#// but they exist as more than a sounding board for the player character and

[archilich]

and, as a secondary thought: while all of these people came together for a singular purpose with the veilguard (as these things go), we also gotta remember that these people have had full lives outside of the veilguard, and those lives don't stop just because of it. there's more to them than a singular personal quest chain, and is definitely something i want to dig into.

[larkingame]

hello all! been a moment since we last discussed some things, so I'm coming online to discuss the progress of Larkin's development and make a few announcements :)

over the last ten months, larkin has gone through a lot of changes, some of which I've documented here--but most of it I've kept pretty private. I realized that over the few short years I've been developing the game, I sort of grew an unhealthy dependence on my presence within the 'interactive fiction' community that I really, really needed to take a step back from and break, all in order to ensure that I could enjoy working on what originally started out as a passion project for me.

since july of last year, I've completely reshaped and rewritten how larkin exists as a project, shifted it's genre and started collaborating with a few others to ensure it can be of the highest quality it can possibly be. uptop, i'd like to mention @tapeworrmart who's taken on the immense task of putting together most of the game art for me, @khiita and @ann1a-1 who have both taken on the roles of my editors (and also sounding boards for when I am being absolutely insane) and my production manager phillip, who without his assistance, larkin would barely exist. with that, let's do a progress report. the intended demo of larkin, or what i've taken to calling 'episode one' (yes, i said, 'episode,' more on that in a minute) has stretched to just over 200k words worth of content. it stretches all the way from the earliest versions of larkin's original prologue, to the end of the original chapter two. so far, we've completed 3 out of the intended 20 character portraits, as well as some more art that's slowly been in development.

now, on to the announcements. probably the biggest, and the one I am most ashamed of is--due to the fact that I've been slammed with graduate school work and some other external factors, Larkin as it currently exists is not the best that I think it can be. I'm deeply sorry for this, but I want to ensure that you all are getting the highest quality game you could get from me--and right now, I know it's just not that. Which is why I am unfortunately, pushing the release of the demo back until Friday, June 14th, 2024. Patrons will be granted access to the most recent edit of the demo two weeks earlier on Friday, May 31st 2024. In the meantime, I will be working day and night (quite literally) to get what I'm dropping on you up to par and something that I'm happy with.

To make up for this disappointment, I'm planning on repopulating the blog with a lot of content over the coming months, rewriting new versions of old asks, posting art and short stories.

Next on the agenda and also an equally important announcement. I'm changing the rating of Larkin to Mature or 18+ As I've been writing these past few months, working through a lot of themes and figuring out the story I want to tell, I've found that I think the change in rating is entirely necessary. While I don't think I've ever had that big of a minor fanbase--I think that this is just what I am most comfortable doing. There has consistently grown a little bit more of gore, and trauma exploration, which is the main reason for this change in rating, but, this does allow for the inclusion of something that I've been toying with since the intial release of the game. There is going to be explicit sex scenes in this new version of Larkin--all of which, you the player are able to opt out of, or completely avoid if that's something you want--but I just thought a little announcement would be warranted. This does not mean however, I am comfortable with answering thoroughly explicit asks or getting unsolicited sexual messages. The goal is to keep this game blog mainly tame.

Please respect this boundary of mine.

Third thing to be announced. I've also changed the format in which Larkin will be released. Rather than around the twenty-five chapters in one of a series of 'Books'/'Games', Larkin will be released episodically over four 'seasons' with eight-ten episodes of around 200k-250k words each (though, this is just an early estimate--they could grow longer, as I'm basing this purely off the demo/Episode One)

Finally and a little bit of a fun note: there are now twelve romance options throughout larkin, five male, three female, one non-binary and three gender-selectable. With those upcoming asks, you'll hear more about each in the coming days :)

With all that being said, I wanted to lastly thank all of you for supporting me over the years and putting faith and your interest in this project. truly, the support of all of you means the world to me and I can't wait to share more of larkin with you all.

thank you 💖

[popawritter12]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do an Enduring Sword Talon x female reader? His skin lore is so fascinating but I haven't found a fiction for it just yet 🥹🫶 Take your time!

I love you and your writings 💕

Author's nothes: YEAH FUCKING BITCHES, GUESS WHO COME BACK AGAIN???

(This days were horrible guys, please be patient bcs the writer Popiña in me is dying 😞)

Also, LESSS GOOO A TALON REQUEST

Yandere! Enduring Sword Talon x Fem! reader

Yandere character: Talon Du Couteau

From the videogame/movie/serie/manga/anime: League Of Legends

Case: Kidnapping, relation of god x reader and nothing more.

Part: 1 of 1.

It was inevitable for her to be something more than human, since she could barely be anything more than a filthy, senseless, peasant donkey who even understood the alphabet, a woman who is broken, wounded, almost dead in the eyes of the gods.

But maybe that was why he chased her so much, maybe if she wasn't there he would never have returned, she would never have suffered what she had to go through.

It was still painful to remember that day, a cold autumn evening in which the leaves danced to the sound of the wind, the smell of freshly cooked food that approached from the town and spread throughout the forest, the sound of the footsteps of his boots against all the hard and brittle leaves under his feet.

It was an unthinkable and terrifying moment to wait for that pathetic day, after an ugly harvest and a terrifying dryness in the land, which would completely change her life and transform her from being a woman who was looking for meaning in her life. putrid life to a simple object, a simple thing which belonged to a ruthless God, who is selfish as a spoiled child with his toys, as sick as a patient in a psychiatric hospital after years of confinement, and as obsessed as a chess player knowing the position of each piece on his board.

Warm was the memory of her when she had first seen him; He was looking for a place to stay, since he didn't have many options since he had arrived in the mortal realm and the people, not to mention that they were not very kind to him. Therefore she decided, for the first time in her life, to give him the benefit of the doubt and give him shelter in her house.

It was painful to think that there was the option of seeing everything, of not giving him a space in her life, and especially, in her heart; She must have noticed in those grayish eyes that hint of evil, that hint of cruelty, obsessed with a bit of selfishness. And now for the first time, that she had managed to have even a hint of desire to live, everything had been taken away from her.

—Then what would you ask me here? —She asked, her hands playing with her fingers, and a feeling of doubt in the air.

He didn't respond instantly; His gaze had been fixed on the horizon, but soon, he turned to see his beloved. In his eyes, dimmed by a soft look, the feeling of security is observed.

—There is something I have always wanted to tell you—He begins his explanation—, and I think that if I don't tell you now, I will never have an opportunity like that again.

He gasped, feeling how his entire body began to have an unbearable weight, as if his mere existence were an enormous weight for a human being.

The only difference was that he was not a human being.

With a gentle touch on the woman's fingers, a grip on her palm, and a few caresses on her cracked, dry skin, he took his heart in his hands, and with a sweet but grim tone, he set his eyes on the woman's, gently parting his lips, with a slowness never seen before.

—(Name)... I have to say that, with all the time that has passed, and all the times that you have offered me your help, I can say, with complete certainty —He whispered, trying to extend his words, proving that It could sound so sweet with her —, that you, the first person who supported me from the beginning, has managed to...

But before his unmistakable but tenacious act of confession was about to come to a close, with a separation of her hands from his, the woman spoke;

—I am married.

As rough as sandpaper running over someone's arm and as hard as a slap to the face, it was as if, for the first time in his long, undaunted life, something worse was in store for him; something up to three times worse than a life as a mortal. And that was, without a doubt, an entire life without her, a life, whether mortal or immortal, without someone who had appreciated him and brought about her redemption.

Nothing came from his lips, the wind gently moved his white hair loose and free before the world, the consolation of nature was so soft that it resembled the pity it offered to the poor man, and the little emotion—which until this moment moment was the security he felt about that woman's feelings—faded, or rather, mutated, mutated into a great, disgusting beast, into a rotten, ugly feeling so strong that its soft grip became more cruel, more subduing and that carried a bitter taste in the air that could be felt for miles.

That was the taste of rejection, and, more than anything, the feeling of hate. At this, he just sighed, his heart trying to adjust to the feeling of desolation stuck in his soul.

—So… married. —He whispered, his heart weighing even more.

He let go of her hand, her gaze was now lost, she was so empty, as if she had lost all meaning, as if her entire life had reduced all of her importance to this moment.

—Yeah… —She responded, her voice so rough and dry that it seemed like the sand was staying in his throat —..., I'm sorry.

That low, timid tone, sheltered in a shadow of horrendous chills, that scared look like that of a mouse begging a human for a piece of meat, god…. It was so tempting, so beautiful, so fucking tempting, that he had to gasp heavily, beating down the longing for her, screaming down that gross desire.

—You don't have to apologize —He said, —, I just hope you're happy.

He took her hand again, more gently now, carefully separating each finger. He leaned gently, and with a falseness incompatible with his current state, his lips touched the skin of her palm, pressing gently to give her the sensation of love that he so repressed in his heart, softened and rotten by such a level of sentimental illness, and when he walked away, a grimace of ill-painted happiness formed on his face.

—I hope thaat person give you the happiness you deserve... —He gasped for a second, erasing the word of possessiveness, without letting go of her hand —, dear (Name).

That afternoon he withdrew from her life, that fall was going to be trapped forever as the memory of her downfall, as the only fact that was really going to differentiate her life from that of any other human.

And that was her awakening; only when the season of orange dyes came to an end, the silk as sweet as a ripe dessert fruit accompanied by a funny company, the smell so pure that it would make any mortal sick, and a brilliant white that cleared the view so much that it resembled to be under the same sunlight. The bourgeois air that overflowed from the rustic, whitish-colored decoration seemed to make the new woman in the kingdom sick, and only at the moment of the man's accelerated footsteps outside the room did she decide to lie back on the bed, snuggling her head against pillow.

Not even the door was touched when he entered, and with a few silent steps, he leaned his lower body against the bed; the feeling of sweetness in his soul basked in glory at seeing her so rested, so immovable, so... sensitive to any look daring enough to rest on a figure so well structured, but so poorly cared for.

A smile spreads across his face, the smell of smoke and the uncontrollable heat of the fire still overwhelming him, even with all the hours that had passed.

But all those airs of pain, desperation and crude attempts to escape dissipated like a blizzard at the sight of the glimpsed body of such a peasant girl.

—So sweet... —He whispered, grabbing a stray strand of hair —.., and so sensitive.

He looked as enchanted as a bee on a flower, as addicted as a king to accumulating wealth, and as attached to that tenacious feeling as a womanizer is to flirting with any woman.

—I hope you wake up soon, my sweet (Name) —He gasped, tucking the lady's hair behind her ear —, you will enjoy life away from that town, and from... —Talon didn't continue, he just gasped with more heaviness —..., that useless one.

A few seconds later, aggressive footsteps, echoing from the cue crashing violently against the ground, and irregular panting accompanied by exasperating screams of complaints are heard outside.

