot of self control) but you were crumbling by the second.

“Fuck’s sake,” you curse under your breath, forming a tight line with your lips as you watched on, suddenly having little time to process that his face was no longer in the frame. The video was still going on and you sat there with your knees up to your chest, putting the volume up to the max to hear just how sinful and erotic his actions were playing out to be.

So much for self control, you failed to keep your body temperature at a norm along with your blushing cheeks (which felt like they were on literal fire) hearing such dirty sounds.

You could make out the image in your head; Jeon sprawled out on his bed, sweating with one muscular arm between his legs and his cock vigorously pumping between his fist.

It should’ve been your fist getting him off, but the circumstances deemed that to be difficult.

Was it possible to want to suck someone off more than just sit down and study?

you: fuck you, jeon

The throbbing between your legs was beginning to grow unbearable, so you did what you were best at.

Repaying him in the most unexpected way possible.

With your phone clutched in your hand and legs brought down to dangle off your seat, you opened up your camera, switching to video and hugging the phone close to your chest, with the lens facing up towards your chin. You made sure the lower half of your face came into view before pressing record.

You didn’t say a word; simply letting your actions speak for themselves as you slipped your middle and ring finger past your plump lips and letting your tongue rest flat along the base, trying to slick them up a little before wrapping your lips around your digits completely.

This was totally out of character for you, but Jungkook wasn’t making it easy. The thought of him shoving his fingers down your throat edged you to push your own digits a little farther and then pulling back in a constant motion. Each time your fingers would come into view again, they’d be ten times more soaked than before, and just to spite the man, you would zoom in on your glistening digits and force him to watch on, slowing down the pace of your fingers so he could really cherish the sight of your fingers disappearing past your lips.

“Bet you wish that was you, huh?” you whisper softly, pulling your fingers out ever-so-slowly and then adjusting the angle of your phone, pulling it away to give him a view of the oversized shirt you were wearing which he left a couple nights ago.

You set your phone down to lean on the pile of textbooks on your desk, wasting no time in setting the heels of your feet on the edge of your seat and lifting the hem of his shirt over your stomach to reveal the lack of attire underneath.

Just a pair of simple lilac coloured underwear.

You gave the camera one last look before following Jungkook’s train of movement, slipping your glistening digits past the band of your panties, and as much as you wanted to touch yourself right now, you paused.

You weren’t giving in that easily, so you reached over for her phone with a teasing grin on your face, making sure only your face was in the shot before your fingers lightly feathered across your untouched core, eyes fluttering shut and back now resting slack against the chair.

“Koo..” Shit, you’d barely done anything.. It took you a moment to regain your composure and you stopped the video, free hand still sat between your legs and digits seamlessly running up and down your slit as you rushed to send him the video.

That should do it.

And that fucking did.

He should've known, he should’ve known that you would one-up him at his own playing field because— when did you not constantly surprise him with whatever skills you kept in your pockets, only choosing to show them off at the right time?

Your head game? Fucking awesome. Handjob? He swore he saw a goddamn angel last time. The best pancakes in the world? Only at your place.

Everything you did was irresistible and for someone like Jungkook, nothing in the world beat not ever knowing what to expect, that was partly why he slept around a lot. But you… you were a total freak.

Which is why Jeon should’ve busted right then and there after watching the video all the way through, he almost did, but instead of shooting his cum into the air, now he was angry at himself for even tempting such a mouthwatering, captivating response out of you while being stuck where he was. Not being able to actually do anything about it, he groaned to himself and wished it was his fingers that dipped past the warmth of your mouth, collecting your saliva to use as a lube to relentlessly finger you until your legs shook..

“Fuckin’ shit..!” Jeon threw his head back whilst his wrist flicked around the base of his cock, dragging his palm upwards to do the same to his red tip. Once those long drags began to lose their heavy momentum, that was when he used his other hand to text you back, his lower stomach muscles flexing as a sign that Jeon was extremely close.

jungkook: dirty girl getting her fingers dirty for me

looking so pretty in my shirt too? fuck you’re so good, wanna fuck you

gonna come a shit ton bc of that video. sucks it won’t be inside that pussy fuuck

Throwing his phone aside for the time being, Jungkook focused on getting himself off with the image of you fresh in his mind, his buff arm cramping up but he persisted nonetheless, abusing his twitching cock with all his strength until long ropes of white erupted from his tip and onto his sweats, his hand, his stomach, the sheets—his fucking foot?

“A-ahh..hmpph-hmm.. ah.. ah, fuck,” just when he thought he was done, his cock twitched and added on to the pool of creamy white on his sweatpants, “Shit..”