—This damn idiot! —The goddess complained, her steps still sounding aggressive —, next time I won't let Morgana take that sword.

Hateful, that's how he could describe that woman who, just once, had managed to take everything from him.

The man looked so calm that such peace seemed inconceivable, and even a certain happiness was appeased in his soul, as if the approach of that woman meant a new objective for the man; a new way to show again to his beloved peasant how much he loved her, and even, if it were not for his current situation of having just returned to the kingdom of immortality, he would try to cut off the head of that goddess, solely and exclusively to remind her to (Name) the need for possession he had over her soul, and the power that existed between him and her.

Some aggressive knocks are heard outside the whitish room.

—I'll go take care of her, so you don't have to pretend to be asleep, okay? —He whispered, a kind smile trying to show her how much favoritism he had over her —. Make sure you don't make noise, my beautiful peasant.

Talon's body leaves the bed, and within a few seconds, the entire room; A new trial was about to begin, and now, there was great justification for it.

Bruh, I loved giving this guy a little story, I love him so much....

(He is literally my salvation from this horrible world, but he doesn't know it yet<3)

[foxoftheninetails]

You sly dog, you got me monologuing!

Why not?

So I've gotten back into FFXIV pretty hard since I tried it last year. A few friends really pushed me, and I'm enjoying it. Good story, good music. The combat still feels a little bit wonky, but I'm an old school FF player and this is my first MMORPG.

The best times are when my friends aren't busy and they can run dungeons with me, or we explore areas they've seen 100 times and as I explore this new place they tell me about it's history and memories they have of it.

The game is mindblowingly gorgeous. Every time I revisit Gridania and sneak back to my favorite perch at The Hawthorne Hut, I am entranced by the leaves flowing in the wind, the rain falling on a roof, or the ridiculous amount of stars shining in the night sky.

(I know, anyone who's played already knows this, sue me; I am sprout.)

A couple of weeks ago we ran the Alexander raids together, and it was an absolute joy to watch experts play and simultaneously nurture their adopted sprout. Yesterday we visited Ivalice, and I was able to fall in love with the FFT soundtrack all over again and see old friends.

The community has been extremely kind. When my friends are busy, or trying to find some peace for themselves (or hitting the new expansion hard!) and I am left to my own devices, I have come across almost universal support. New job class and running a dungeon for the first time? They'll give you tips, let you run at your own pace, and when you screw up? They pick you up, dust you off, and encourage you to try again.

An unintentional side effect of immersing myself in another FF universe is RP. And no, not ERP. Although that exists, I have not had an opportunity to explore it. (I'm 100x more shy in a video game than on Tumblr, go figure)

We go to a quiet bar, torment ourselves with exotic food that we don't get to eat and drinks that sound terrifying or delectable. Sometimes both. And we talk. We talk to each other, as our characters. Intricate backstories that span a whole game and four expansions, almost 1000 primary quests. These folks have spent years perfecting their characters story.

Now, I had no concept of how in depth this was when I walked into that bar. A simple question about where you're from can spawn conversations that run for hours, with everyone having an opinion on the country you're from. Just don't be Garlean. My first night, I was asked what I do for a living. I said adventurer, because that's a fairly typical answer. I was immediately swept under their wing, to be given tips on how to clear Copperbell more efficiently, what weapon I should be carrying, where to find the cheapest gear that will protect you and look good.

My god, the clothes in this game. Hundreds of articles for each portion of the body. There's a whole website dedicated to picking out the perfect outfit for your gunslinger or white mage.

The best trick? Have loving friends who send you the really sick Converse/Vans, despite your protests. When you push them for why? Because I wanted them. (For reference, decent boots run 30k gil on the market board, the Converse/Vans run 750k because the materials are hard to come by. Needless to say, I have run the last 28 levels wearing orange sneakers, and I look fucking good doing it.

So back to the RP, the original point of this post. Last week, I was sitting in the bar talking about places I wanted to visit (in character, I have already been there for the quests). Mor Dhona was mentioned, as it's the site of on of the most pivotal moments in the story: The Calamity.

When it was recommended to me, my character pulled out a worn leather journal and wrote it down. An innocuous but important detail, to make the immersion feel deeper. The journal was passed around, returned to me, and eventually put away. Not even a physical thing, it spurned a long conversation about the adventurer's life, and the trials they undergo.

Then, my brain said something to me a couple of days ago. What if the journal was real? Tangible, physical, something detailing my characters adventures as that happen, stuffed with "drawings" (my character can draw, I cannot. At all. I have an ink jet printer and an app that converts jpegs into very convincing sketches) and souvenirs from his adventure's?

Sounds a bit silly, but it would be an easy way for me to track the details of conversations, and giving me a little arts and crafts project, as a treat.

So I did it. I bought a (frankly overpriced) leather journal with a compass rose sewn onto the cover with black thread. Beautiful sturdy leather and crisp cream pages.

Then I set about bringing it half way to destroyed. A leather journal carried in the field, through the rain and rivers, into combat, through the snow and up mountains does not stay immaculate for long. My character has had the journal for about 4 months, so I needed to beat it up and give myself a head start. Scuff the leather, soften the edges, curl the whole thing so it never sits flat. Drip a little bit of sealing wax on the cover, put small punctures into the back and knicks out of the corners.

The pages? Some got the tea treatment, to try to age them. No dice, this damn modern paper is resistant to stains. Water stains are forthcoming, but I am an impatient being and already started writing in it. Then a revelation came to me.

I am an absolutely massive fan of FFVIII. Obsessed with it. I know the names of every song in the OST and where each song is used, I have the Lionheart necklace and ring, I have beaten Omega on multiple occasions for fun. Anyone who knows me know I am an FFVIII nerd, and I ain't sorry.

So when I was designing my character last year, the face has scar options. Well, what better choice than Squall's scar? I'll have some of that I said.

Well, my character is from a small, relatively peaceful fishing village. Where the hell did he get that ridiculous scar?! The first job he took, of course! But alas, he was carrying his journal with him when he was injured, and it seems it soaked up quite a bit of blood. Some recommended beet juice. I tried raspberry tea, cherry juice, pomegranate concentrate. Nothing. Oddly, the tea dyed the test page blue.

What time of the year is it? Halloween of course! So we buy some fake blood and I'll be damned if it doesn't look like the real thing. It stains the pages, and the rough parts of the leather.

Now, just 4 or 5 days later, it has a leaf from Gridania from the day my character arrived there, drawings of the aetheryte station, some of the people he's met along the way and some of the more impressive geographic features (the ones that coincidentally took my breath away), and even a Triple Triad card. There are plans to visit the Sea of Clouds and meet the Vanu Vanu, so we'll be tucking a feather into the pages. So many other things await.

This has become a (probably for you, dear reader, painfully) long post about my current autistic obsession. I am particularly proud of this journal. While I was inspired by another persons comment, the execution was all mine. So, having gotten to the bottom of this essay, either by scrolling or reading, I have but one question: Do you wanna see the journal?

edit: it will literally only take one person saying yes.

[abigailnussbaum]

The Umbrella Academy, S4

As a known curmudgeon I am in the weird position of feeling like I should go to bat for this season. By which I mean, it's certainly not great (my ranking is 2 > 3 > 4 > 1), but it's hardly as bad as some of the reactions are making it out to be. And a sizeable chunk of the problems with it clearly come down to depressingly familiar Netflix bullshit: it's not just that the episode order for this season has been cut down, but it's very clear that the budget was also significantly slashed. So there are no big fantastical settings like the Commission or the Marigold Hotel (the multiversal subway comes closest, but it's a single set with no site-specific characters except the leads), no ambitious set-pieces like the staggered arrivals in the sixties from the beginning of S2, not even any big dance numbers. (There's probably no better illustration of this season's reduced budget than the way the fifth episode sets up a Winter Soldier-style elevator fight for Luther, only for the doors to close so we don't get visuals, only sound.)

I also wonder how much of the negativity towards the season has to do with The Ending. Which, to be clear, is entirely fair - a bad ending tends to color your impression of everything that came before it. But is the ending of The Umbrella Academy bad, or is it just shocking?

Personally, as soon as I heard that people were up in arms about the show's conclusion, I said to myself "oh, they all die", so maybe I went in forewarned and thus wasn't as disappointed as other viewers. But I also think that in principle, this is a conclusion that makes sense for the story the show has been telling.

Every single season of The Umbrella Academy has revolved around the Hargreeves siblings preventing, by the skin of their teeth, an apocalypse that probably wouldn't have happened without their presence. They are the cause of, and solution to, all the multiverse's problems. It's hard to imagine a resolution to that situation that wouldn't involve taking them all off the board. Emotionally, too, there's a logic to this entire family going down together. This was never a "change and grow" show. The Hargreeves might make concrete changes in their lives - Viktor transitions, Luther gets married, Diego has a family - but when it comes down to it, they remain a bunch of screwed up people who can only really relate to each other, and that often very dysfunctionally. Ending the show on "I love you... but you're all such assholes" strikes, I think, the perfect note.

All that said, I certainly can't claim that S4 earns this ending or leads up to it organically. There are ideas that the season plays with - the multiversal subway, the endless versions of Five who have been trying to figure out how to get his family off the sequential apocalypse train for an infinity of time without ever figuring it out, Reginald Hargreeves's wife being a player in her own right - that should have been introduced far earlier than they are. And the way that Ben is instrumentalized to achieve the apocalypse du jour certainly leaves you feeling a certain kind of way. It is very much a case of solid premise/half-assed execution.

And having said that... isn't that basically The Umbrella Academy in a nutshell? This is a show that has retconned itself practically every season of its existence (remember when Allison rewriting the universe to her specifications was meant to be a major aspect of this season? Instead it's brought up in a single line and never mentioned again). It has always relied more on vibes than well-structured plot, on big moments than coherent plotting and follow-through. Again, I think S4, for reasons both external (that reduced budget) and internal manages that mixture less well than other seasons, but it still feels largely of a piece with what the show was and where its power came from. Personally, I tend to watch this show more for the characters, their interactions, and the gags, so let's go down the line and see how well S4 handled them:

Luther - post-S1, Luther has been a comic relief character who is defined by his sad-sackness. S4 continues in that line. I was a bit disappointed that Sloane's disappearance in the S3 finale wasn't reversed, since I really liked her and Luther's relationship. But given how much the ending of the show relies on the Hargreeves' connection to each other, that makes sense - unlike Lila, Sloane never bonded with the other Hargreeves (and didn't even seem that connected to her own siblings). I quite like the idea of Luther as a stripper who is very devoted and serious about that work, and has in fact reoriented his entire worldview so that it filters the world through the lessons of that profession, despite being very bad at it. So no complaints here.