The man took the messy opportunity to snap a quick photo of the mess that was his stomach and sheets, ensuring his dick was in the frame this time before sending it to you with a cheeky—

jungkook: this could’ve been all yours baby

You continued your miscreants against your aching cunt, sliding your middle finger in completely and exhaling softly at the familiar feeling. Many of your nights were spent alone, mindlessly fucking yourself for relief (though it barely helped since you could never finish alone) but now masturbating seemed so… out of the ordinary.

You never felt the need to touch yourself since you and Jungkook started whatever this whole situation was. In all honesty, you were ashamed to admit you could no longer please yourself without your best friend by your side, whether it be him guiding you with words, or straight up doing the job for you. It sounded wrong on so many levels, but you couldn’t help what your body yearned for.

The thought only frustrated you since you were alone and nowhere near close to relief, but you continued to tease and toy with yourself, occasionally pinching your sensitive bud and then breaking out into short, fast-paced rubs where your fingers would slip past your entrance and knock the air out of her lungs.

Jungkook’s texts were coming through one by one, and each one forced you to pick up the pace of your wrists, now thrusting your fingers between your soft walls at a vigorous pace. Oh, the things you would do for him to leave a hot mess inside of you.. it was pissing you off and it was obvious you were taking out your frustrations on yourself.

If his texts weren’t enough to drive you insane, the picture he attached with the blatant mess of white surrounding him and knowing it was all your doing, sparked a different kind of light within you.

you: fuck you for being at home right now

you: i can’t do this

To be more clear, you snapped a quick video of yourself, camera facing down in front of you to give Jungkook the perfect view of your slick coated digits fucking into you, paired with your shallow breaths and your signature whines, “Should’ve been you, Koo.. you know I can’t do this on my own.” Your voice was unsteady as you spoke, and you were close to breaking down horny and unsatisfied, but you kept yourself together.

No matter how embarrassing it was, you still sent him the video, typing away at your screen with your free hand and pulling the other out from between your legs with a huff.

you: im holding myself back to come on your cock next time

and i’ll make sure none of it goes to waste

Sexting with you at the asscrack of night wasn’t exactly on Jungkook’s to-do list, but just as a wise woman once texted— plans inevitably change and hell if he wasn’t content with the turnout. Not to mention it served as closure that he wasn’t being shut out on purpose and a quick release all in one, although the new texts and dirty video of a quick peek inside her panties made him question if it was worth the extra cramping in his hand and even messier sheets..

The man grimaced slightly at the warm stickiness on his stomach and fingers; he’ll jerk off to that one another day.

Truth be told, Jeon was extremely exhausted and he had a real reason to be… now. Before he had the balls to hit you up and resume where you left off, all the latter did while his roommate was gone was play video games, sulk about why why you weren’t taking initiative and worrying that Tae had gotten ran over by a car, and then another— and another.

Like always, you were the highlight of his night and day plus every moment in between.

jungkook: “fuck me” for being at home rn?? ha you wish 😗🥴

and sure you’ll wait for me baby, you’re my good girl

just know i’m coming over tomorrow and picking up where we left off. missed u too much i doubt id be able to keep my hands to myself 🤤

Jeon didn’t realize he was grinning— the kind of grinning that formed those crinkles around his eyes— until he caught sight of his reflection through the screen, simultaneously noticing how tired his smiling eyes looked and, in a very adult way, he took that as a sign to call it a night. There was always tomorrow, and there will be a tomorrow.

A very eventful one— he’ll make sure of it.

A loud yawn easily slipped past his agape mouth and Jungkook used his clean hand to start typing again, doe eyes blinking repeatedly to try and stay awake just so he could send you a goodnight text and manage to at least change out of his clothes.

jungkook: i’m heading to bed now, no workout ever tires me out like you do 💪

night, hope my shirt keeps you warm 😏

you: night, jeon

try not to dream about me tonight 😴

And just like that, Jungkook set his phone aside and sighed to himself after standing up and taking a closer look at the mess he’d made— was that amount of cum… healthy?

You were honestly messing with his head but.. Jungkook kind of liked it.

You got out of your seat and went straight to the bathroom, leaving your phone behind to wash up.

What an eventful night.

Jungkook’s ‘i’m coming over tomorrow and picking up where we left off’ stayed lingering in your mind as you thoroughly washed your hands. You were finally going to see Jungkook after 2 days (felt like a month) and you didn’t know how you’d react the moment you open the door for him.

Would you jump him because you missed him so much? Slap him because he didn’t bother to talk to you these last two days? Kiss him without thinking because you missed his lips?

Fuck, you really wanted to kiss him.

Maybe you would just stand there and let the man welcome himself in since he had a lot of experience doing that anyway the last couple years.

Either way, you were completely and utterly fucked for caring so much.

Whatever though, Jungkook was still clueless and that was something you could dwell on another time, but for now, you felt like you needed 6 months worth of sleep for the 9857265 hours you spent studying to keep your mind off Jungkook.

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