Diego - obviously the place where the season falls down the hardest. Does it make sense that Diego, the man who named his daughter after the robot who raised him, and who was able to convince Lila that not just he, but the rest of his siblings, were her real family, would, after six years of marriage and fatherhood, completely forget to appreciate his family and be constantly on the lookout for a way out? Unfortunately, the realities of life under capitalism tell us that it is. But the way the season just leaves him in this stasis until nearly its final scenes - the way it even seems to find his dissatisfaction and detachment funny rather than tragic - is pretty depressing. Not to mention turning the most charming performer in the cast into someone whom it is genuinely unpleasant to watch.

Allison - from day one the show's most problematic character, so it's hardly a surprise that this truncated season didn't find a way to fix those problems. I think there's an attempt to paint her as "empowered" - the shift in her powers to more active and less manipulative, the more complex but ultimately healthier relationship with Claire - but it all ends up feeling pretty thin. Plus, Emmy Raver-Lampman spends the entire season in a long coat, so I'm guessing she was pregnant while shooting, which also impacts on the show's ability to do involved stuff with her character.

(As a side note, I'm not exactly sad about this, but it's interesting that the show doesn't circle back to the Luther/Allison ship. When Sloane disappeared, I thought that was the intent, since "give them each a separate love interest who eventually goes away before putting them together" is a pretty standard shipping format. Instead, they have barely a single interaction in the whole season - not even "hey, remember when you wished my wife out of existence?")

Klaus - like Luther, Klaus is a pure comic relief character, though in his case that seems to involve giving Robert Sheehan a prompt, yelling "action" and standing back. I don't love that in this season that involves spinning Klaus off into an unrelated story (though again, this is not a million miles off what previous seasons have done with him), but it's Klaus, so it's never not fun to watch.

Five & Lila - gonna make what is probably my most controversial statement in this post and say that I do not hate this development, and in fact think it makes a lot of sense. If you watched S3 and didn't come away thinking that these two had a lot more in common than Lila does with Diego, I really don't know what to tell you. And between Lila's fundamental cheerfulness, the fact that Five's cynicism has always concealed a soft, gooey center, and seven years of enforced closeness, I both buy that this would happen and am kind of into it. I also think the way they both react when they return to their own world - Five thinks he's better for Lila, while she, who chose Diego in the first place for a reason, is focused on getting her marriage back - makes a lot of sense. The real problem, as I said above, is that this is all handled in ten minutes in the series finale, instead of introducing the whole subplot much earlier and letting it play out at leisure.

Ben - definitely a mixed bag here. Character-wise, I think the season handles Ben's (thoroughly justified, given that they are not his family) disdain for the Hargreeves, and the way it's cut through with an affection that he'd really rather not feel, extremely well. And after four seasons, the revelation that none of the Hargreeves actually knew how Ben died, that their memories had been altered by Reginald after killing him in front of them, is pretty sharp (though it raises the question of why Ghost Ben never said anything to Klaus about it). But as noted above, ultimately Ben isn't a character so much as a plot token, and that can't help feeling unsatisfying.

Viktor - I really love the way Viktor's whole deal in this season both parallels and mirrors his situation at the beginning of the show. Back then, he was separate from his family but also completely at loose ends; now he's separate from them because he's figured himself out (though he's also still fundamentally a fuckup). And that makes him most able to engage with Reginald as an equal and move the story forward. It's a nice full circle for this character that doesn't ignore his fundamental Hargreeves nature.

So that's about five and a half characters out of eight handled reasonably well, a pretty decent showing for this series. I could definitely imagine a better send-off for The Umbrella Academy, but the realities of both this show and the world of streaming TV are what they are, so I'm OK with what we've gotten.

[bluedolup]

Can You Be a Mother?

//: This is a story in the haikyuu universe revolving around OCs that I’ve made. I own all of the characters in the story minus canon haikyuu characters. Enjoy XP.

Kitsune Academy is Japan's most well-renowned boarding school that’s located in the heart of Tokyo. Students of wealthy and well-respected families have attended this school for years, so when I got my acceptance letter I wasn’t too surprised knowing there were two alumni in my family. 

My name is Amami Rise, first-year at Kitsune Academy, 16-years-old, a Wing Spiker of the Kitsune Volleyball Team, and daughter of Amami Yumiko, better known as one of the best female volleyball players in the world. Her fame started in the 90s when she first graduated Kitsune and got scouted by an international team. Two years later, she got pregnant with me. Her career was put on pause solely because of me but her managers didn’t appreciate the new addition to her family, so she sent me to America where I started living with my aunt so she can continue winning medals and trophies. 

Amami Yumi, my aunt and guardian for the past 18 years…in my eyes at least. I look up to her more than my own mother; she went to UC Berkeley after high school and graduated with a degree in Business. She inherited the family's Sports Company and became a multimillionaire. 

Now that’s the dream.

Both my mother and aunt were well known at Kitsune while they were students. My mother became captain and setter of the team while my aunt became the cheer captain. They were pure opposites but they co-existed in the same environment; I never knew the full extent of their relationship but I had bigger things to worry about. When you’re the daughter of one of the best volleyball players in the world, you have this pressure to also pursue that title. Most people who had been trained by that person since they were six years old would have the determination to do so, but my mother was very…unique with the way she “inspired” me to be a better player. Those methods had caused me to lose so much love for the sport that I found my calling somewhere else. 

“Dermatology? You’re going to med school?” my coach asked. Oh, last but not least; Suzuki Yuna. My volleyball coach and my mother's high school coach as well. She’s been at Kitsune for a good while and she's one of the best coaches I’ve ever had, she knows my mother better than I do and the look on her face gave away her concern with my decision. “Yup, that’s what I want to do. What do you think?” I asked “I mean you’re only in your first year, so you have time to really think about it but, your grades are fantastic and with all the skincare you own I think you know a thing or two about skin. The only thing I’m worried about is her…you know?” she asked. I sighed, “yeah, I actually told her already” I said “...and she said yes?” she asked. 

“Well…it went a lot different than what I was expecting. She basically thought I was joking the whole time then ran off to catch her flight” I said “as expected, you have more than enough time to convince her. Just focus on your spikes and your grades. God, I can’t believe it, you were just a baby and now you’ll be applying to UCLA in two years” she said. I smirked, “let's not speak too soon, I really want to go to Berkely, but I’ll be happy with any Cali school” I said. “She sure will be happy” she mumbled “hm?” I asked “nothing, just talking to myself. I have an interview in a few, I’ll see you practice, oh and don't forget to pick up your jersey. Number 6, just like you requested” she said. 

I smirked, “I won't, I’ll see you coach”, I left that office feeling slightly better for my situation. I told my mother I wanted to go to med-school a year ago, and now I need a plan to tell her again but make it sound believable this time apparently. 

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

I headed up the stairs as I took in the nostalgia of the school I once attended. It’s gotten quit the upgrades since the 90s, but there were still some details that were still standing. Just like the athletics office, still in the same place and still the same size. I entered the office and saw her at her desk, she glanced up at me and stared at me for a moment. “Do I look that bad?” I asked “no! You just haven't aged a bit since the last time I saw you” Yuna said, “aww how sweet of you, how have you been?” I asked, sitting across from her. “Professionally, the years been calm but that’s because we haven't had a game yet, personally…boring” she said “well, I can promise you that it’ll be quite an exciting life from here on out” I said. “Is that a promise?” she asked, “you can say that, so…where is she?” I asked. 

“You actually just missed her, she was in here just now telling me she wants to go to med-school” she said. I gasped slightly, “are you serious? She just got here though” I said “yeah, but she knows what she wants. Wouldn’t you want her to know now then figure it out her last year?” she asked, “I guess not, she must’ve spoken to her about it though, right?” I asked “she did, it went as successful as you think it did. But let's not mingle on matters we aren’t responsible for” she said “speak for yourself, but yeah. You want my resume?” I asked “I really don’t but I’ll take it in case the headmaster needs a copy. You can start working tomorrow, right?” she asked. 

I handed her a stabled resume, “yeah, my apartment is all set already so we’re all go-”

At that moment, the door to the office swung open and a familiar and annoying voice echoed throughout the room. “Yuna! I’ve arrived! You have no idea how much I’ve missed you! Let me tell you, never fly during the weekends, it's so hectic-...Yumi?” Yumiko stood next to me as I glanced up at her. “Yumiko, it’s good to see you” I said, “after years, what are you doing here?” she asked. “I'm on business, it’s shocking to see you in Japan. Did your flight get delayed?” I asked. “No, I just got here. I’ll have you know I’m staying for a whole month thank you very much, Rise is starting her high school journey, and you think I’m going to miss it?” she asked. 

“At least you’re here for something” I muttered, “wait, are you here because of Rise? Is she ok? I can handle whatever problem there is now” she said “Rise’s fine Yumiko, Yumi is here because she’s going to start working here” Yuna said. The room grew silent as Yumiko looked between us in shock, “you’re becoming a teacher?” she asked “an advisor, for the sports department” I said standing from my chair. “You’re going back to cheer?” she asked “for volleyball! Teacher Advisor for the Volleyball Team” I exclaimed. 

I’m fucking sick of her already. 

She gave me a shocked look before letting out small bits of laughter, “wait…are you being serious? She’s going to be the advisor for the volleyball team?” she asked Yuna who was enjoying the show between us. “Uh yeah, she has the sports knowledge for it and has the organization and communication skills. The headmaster really likes her” she said. I looked at Yumiko's face, my sister always had a confident look on her face all her life. It got her the attention she always wanted and the fame she worked so hard for, this time, her brow was twitching and the concern in her eyes were visible.

She’s breaking down. 

“I see, well I hope that goes well for you. I thought you hated volleyball though, you never played with me when we were younger” she said “seeing you train Rise like a slave made me hate it, then I saw how the first years did at tryouts, and I noticed that sports are supposed to be fun for kids” I said. “Excuse me? I train my daughter to be the best, you might not see it because you don’t know the first thing about athletics, but this isn’t just a sport, it’s a lifestyle and a commitment” she said “a commitment and lifestyle Rise doesn’t want, and you’re too egotistical to see that” I said. 

“I’m egotistical?! You’re the one who left your family to study in another country and cut all contact with them for over a decade” she said “Yumiko, you won't even listen to what your daughter, who you claim to love with all your heart even though you’re more busy sipping wine glasses and playing games in Brazil to even call her, really wants to do with her life!” I exclaimed. 

“Don’t ever fucking suggest I don’t love my daughter! I do everything and anything for that girl, and if you're hinting at that damn med-school none-sense, we already spoke about that and you can keep your nose out of it” she said “yeah, real good talk you had. I bet your flight was so sad when they didn't see you at the gates five hours early. If what you say is true you should start showing it, maybe if you were a quarter of the mother Rise needed in her life, she would be a whole hell of a lot happier and confident with her own life!” I exclaimed.  

SLAP

“YUMIKO!” Yuna exclaimed as a stinging sensation was felt on my cheek. “Are you insane! I could have you reported for that, you’re on school grounds” Yuna said examining my face “I deserved it, it’s obvious I shattered her” I said seeing my sister tear up. She stormed out of the office without a second word, leaving me and Yuna alone. The last time I saw my sister cry was the first and only time she lost a game…I never sympathized with her until I lost my first cheer competition because of a stupid move I did that costs us everything. Granted, I do a lot of stupid things that cause me to lose in life.

I think this might’ve been one of them. 

“God you two really haven't changed since high school” Yuna said.

[rose-reaper]

A Tank Player's Essay

For those who want to read this in its entirety, know that my thoughts are all over the place but with enough time to structure I might just send this as a letter to Blizzard HQ or something.

Over the course of Overwatch 2's 2 year lifespan I've concluded several things as I've played off and on again with your lovely game has gotten me slowly but surely more and more drained of my sanity. I've learned over the years that your intent with 5v5 as opposed to 6v6 like it was in Overwatch 1 has not only been detrimenting this game's health as a whole but has made playing the role of tank not fun at all because every other role has made it their sole mission to counter the tank than to work together and makes swapping unskillful. The recent changes with DPS and all of the projectile sizes has been one of the biggest changes that makes tanking almost impossible. Some tanks like myself like to play aggressive, but unfortunately can't because there is only one of us per team thus making engangements not fun and dare I say extremely stressful.

To address the biggest issue, playing a tank has never felt more detrimental ever. One mistake and the entire team crumbles faster than a twitter user's emotional stability. Even if the tank is slightly out of line and out of position, everyone on the enemy team locks in and focuses the tank and mows the rest of the team down. This has never been as big of an issue in 6v6 than it has in 5v5.

When the DPS buff to reduce healing by 20% on shot targets arrived, I was on board with it because DPS had been unfortunately sitting in the back burner feeling like a cosmetic role like Tank was (if you weren't playing Mauga). Especially since by the time you reloaded your weapon the enemy had magically gained HP in between reloads. With the debuff, you can no longer gain health in the middle of combat behind a shield like before thus making natural cover a nessessity.

With this in mind it makes playing out in the open a lot less ill advised and while that is a good thing, it unfortunately has come with negative side effects especially for tanks as I'll put in bullets bellow:

• Tanks with no shields (aside from Orisa) of any kind have to play more passive than ones with a shield and it doesn't fit the design philosophy of certain heroes like Junker Queen, Zarya, Mauga, Doomfist, and Wrecking Ball for examples.

Junker Queen is about being agressive and healing off of bleed damage with Carnage and Gracie and should be rewarded for playing into the passive she has built in. Zarya gives bubbles that help protect herself and others and gives her bigger lazers to fire at her enemies the more they're hit. Sounds like a really cool combo waiting to happen right? Unfortunately unless you're willing to play open que (personally, ew) you will never have these interactions ever in a match.

• Tanks with shields in mind like Reinhardt, Winston, Sigma, Ramatra have shields with the density of Walmart brand paper plates and can be countered by side stepping. By the time you melt through the shields of one in a match, the tanks have nothing else they can do aside from fall back and reset. Even if there is a slight chance of winning an engagement.

A lot of people who are against 6v6 will say, "We don't want double shield to come back." And while that is a valid concern, Blizzard you have already done away with that. Any shields that do exist don't stand up as long as they would before. Orisa has been reworked, Ramatra's Shield only lasts for a few seconds and Sigma's shield isn't nearly as strong as it was before.

• Counterpicking the tank is easier than just getting better at a role that you currently play. Team Comps swap heavily to counter one Tank.

To paraphrase Emonng, "If a Winston wanted to dive a Widow, all they have to do is get a reaper to AFK on the Widow and the Winston can't do anything about it."

On top of all of this, we have one character I swear is my Achille's Heel and that is Zenyatta. His Discord orb gives an incoming 25% damage increase on a target which means anybody who has the discord orb is taking 25% more damage while the target is in line of sight. That incentivizes anybody who is told about the orb to focus fire the target to kill them faster. Now, imagine this stacked on top of the debuff DPS has. Might as well leave the Tank for dead at that point.

To give all you math nerds something to work with, as of looking at the wiki, Bastion's default damage in recon form does about 125 damage per second. With Zenyatta's discord orb on the target, it becomes about 156 damage per second. Now that's just in recon form. In turret form that's 360 to 450. On top of that that's 20% incoming healing reduction on top of that. So in a scenario like that, you're just asking to get melted if you're simply existing as a tank let alone any other hero.

With all of this built on you'd think it couldn't get worse, but oh sweet summer children it does. With the projectile size increase you'd have now things that hit you that normally wouldn't. Like if you're behind a wall and there's a javalin from an Orisa thrown. If you're close enough without peaking you can get yanked out from cover. Not only that but there are some shots that hit but shouldn't that do some of the same stuff like Bastion Grenade sticking when it shouldn't, Soldier 76 Helix Launcher hitting when it shouldn't or even Kiriko's kunais hitting when they shouldn't.

With all of this in mind, you'd think the role is extinct. Fortunately Tank mains are about as stubborn as rocks and will continue to keep trucking in spite of the difficulties but I know they would like to see some changes. So I propose a few changes that'd make the game healthier for everyone.

• Revert the DPS passive and overall Projectile size back to the way it was before and I mean all of them. •Give us the second tank back for 6v6. Tanks will feel like tanks again and you have built a happier, healthier game by doing this.

With these changes, the community would be less worried about counterswapping and more worried about just being better at the game.

[monstermaster13]

TftW: A Hellishly Good Game.

Muzan ftm tg

1--------------

Demons are basically a very versatile species of creatures, depending on the lore you'll often hear a different story on how demons work and there are tons of movies and show to choose from, Michelle was a young woman who believed demons existed, she had seen the documentaries about it and wanted to uncover for herself, when she was young she was told to not believe in the supernatural because her father would say that’s what leads to Satanism, but of course she didn’t believe it and she wanted to summon a demon.

She heard of a gamer through lost media sites called ‘Circle of Hell’ which was based on the ouija board and she decided to see if there was a copy of it available, she found one and ordered it online, once it arrived she set the game up and played with it, the instructions said to set the board up and then place the figurines known as the ‘sacrifice’ figures on the left side of the board and the demons on the right.

Which naturally of course she did and she became fascinated with the games’s own unique rules, she moved a demon figure to the middle circle of the board and placed a figure of herself in there, and as she did she winded up summoning a demon.

Of course said demon was a demon from the Demon Slayer anime that she was a gigantic fan of, the character Muzan to be exactly, Muzan offered her a chance to get back at her father for all those times he tried to ‘straighten her out’, and that the only price in came in the form of her soul.

“So you’ll let me get revenge on him?”

“Yes I will help you, all I need is your soul.”

‘I can do that, sure stories like this don’t end well but hey..a deal with the forces of darkness only leads to good things here.’ She shook his hand and signed the contract he manifested out of her and as she did he took on a transparent form and entered her body in a method known as possession.

Her stomach gurgled as with a loud crunch she started to develop musculature on it and her chest which broadened as her breasts retracted into the former, her whole body bulked up and lengthened with a series of violent crunching sounds.

In addition to this her arms altered and contorted as her hands enlarged, her black nail-polish remaining as normal as her back contorted with a loud snack, she could sense some of her organs shifting around a little but it was mainly just her reproductive organs which were contorting from the normal feminine one into the male variant, there was only slight screams of agony from her.

Her shoulders pushed forward and bulked up with a crunch as her feet enlarged, her hips shrunk down and narrowed as her skin paled, making her look like she hadn’t seen the sun in over a month as her hair turned from brown to jet black, styling itself into a ponytail with some curls in the front, her eyebrows thickened as her eyes widened.

She reached at her face and started pulling at it, only to pull at it again and have her face morph and become more masculine looking, morphing into the appearance of Muzan himself as her voice deepened to the point she or ‘he’ now sounded more male than female, her clothing changing to those of his signature outfit.

You will be glad to know Michelle kept her own personality and memories but had a bit of his throne in, she felt very comfortable like this as she played another piece on the board. This player piece resembled her father as she set down the ‘painful transformation’ card, which caused her father to double over.

He clutched onto his stomach as his skin slowly started to harden and turn brownish, as his arms lengthened and his hands enlarged and deformed…his fingernails becoming sharp crooked claw-like ones as his chest and torso contorted. Looking down at his legs they underwent a similar fate to his arms which snapped and lengthened, a pair of large bat-like wings emerged from his back which tore through the back of his plaid shirt, as two horns slowly emerged out of his temple, parts of his hair fell out as his teeth slowly became crooked and then altered to become akin to those of a horror monster with a maw full of sharp teeth. He cried out a curse word as his transformation finished. ‘Perfect.’ She murmured to herself.

She still used ‘she’ as a pronoun even though she had just turned male, because she wasn’t completely him. But that was alright, she definitely knew she had gotten back at her father for all those times he tried to make her get a normal hobby and she was satisfied that she did so.

And thus with that she invited a few others to play her a little game, to ask if she could play another game…this time, using her friends as the other players, and also thus comes to the moral of the story, remember there is a fine line between Satanism and being into paranormal stuff, liking the latter doesn’t equal satanism and it’s not ‘evil’ or ‘satanic’, if you think that…well, that’s probably because overprotective parents told you about it.

[bellshazes]

unfortunately i'm still fixated on people who theorize about fnaf, and lore culture in general. there is some kind of interesting contrast to be had among hardcore lore-hunting, cut content datamining, and emergent play narratives. i'm extremely biased and often find lorehunting rather distasteful, i'm fascinated by cut content but don't assign particular patterns of meaning to it, and emergent narratives based on the player's unique experience of a game is the best thing in the world.

some of my favorite examples of emergent narrative are from board game sessions of arkham horror, where interpreting the series of mechanical actions to discard an ally card, then an item card, then move several spaces utilizing a character ability and go to the other dimensions was played up to great reactions among the other players as shooting your dog, chugging whiskey (the discarded cards) and riding your motorcycle into a portal to an alien dimension. I ran my Arkham games as a non-player, acting as manager of all the moving parts, advice giver, and ttrpg-style GM setting tone and aiming to immerse.

physical games' play is never truly automatic; people have to move parts, make decisions, interpret rules, etc.; this sort of GMing is automated by digital games. the narrative of a board game is mostly but not exclusively the story of the player actions, and small pieces and cards symbolize larger concepts and suggest and imply narrative without dictating it.

interpreting digital games involves looking at models that presumably are literally the thing they represent, unlike the more clearly symbolic rook or queen pieces representing those positions in chess. there appears to be a "true" experience maintained by the rules and code and graphics and sound of the game independent of any one player's playthrough. the story "exists" in a way that it does not in an unopened Arkham box or chess board.

but video games often have multiple paths or endings, affected by player actions and choices.* human playthroughs are necessarily strictly unique even if the differences do not lead to meaningful differences in the gameplay, because beyond a certain scale you can't perfectly replicate that many inputs perfectly. there's a tension between the hardcoded aspects of the game that contributed to its narrative and the unique experiences of various players who might have different interpretations, including seeing more or fewer parts of the game by missing areas, quests, endings, etc.

some games give more space to built-in story and others to player narratives; minecraft being a sandbox is directly connected to it becoming a platform for narrative focused SMPs and playthroughs.** games without significantly diverging paths*** like fnaf are more susceptible to hardcore lore hunting - especially if the story to be uncovered and solved is the one discovered by the player character, not performed by them.

when people become dissatisfied or confused with a game's contribution to established lore (or established gameplay, or both), cut content often becomes a particular fixation. this makes a lot of intuitive sense - man, I wish we'd gotten that instead of this. the behind-the-scenes snapshots of hidden game files, alternate maps, and dev notes become tempting puzzles to solve. their ambiguity and severed context makes them easy targets to reconstruct development history and dev intentions, as well as re/constructing an alternate lore that either could have been or perhaps actually is, evidence of some kind of platonic ideal of the game that is more real and faithful than the actual finished product.****

I think my problem is mainly that this is not the only or correct way to interpret game narratives, and I resent that it's so dominant even as I find it fascinating to spectate. It assumes no errors or lack of intent, except when errors or lack of intent are used as evidence of a specific interpretation. Communities will eat themselves as they all fight over what is most correct, but there's also weirdly palpable bond because of the intense level of caring they all have in common.

there's more to be said about transformative works & how it intersects here but i've talked enough and I really think i'm gonna have to read saussure for this shit :(

*there's something to be said here about "meaningful play" as defined in Rules of Play and walking simulators, but I can't do that rn.

**frequently also recalling the specter of TTRPGs and RP styles because D&D's many tendrils are everywhere all the time.

***here I'm not including "bad endings" because a discussion of e.g. playthroughs where you don't make it to any ending deserves its own consideration; those, from a pro-player narrative standpoint, are equally "canon," which is to say the concept of "canon" is not useful or truly coherent.

****DARK SOULS 2 DISCOURSE I AM TALKING ABOUT YOU SPECIFICALLY.

[magnus-sm-writes]

Character Intro: Sigma

Sigma | Species: Half-daimon | Sexuality: Gay | Nationality: Hursteyn | Pinterest Board | Playlist | Picrew (ElenaA's Windswept OC Maker)

When it comes to my Uuve characters, I feel like I write for Sigma the most. Sigma is my best friend, my pal, my homeboy, my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good-time boy. I want to wrap him in a blanket like a little sushi. I also want to cause him irreparable harm.

Sigma was originally a villain. When I came up with him as a D&D character, he was a Time Sorcerer who didn’t like getting his hands dirty, so he would put people in situations where they would end up killing themselves through happenstance instead. Very Jigsaw-esque of him. 

He was also on a quest to acquire the hand of Vecna, who was the patron of Katya and also his chosen god of worship. At that point in his journey (level… fifteen, I believe?), he already had Vecna’s eye. As you do.

(I’ve only seen three episodes of Stranger Things, and had no clue Vecna was a villain when I made this decision on a whim in 2020. It turns out my boy Vecna is a pretty major player in a lot of media. I only chose him because I thought he was more interesting than Vlaakith.)

Of course, in true Magnus fashion, I can never write a fully evil character. I love coming up with ideas for evil characters. I even love designing them. If you look at Sigma’s design—all the green, the tailored black clothes, the mysterious eye covered by hair—, all signs point to villain. 

But I just couldn’t. The more I added to Sigma’s backstory, the more I realized he was a scared boy who wanted to gain more power to keep himself from being hurt again. (I used this for Penny instead.)

Over time, Sigma grew from an awful person to a naïve boy who is being manipulated by powers larger than himself. 

BACKSTORY

Sigma grew up in a cult dedicated to a goddess of blood, Bezglaz. He had a very sheltered childhood, as the cult did not often leave their system of underground caves. Despite having grown up under such unusual circumstances, Sigma always felt loved and cared for by his many mothers, and didn’t realize his childhood was so unusual.

Here’s a funny bit: until Sigma met a man for the first time, he thought that there was only one gender you could be. Men fascinated him. They still do. So much so that he decided he wanted to be a man.

When he’s seventeen years old, Sigma is informed that he will have to retrieve an artifact in order to be fully accepted as a member of the blood cult. 

PERSONALITY

In my earlier diatribe, I mentioned that Sigma grew from a terrible person to a much kinder one. He’s seventeen. He’s grown up in a cave system with a strange collection of mother figures and little contact with the world outside of this one. Sigma is very childish in his morals and view of the world. He’s in love with everything around him.

He’s constantly seeking out contact with and affection from other people. Sigma is a very clingy guy and fiercely protective of the people he loves. He’s willing to defend them—and Bezglaz—from any criticism or harm, despite being anemic and physically weak. 

Sigma is devoutly religious to the point of fanaticism. Bezglaz and worshiping her is the basis of his entire world. Nearly everything Sigma does is either in honor of or for her. He doesn’t really understand anything without looking at it through the lens of Bezglaz, and when something doesn’t fit in there, he’s left looking through the pieces to try to understand why. He’s a rare case in the world of Uuve who only believes in one god. That is because he doesn’t know any others exist, but still, it’s notable. 

Honestly, Sigma sounds boring when I’m describing him on paper. Most people don’t find a happy, untraumatized character to be interesting. But he goes through quite a bit of trauma at the end of the story, don’t you worry! He becomes incredibly, horrifically traumatized, leaving him Changed Forever.

But honestly, I find his optimism and joy for the world to be refreshing. Sigma is completely unjaded. He’s so, so happy to be alive, which is my daily philosophy, and so happy to learn about everything around him. 

He loves flowers and anything that grows in the sun. The first time he sees a morning glory, he’s so excited that he refuses to talk about anything else for hours. Every morning, he wakes up before sunrise so he can see it. He embroiders the various flowers he sees on his clothes. There’s so much about Sigma that makes me happy. I put my own childlike wonder into him, and honestly, I’m overjoyed that I did. He’s one of my favorite characters to write for because he’s just so excited to learn.

ABILITIES

Sigma gets little a blood magic, as a treat. Bezglaz is a wonderful goddess in that she gives her most ardent followers blood magic. The power of Sigma’s abilities depends on how much blood he’s consumed as of late. When he’s with his mothers, drinking blood on the regular (as you do), his magic is at its strongest.

I’m also putting Sigma’s endless optimism beneath this section because I love it so much.

Along with that, Sigma is excellent at the domestic arts. He mends everyone’s clothes, is great at making meals from very little, and finds a lot of joy in embroidery. Sigma can also weave a mean tapestry and make a cozy as fuck quilt. It gets cold in the caves, yo.

GOALS & AMBITIONS

When it comes to Sigma, all his ambitions honestly revolve around Bezglaz. His biggest goal in life is to be a high priestess of Bezglaz’s, and as such, he is about as devout as one can be. It’s not particularly healthy, seeing as Bezglaz’s worship revolves around bloodletting, but he doesn’t particularly care about that. It’s what he was raised into. Such are cults.

Sigma also wants to learn everything. Since he lived his life in isolation with an education centering around the goddess of lifeblood, Sigma’s berth of knowledge is pretty lacking in other areas. 

IN GREENEST

Greenest follows Sigma’s journey to find said artifact. I began writing Greenest way before I played Baldur’s Gate 3, but somehow, my totally unique fetch quest plot reflects Shadowheart’s quest to find the mysterious artifact. I mean, in the end, they’re both devout followers of a questionable goddess who have to prove themselves to their religious order to receive acceptance from them.

Sigma sets out with hired help, Valor, who knows the country better than Sigma does. Along the way, Sigma briefly gets sidetracked by getting top surgery to fix his dysphoria (because I project onto my characters) and adds Experiment #24 to the group, because they need someone with medical skills to deal with Sigma’s use of blood magic.

Retrieving the relic is an adventure with unexpected results for Sigma. 

APPEARANCE

When I was creating Mavuto, I scrapped the idea of him being lime green for being a candy pink instead. Then for my next half-daimon, I used the green instead. It’s strange to think that, in an alternate universe, I decided Mavuto would stay green and Sigma would be the pink one. Then the book might be called Pinkest instead.

Sigma begins Greenest as a pale green like the inside of a lime peel, and he darkens to a bright lime green as he travels in the sun for the first time in his life. His hair remains a deep green like grass in heavy shade. His horns are two tiny pointed arcs. Sigma’s tail ends with a similar curve that points back at the base.

Throughout the events of Greenest, Sigma’s access to proper nutrition for the first time allows him to grow from being around 5’4 to being 5’10. If you can grow on travel rations, there is… something wrong with how you were eating beforehand. Regardless of that, Sigma continues to grow into a somewhat healthy (if anemic) young man on his travels.

His hair is long enough to reach his waist in the beginning of his story, though he cuts it to his shoulder blades. Sometimes he lets Valor plait it. There’s a gap in his teeth. Sigma is, and I cannot emphasize this enough, fucking adorable. He’s the definition of a “cute little twink”. 

RELATIONSHIPS

THE MOTHERS are the members of the blood cult dedicated to Bezgalz. They raised Sigma his entire life and influenced him in devotion to her. Despite being a cult dedicated to blood, drinking blood, and giving blood, they’re shockingly cool with Sigma expressing himself. He adores the women who raised him and has unquestioningly accepted their morals as his own.

VALOR is Sigma’s first free contact with the outside world. As the hired muscle to help escort Sigma from his home in the caves to the artifact, Valor is mostly here for the money. He’s also the first man that Sigma has ever had prolonged contact with. Sigma doesn’t understand why Valor is so angsty and quiet when the world has so much to offer.

Sigma thinks Valor is the coolest guy ever. Valor is a badass who has traveled the world. That’s honestly everything Sigma has never had in his life, so he automatically thinks that anyone who has ever done that to be really neat. Mind you, Sigma is seventeen and heavily sheltered. Of course he thinks the angstiest guy he’s ever met is awesome.

EXPERIMENT #24 and Sigma get along like a wildfire. They’re both naïve to the world and trying to learn as much as possible. Sigma and X both find each other fascinating in every way. Their relationship is pretty wholesome. 

QUICK STATS

Song: Girl With One Eye - Florence + the Machine

D&D Class: Blood Cleric

[purplekoop]

Okay so I missed this response for a whole day at least *somehow* (I think it got lost in the dwarf ass notes). No worries giving me any sort of wordy response because I gave a mutual a totally unsolicited mini-ish review of Shrek 3 so I Have Done Worse.

Onto the actual point though, thinking about it more I have to admit my response at first was a bit needlessly harsh even as a comical bit of initial bewilderment, but I feel like it's worth looking at the context that led to both my response and the wider way this game is talked about.

To explain myself, my negative first impression was because... I mean two main things, both of which are games that aren't Overwatch or Deadshot.

First is that this news is right off the heels of Marvel Rivals's reveal, a game feels like a shallow IP usage *shamelessly* chasing the success of an established big-name game. I can't help but assume it was a project greenlit based on how much OW2 was in the news, with nobody paying attention to why. To have ANOTHER hero shooter leaked so soon after feels... tacky to put it one way. It's a negative association for me at least, considering how I think Marvel Rivals (I'd just call it Rivals but in my head that's already the furry smash bros) is... not promising!

The other team-based shooter with a cast of iconic characters that makes the news about Valve making this game frustrating is, as G pointed out, TF2. This is admittedly a much more petty point, but it does feel kinda awful how Valve, with its infinity money from owning Steam, is sitting on an insanely beloved game and IP (the one that most directly inspired Overwatch itself), and instead choosing to continue letting it rot in favor of making a new game in a vaguely similar subgenre. It's obviously much more nuanced than that, but from the outside it feels so stupid, to the point it almost reads as parody. The big part of the nuance is that Valve is a bizarre company in a lot of ways. There's not actually that many Valve employees compared to any other major game company, AND those employees have way more individual choice on what they want to work on. Which I mean hey, sounds like a sweet deal for those devs, but doesn't really end up making a lot of games, least of all working on games tied up in code old enough to vote in the US. TF2's miserable state is a whole stack of cans of worms to get into, but to say it briefly: it's a game everyone *wants* work to be done on... except Valve employees. And because they have the resources and freedom to literally do whatever they want with basically no risk, they fully have the capacity to completely ignore the game with mechanics and humor dated back to the year Shrek 3 came out. Didn't think that comment earlier was gonna be relevant, huh.

But I think the actually interesting part to discuss is the key word in the language used to talk about Deadlock. Why do we default to calling it an Overwatch clone or Overwatch-like even when in context they seem to have very little in common aside from similar player-per-team counts and a cast of distinct characters. The thing is though, this isn't *new*, to either Deadlock or Marvel Rivals. Just looking back a few years, the language to describe Apex Legends and Valorant was heavily biased around Overwatch comparisons *just* because of having rosters of "distinct" characters, despite the fact they are very obviously different subgenres WITH a hero shooter twist. It's to the point where "hero shooter" isn't a genre, it's just describing a mechanic, or even less vaguely than that, a "vibe". If you have colors any brighter than COD and a selectable cast of actual characters with any more personality than a plywood board in a military uniform, you're a hero shooter. Doesn't matter if it's more like TF2, CSGO, or PUBG in terms of actual mechanics and game flow. While actual "true Overwatch-style" games exist, it's a much smaller pool than headlines would make it out to be. Marvel Rivals (I'd alternatively just call it "Marvel" but that implies Marvel vs Capcom for me in a game context) and Paladins, along with a few other games like *debatably* TF2, do actually line up with Overwatch in form and function fairly well. But there's just that ease of use in comparing it to what for a while was THE game people were talking about for a while. Which like, again, I need to clarify, it was THE game for a hot minute. In terms of shaping the industry (or at least just an adjacent space of genres) I genuinely don't think it'd be hyperbole to compare it to Street Fighter 2 or DOOM, both games with their own rocky relationship with "imitations".

To better concise and reiterate my 5 AM ramblings, I don't think I can blame anyone else for this sort of gut reaction to Deadlock. It's just easy. Easy to be uneasy because of Marvel Rivals (MR? MR.), easy to be upset because "it should've been TF2", and easy to be lazy with comparisons. I do in a way envy the team working on Deadlock, both because they probably have some of the best jobs in the industry and get to do what they want, but also because they already have that shortcut to notoriety. The irony of this whole skepticism is that, just reminding everyone in case they missed it, I have my whole grand ambition of an "Overwatch clone" that my best one-sentence pitch for right now is "it's like Overwatch but with more TF2 elements and also they cast is all robots". It's just easy to make and easy to understand those kinds of broad comparisons compared to conveying all the nuance possible without them. But at the same time, ignoring the very direct inspiration I got from those games would be dishonest... god I gotta go to sleep, I said this was at 5 AM right?

ANYWAYS, thank you for the thought-provoking longer response, and I'm dearly sorry for my even longer and yet less efficiently insightful re-response. There's a genuinely interesting discussion here about how we think and talk about games I had to actively stop myself from rambling more about in unhelpful directions, I could have dedicated two whole paragraphs to fighting games and that would have NOT helped the actual point At All.

Oh okay so this is what we're doing now. This is the new bit.

("Reportedly" should be in air quotes here because at the article links to a pretty revelatory and very public twitter post. This is very much real and looks INSANELY boring.)

[writingwithcolor]

Gingerbread man as golem

@yaronata asked:

I would like to write a character who is Jewish and uses a Golem. She's based on the D&D class of the artificer which looks magic but isn't, because they produce all their effects with inventions, like the "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic" quote. Her story is that her very Jewish town was under attack from a terrible monster when she was little. Her Rabbis made a Golem to protect the town, and it succeeded but was torn to pieces in the process. She was fascinated by the Golem and as a kid didn't see a big difference between it's sentience and person's so was really thankful for its sacrifice like you would a person's sacrificing their life for you. They thought all the pieces had been devoured by the monster before it died, but she went looking and found the piece used to animate the Golem, which she, kinda misunderstanding called its "heart". She kept the piece and grew up to be an incredibly skilled cook, specialising as a baker in the town. I imagine she would make a lot of really good food for the Jewish holidays, or to break fasts on ones like Yom Kippur or Tish'abav. But she also made a town specific holiday to honour the Golem's sacrifice and the town still being alive, because I feel "we are not dead woo" is a big theme for Jewish holidays from my research, so it could fit, for which she invented ginger bread men to be the golem, and gave them little "hearts" of fruit or honey, and you're meant to eat them limb by limb like the beast did before eating the heart. This would be the inspiration for using the "heart" piece later to make her own giant gingerbread Golem to help her save the world.

These are my questions 1) would it be considered bad or disrespectful for someone who isn't a Rabbi to make a Golem, or is this method of taking an animating piece someone else made disrespectful? 2) Her journey will take her far from her town and her Jewish family and friends and she will likely travel with gentiles. Would it be disrespectful for a Golem to be used to protect a lot of gentiles and one Jew in the course of saving the world? I don't want to fall into the stereotype of someone putting all their effort into valuing and protecting very specifically the group that in real life is oppressive to them. 3) While she is not using magic and is actually mimicking its effects with technology she invents, is this drawing too close to the line of "magical Jew"? 4) I like to "play test" my characters in ttrpgs to really get a feel for them before I write. Would it be disrespectful to play a Jewish character when I am a gentile, and would it be disrespectful to play a Jewish character in a setting where there are demonstrably real gods other than the one of Judaism?

I really like this character idea and I think it's cute and fun and rooted in Jewish culture but I really want to make sure it's respectful and as good as I, a gentile researching on the internet, thinks it is. Thanks so much! Have a nice day!

My answer to this is very complicated because there are things I both like and do not like about this premise. First of all, I love the idea of a cookie golem, and I'm even imagining the magic word that brings him to life (EMET/truth) would be written in icing. And I'm okay with the part about how she found a piece of the old golem and used it to build a new golem, because that makes sense for a golem made from a baked good when you think about how people use sourdough starter to make a new batch of sourdough.

However, here are the thing that make me cock my head to the side like my little sister's German shepherd:

1. re: "magical Jew" - that's not a trope I've ever heard of. Remember, marginalized groups don't receive identical disrespect across the board. It is indeed a trope to use Black people or disabled people as supernatural plot devices who exist only to further the stories of white main characters or able-bodied main characters. But I can't say as I've ever seen anyone using Jewishness that way. Usually if we are someone's one-dimensional plot device it's as someone's lawyer, fixer, "money guy", etc, not a supernatural force. So this isn't something you have to worry about.

2. I have a certain level of discomfort with you playing as a Jewish character just because playacting as a marginalized culture you're not part of strikes me as off, but I understand that that's how you gain insight into a character you're about to write so it's more of a writing exercise than anything else. (I wonder if D&D regulars from marginalized groups have written about this -- I've only played a few times casually with family so if I did run into this type of discussion in my social justice reading I wouldn't have absorbed it. If anyone is curious I played first as Captain Werewolf, and then switched to playing as Cinnamon Blade because lawful good was too hard. :P )

3. I would prefer you omit the detail about eating the cookies piece by piece symbolically, for two reasons: a. it unintentionally evokes Communion by having appreciative people consume a baked good symbolic of an entity who sacrificed his life for theirs, and b. focusing on the details of flesh consumption reminds me too much of Blood Libel (yes, a gingerbread man is in the shape of a person but how many of us actually think about it literally, the way this act would cause?)

As to your first question: I'm fine with her making a golem even though she's just a rando. Second question: I see what you're saying and maybe it could be more okay if it's really clear how well these gentile folks are treating her? And questions three and four are answered above.

I really do love the idea of a giant gingerbread man golem. Cookie golem T_T <3

--Shira

I would like to second Shira’s point about not ripping apart the gingerbread cookies. I honestly would prefer they were used as decoration, and other cookies eaten instead, since that part just feels so not-Jewish to me, but I don’t have golem-specific issues other than that. It seems like you have already been doing a lot of research, which is appreciated.

As far as the ttrpg/DnD aspect… I bounce back and forth on the topic of playing characters that are so very different from our experiences, other than in fantasy-related ways. However, I am aware that a lot of people will play with, and experiment with gender in game, and learn something about themselves in the process (the number of trans players of ttrpgs who tried out their gender in game before they were out is high). It’s different with Judaism, and even more significantly different when it comes to things you can’t convert into, like various actual, real-world races. But because people do sometimes experience growth from experiences like this, I’m hesitant to dissuade players completely. I do urge you to, at a minimum, bring the same care, research, and willingness to learn, that you brought to this question.

--Dierdra

This sounds like a creative storyline that you could have lots of fun with 😊

At first I was confused by this part:

She also made a town specific holiday to honour the Golem's sacrifice

But then you really got me thinking about different types of Jewish holidays and how they come about, so thank you for that!

Because it’s often the little details that either make a story super powerful or kind of nonsensical, I think it would be a good idea to decide what type of holiday is being created here:

A full-blown chag with restrictions on labour and halachic obligations? These are commanded in Torah and new ones can’t be added.

A minor yom tov with halachic obligations but no restrictions? These were instituted by the rabbis prior to the destruction of the Temple, so again new ones can’t be added.

A public holiday or equivalent? This would usually be declared by the Knesset in Israel, and filter to the rest of the Jewish world from there.

A community-based yom tov with specific customs only for people in the know, such as certain Chasidic groups celebrating the birthdays of their deceased leaders? I asked around, but no one can really tell me how these holidays get started, which is probably a good indication that they arise quite organically from a group of people who all just feel that it should be celebrated. Probably not created by a single person, as such.

Something she runs from her bakery, not religion-based, but more like a day of doing special products and deals the way many small businesses do on their anniversary?

Now, if the people of a modern-day town were actually saved by a real live Golem, that would arguably be the most overt miracle for many generations, so there would be a decent chance of options 3 and/or 4 happening. It’s entirely plausible that there could be special foods for this day that become a tradition, including Golem cookies. People who directly benefited might also return to the site where the Golem fought the monster and recite the prayer, ‘Blessed is Hashem, Master of the Universe, Who performed a miracle for me in this place.’

Alternatively, if it’s important that your MC created the holiday, something like option 5 might be the best. Hopefully this will still fulfil what you need: you describe her as incredibly skilled, so I can imagine the day when she goes all out on the Golem cookies being one of the most exciting events of the year for the townspeople, just because her baking is that good. Plus, they already have a personal stake in the Golem’s sacrifice, so I definitely think it could be a thing without being an official holiday. Also, if she is outside of an all-Jewish environment, don’t forget that she would have to decide whether to commemorate the anniversary in the Hebrew calendar or the local one.

Coming back to the cookies, sorry if we’re getting a little repetitive on this point! But I don’t see the cookies being torn limb from limb as part of a celebration. First of all, this doesn’t sound like a very celebratory thing to do, to say the least. Can you imagine explaining that to a three-year-old on their first Yom HaGolem? They would be terrified! (I don’t read this suggestion as accidental anti-Semitism so much as getting carried away with a metaphor, which I’m sure as writers we have all done!)

But also, it’s worth pointing out that our commemorative foods aren’t usually that literal. If you think about hamantaschen, maror, or apple in honey, they’re all symbols. That’s not to say that having Golem-shaped cookies is a problem, as this sounds like just a bit of fun that the MC is having and not something that is directly at odds with Judaism or Jewish culture. But it’s worth bearing in mind that the more literal you go from there in terms of tying the cookies to the event they commemorate, the less culturally aligned your holiday food becomes.

Finally, about the Golem protecting non-Jewish people: I like this idea! There’s a stereotype that we only use whatever is at our disposal to help ourselves and other Jewish people, so a Golem being created by Jews but helping others as well is a big plus for me. Of course, as has already been pointed out, this would be an odd choice if her Saving The World team were anti-Semitic or otherwise disrespectful to her/her community, but I don’t think you were headed that way!

-Shoshi

I have to come back in here just to squee over the phrase “Yom HaGolem.” Well done :D

--Shira

[missgeniality]

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna​​ is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this!   This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy! 

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods. 

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning. 

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold. 

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity. 

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully. 

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.” 

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?” 

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation. 

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?” 

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious. 

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well. 

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight? 

BTS is on your flight? 

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography. 

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger. 

BTS who? 

Biggest boyband who? 

You only listen to Frank Sinatra. 

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh�� throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally. 

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours. 

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help. 

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved. 

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could. 

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back. 

Aw, you are in trouble. 

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face. 

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true. 

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth. 

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you. 

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you. 

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all. 

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile. 

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.  

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean. 

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.” 

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..” 

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in. 

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb. 

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.” 

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.  

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told. 

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep. 

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you. 

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you. 

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you. 

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family. 

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen. 

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request. 

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement. 

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.” 

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck. 

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart. 

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him. 

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon. 

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.” 

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence. 

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car. 

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you. 

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that. 

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of. 

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far. 

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode. 

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma. 

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this. 

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong. 

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do. 

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall. 

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!" 

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!” 

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor. 

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so. 

But you’re not anyone else. 

He isn’t just anyone.  

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two. 

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours. 

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century. 

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind. 

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours. 

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation. 

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end. 

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark. 

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.” 

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible. 

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken.��

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him. 

The elevator door opens, and people walk out. 

But that’s not where your attention is. 

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm. 

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad. 

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present. 

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.” 

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” 

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile. 

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too. 

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space. 

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!” 

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed. 

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again. 

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.” 

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”. 

The punctuation was not vocalized. 

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself. 

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there? 

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna. 

So far, no sign of him. 

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far. 

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode. 

And then you hear it. 

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but. 

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck. 

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight. 

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight. 

 “Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, �� Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement. 

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is. 

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart. 

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.” 

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first. 

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own. 

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes.  “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.” 

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter. 

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?” 

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight. 

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger. 

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware. 

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer. 

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue. 

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch. 

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates. 

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?” 

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air. 

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative. 

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?” 

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress. 

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured. 

“On your knees.” he commands.  

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.” 

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on. 

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm. 

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head. 

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise. 

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly. 

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him. 

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him. 

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.” 

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over. 

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench. 

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod. 

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum. 

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you. 

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him. 

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss. 

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair. 

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt. 

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room. 

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom. 

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you. 

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention. 

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought. 

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret. 

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch. 

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth. 

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way. 

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face. 

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs. 

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem. 

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-” 

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him. 

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason. 

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard. 

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him. 

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making. 

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls. 

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat. 

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it. 

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response. 

“Go on baby, ride me.” 

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better. 

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!” 

“That’s fucking right, only me.” 

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away. 

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve. 

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full. 

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high. 

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face. 

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!” 

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.” 

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way. 

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole. 

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs. 

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core. 

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours. 

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.” 

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon. 

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart. 

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.” 

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness. 

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy. 

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance. 

He finds none. 

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go. 

You inch closer. 

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his. 

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win. 

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words. 

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst. 

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows.  You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him. 

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far. 

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up. 

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement. 

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

[mine-curse]

Im going off this post, but making a new post since i feel like the point of that one was more the excitment of getting to see what the dsmp narrative will be like in the hands of Wilbur Soot writing in a more traditional medium.

But the differences in medium and particularly how much they "ask" of the veiwer is something that deeply fascinates me.

There's a concept in comic art that what happens in the "gutter", the space between panels is vitally important, almost as important as what you actually put in those panels. Its the space that exists in tension between the information of the previous and next panels, and its important to consider the flow of that information and if it makes sense or not. But its also a place for the reader to fill in the "missing" action. Like creating inbetweens in animation. There is also the lack of sounds, and often color, in a comic. While these things could be considered to be lacking, its also an oportunity for the veiwer to bring their own spin to the story. The "sceans" the veiwer creates in their head are what finish the story. Ahh, it all gets kinda philosophical about the relationship between the veiwer and and creator and how the work is a medium for "conversation" between creator and veiwer. Its difficult for me to explain in words because i am not a philosopher, but its beautiful to think about.

Im talking about comics because thats the medium I've studied and thought about the most. But this doesnt just apply to comics or minecraft rp. It arguably applies the most to prose, since it lacks all sense information except what is discribed to the reader, which is then filtered through that reader's experiences and personal interpretation of words. I think the the closest comparison to the dsmp, in terms of the level of sensory information presented, is something like a fiction or roleplay podcast. But those tend to be more focused. And i also think theres a LOT that can be said about how minecraft mechanics and gameplay do affect the baseline story of the dsmp. Stuff like the importance of places/buildings and instances of very direct and powerful environmental story telling are my favorite. But stuff like the importance of the discs is also an example that comes to mind. And the structure of the narritive being almost compleatly character driven from multiple perspectives is something that comes directly from the fact that its livestreamed from multiple different perspectives. I also think theres a lot to be said (and i will, Someday) about how the narrative structure of the dsmp has ended up mirroring some of the best/most medium specific stories in single player video games themself. It highlights that video games, even those that "dont have a story" like minecraft, have a narrative style that emerges naturally because of the nature of the medium.

In some ways i think a lot more of the dsmp's inaccessibility is more down to the non-centered nature of the story (making it difficult to properly summarize to an outsider), the fact that the livestreams tend to be between 1 and 4 hours (lots of people just dont have that kinda time), and the idea that minecraft is a cringe babby game for losers. (I also think all of those factors have specific appeal to them as well) I dont know how true this is, but i feel like to be into dsmp you have be at least a little on-board with the idea of watching a livestream of some dude playing a video game, story or no, which is an activity that a lot of people veiw as like... inherently cringe/"problematic".

There's more factors to it than just these ideas, but i do think this "lacking" nature of the medium has played a very big part in the size and devotion of the dsmp fandom. If you're a creative type, stories where there's room to make and show your own interpretation are a special kind of catnip.

[enthusiasticharry]

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓  |  𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 13.3k 

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : ahh, it is finally here! i honestly can’t explain how excited i am for you all to read the first part of checkmate, it truly is one of my lil’ baby. a few things before i shut up and let you read, the chess maybe confusing to some of you (me too at some points) but you only need to take not on whether she wins or not really. this is enemies to lovers, so harry is a bit of a *ahem* dick but what do we expect? this is just the first part and a brief introduction (brief? 13k words? okay hannah, ahah) but i truly do hope you enjoy :) 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : explicit language, main characters being horrid to each other and the ol’ banger of sexism in chess (the background on this is insane) 

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 here

Upon entering the village hall, YN realised a few things. The first thing she realised was that after casting her eyes around the large room she was in, she certainly didn’t feel as though she fit in. The second thing she realised was that the clock was ticking and if she didn’t speed up, she was probably going to miss the slot to put her name down for the tournament. Taking a few steps forward, thoughts fluttered around her head about whether or not this was the best idea. She hadn’t played the game in a few years with other people, and here she was, about to put her name down to play the biggest tournament closest to her, in one of the neighbouring towns.  

After a few seconds, she knew that she would be not only letting herself down, but also her grandmother and if she wasn’t doing this for herself, then she was certainly doing this for her grandmother. 

A desk had been set up at the front of the hall, and two men wearing crisp beige shirts sat behind it. Why they were wearing beige of all colours? YN would never know. They certainly didn’t look like the most inviting people to greet her. She peered behind them for a few seconds, her eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight of the rows upon rows of square tables with green and white chessboards sat on top of them. She hadn’t seen this many chessboards in one room for a long time, and a part of it made her feel quite comfortable. The people that were already there were all stood in a group around what she presumed was a chessboard — she was just making a wild guess that it was that, but she had a slight suspicion that was the case. It was at this point she noticed the ‘SIGN UP HERE’ sign that was placed in front of one of the men, and that was who she walked up to. 

He obviously noticed that she was there, but he never lifted his eyes up from table in front of him, “Name?” 

YN was taken aback by how gruff his voice sounded, and more so by the way he spoke to her without even lifting his eyes, “YN YLN.” 

It was at this point that he did look up, and so did the person sat next to him. It was at this point she, also, started to feel a little more out of place than before, as though the eyes upon her were ridiculing her for just being stood there. If her name hadn’t tumbled from her lips, being the way that it is, would they have even looked up at her? She would never know. 

“The dance class has been rearranged for another night.” The man is quick to say, dropping his eyes back to the desk in front of him. 

“I’m not here for the dance class.” She says, lifting her hand to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, “This is the chess tournament, is it not?” 

YN watched as the men turned to look at each other briefly, the one who hadn’t spoken to her shrugging his shoulders before they turn back to look at her again, “Do you own a clock?” 

She shakes her head, “I don’t.” 

The men, yet again, turn to look at each other. She wasn’t quite sure why she needed to own a clock, but if it was the first question they asked after her name, she was sure that it must have some significance in the games she was about to play. Would she have to invest in a clock of all things with her non-existent money? 

“There’s a clock-sharing system here.” He says, “If you don’t have one, you’ll have to share with your opponent and if they don’t have one, come back to us and we’ll borrow you one.” 

“Thank you.” She nodded her head.

When YN was younger, and she learnt how to play chess, she was never taught about clocks. Her grandfather had taught her by giving her endless amounts of books that he had stored away in the back of the bookshop that he owned that had nobody wanted, or ones that he already had. At first, YN didn’t want them either. At the time she was gifted them, she didn’t do much with her days apart from stare out of the window of her small attic bedroom, watching the clouds as they floated past in all their different shapes. She’d often try and see if she could spot any shapes within the white, but she could hardly bring herself to do so most days. It had taken her three days to finally pick up the books that her grandfather had left for her, and even then she only stared at them. She suspects that a part of her just wasn’t ready to read the books yet, and she was okay with that. 

When she did open the books, YN fell in love with them, and more importantly she fell in love with the game of chess. Learning about different experts and grandmasters and analysing their games so much that she could remember every move they made, and even critique them if they made a mistake that she had spotted. She remembers the first ever passage she read about chess even to this day, in the book that rested upon the top of the pile her grandfather gave her: ‘Chess for beginners: a guide to the game.’

What is Chess? 

Chess is a two player game, that requires skill and patience. Each player starts with sixteen pieces played on a square board, made of 64 smaller squares. The sixteen pieces include: eight pawns, two knights, two bishops, two rooks, one queen and one king. The goal is for each player to try and checkmate their opponents king. Checkmate is a threat to the opposing king which no move can stop, therefore ending the game. 

The game is taken in turns, each player moving their pieces to different squares on the board. One player (playing “white”) and the other (playing “black”), must move the pieces sticking to the rule of how they move, they can’t just go rogue! White will always start the game, and the player playing white will be lucky to be doing so, because they always have an advantage! 

That was the passage that first introduced her to chess, and if it wasn’t for that passage, she doesn’t believe she’d love the game as much as she does. It was a passage that gave her the basics, and also intrigued her to know all about the rest of it.  

“I forgot to ask.” The man starts speaking again, “What is your rating?” 

“I don’t. . .” She starts, shaking her head, “I don’t have a rating.” 

“Listen, sweetheart.” The man says, and she has to stop herself from physically shuddering at the name he gives her, “Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“I am.” 

He shakes his head, letting out a long sigh as he does so, “We don’t have a women’s section.” 

She tries her hardest to not let it show that the words that he says don’t sit with her in the right way, “That shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“I’ll put you in the beginners section, then.” He says, jotting something down again, “You’ll be comfortable there.” 

“I’m no beginner.” She says, “And I don’t want to be comfortable.” 

The thing that annoyed YN the most wasn’t the words that he said to her, even though those did annoy her more than she could explain, it was the way that they looked at her. They looked at her as though she wasn’t good enough to play, as though she shouldn’t be putting her name down for  chess competition and she should have been looking for the dance class instead. If they actually knew her (she didn’t want them too) they would know that dancing certainly wasn’t for her, she had two left feet at most. 

A few years ago, back when she played chess regularly, she wouldn’t have even cast an eye in their direction, never mind allow it to effect her in the way that it is. The first time she played someone that wasn’t her grandfather, it had been the top player from the local chess team he played for. If she remembers correctly, the game was over in all of thirty-two moves, and she didn’t even break a sweat. Her opponent, however, definitely had broken a sweat and she could tell that by the way he kept rubbing his forehead and by the way his leg bounced up and down. It was quite annoying, and it was probably why it took YN thirty-two moves and not her average of twenty-six, but it was still very impressive of the young girl. The thing that she had when she was younger, though, was no care for what other people thought of her as young girl playing chess, because it was a game that tested your skill and not your gender. 

“You’re an unrated player.” He shrugged, “I’ll have to put you in beginners, with players that have ratings under 600.” 

YN hadn’t taken much notice of ratings in Chess Weekly, the magazine that she got the majority of her chess knowledge, and the thing that had lead her to find out about the tournament in the first place, but she had picked up that ratings only start to become important when you become an expert, and that’s when the rating is over 2000. 

“Do beginners still get a prize?” She asks. 

“Yeah.” He says, “But it’s only fifty.” 

She was doing this for the money, and she knew that fifty wouldn’t be enough for her to continue on the way that she was. She needed more, and the prize that Chess Weekly had listed was more than fifty pounds, and that was what she was going for. 

“And the other section? What is the prize for that?” 

He took a second to answer. 

“Two-fifty.” 

That was the prize that she had seen in the magazine, and that was the one that she had set her hopes on winning, the one that she had every belief that she would win if she entered. She needed the money. Her grandmother needed the money. It was hard after her grandfather died, hard for them to conjure up the money to not only pay the bills for the house, but also pay for new stock in the bookshop. No matter how many times YN had tried to convince her grandmother that the best thing to do was to sell the bookshop, and give them some money to make them feel a little more comfortable, her grandmother always refused. The bookshop was her husbands livelihood, and YN grew to understand that and grew to know that was why she wouldn’t give up the shop, no matter how much they needed the money. It was the reason why YN was here, trying to win the grand prize that would help them a little more with their struggles. 

“Can I go into that section?” She asks, and the man’s lips part slightly. 

“Well—“ He clears his throat, casting his eyes to the man next to him, “There isn’t a rule to say that you can’t.” 

“Then put me in that section.” She says, ignoring the looks she receives from both of the men, “Please.” 

He nods his head, “That’ll be five pounds please.” She drops the note upon the table, which he immediately takes and places in the small tin he has with him, “Thank you. Play starts in Twenty minutes.” 

“Thank you.” 

The man passed her a card to fill out and a pencil, “All the luck to you, sweetheart. There’s two players in there with ratings over 1600, and there’s also an expert!” 

“Is the expert playing?” She asks.

He shakes his head, “He isn’t.” 

“Then I don’t have anything to worry about.” She offers him a small smile, “Thank you, again.” 

She walked away from the table, taking a few steps until she wasn’t in earshot of the two men. The entire conversation rested heavily on YN’s mind, but at least she made it out of the other side relatively unharmed. She looked down at the card she had been given, with her last name scribbled on the top line and a space for her to put her rating. She uses the small pencil she had also been given to draw a large zero in the box, sighing with happiness after she’d done so. There was still a large group of people stood around a board, and it was at this time that she decided to make her way over to the large group. 

What she was about to walk into, she wasn’t quite sure, but she couldn’t help but be curious about what it was. She found a nice position by an opening, where she could see two men sat at a table, with a round of chess already on the go. 

“Who are they?” She whispers to the man next to her, without even an ounce of hesitation in her voice. 

“That’s Harry Styles. He’s an expert.”  He immediately whispers back, “And that’s Mitch Rowland, he’s a tournament win away from becoming an expert too.” 

She thinks that Harry Styles is the one to the left of her. The way he sits with his elbows either side of the board, his face stern as he moves the pieces in front of him. They were moving them very quickly and she presumed that they were playing skittles, or on simpler terms: speed chess. YN wasn’t the biggest fan of speed chess, but from the way the man kept picking up piece upon piece without so much of hesitation, she guessed that not only was he the expert, but he must also a skilled speed chess player. She had a talent for spotting the best players out of a bunch, even if there weren’t the best to start with. 

“And over.” 

Her lips part slightly as she hears the northern drawl slip out of his lips, in a deep voice that she certainly hadn’t expected. He looked a tad older than she was, but that was a given, seeing as though everyone in this room looked older than she was. He looked to possible be in his late twenties, and apart from his curly brown hair that peaks her attention at first glance, the chunky rings that sit on quite a few of his fingers or the brown knitted jumper he has upon his torso also do so. It certainly wasn’t a conventional look upon the majority of chess players that she had met before, even though the number was limited. She wondered whether it was the slight roll at the neck, or the green detailing on the arms that drew her attention in more than his fluffy brown curls. 

“You’ve done it again, H.” 

The man who you were guessing to be Mitch replies, extending his hand out to shake his opponents hand. From the shortened use of his name, she wondered whether or not they knew each other. If they didn’t, then it certainly wasn’t the most conventional way to greet a stranger having just lost to him. The two of them stood up, and that was when she noticed the high-waisted lime-green trousers that he also wore, pairing them with a pair of vans of all things. He looked more put together than the rest of the men in the room, which wasn’t too hard to do given the rest of the outfits within the room. The group disperses soon after, and its at this point she noticed the bulletin board being put up. 

YN tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and makes her way over to the board. Once she sees a man stood there, finishing pinning the last through names up, she can’t help the words that slip out of her lips, “How do they arrange the pairings?” 

“Usually by rating first round.” He says, closing the plastic covering that maintains the board to be in the way he had put it, “Then winners play winners, losers play losers.”

He walks off after that, and that’s when she finally spots her name: 

‘YLN - Unr - White’ and it was next to, ‘Jones - Unr - Black’ 

She was at first shocked to be playing white, and second shocked that she was playing someone else who was unrated. The men at the table must have really been giving her a hard time if someone else who was unrated was playing in the main section. It just proves that the two of them were really out to make it so she wasn’t supposed to play in the game because she was unrated, but she knew it was really because she was a woman and she knew that. 

It said that she was playing on board twenty and after flicking her eyes around the rest of the boards, she realised that it was the last board. It was just another thing that she knew was because she was an unrated woman. She just hoped that whoever her opponent was wouldn’t mind that she was a woman. Chess, as much as it was a sport played by both women and men, it was a sport that still held the misogyny that women shouldn’t play in tournaments against men, because they didn’t have the skill that men did, even though the majority of women had the same skill, or were more skilled, they just never had the opportunity to show it. YN swore that if she did manage to play chess, she wouldn’t allow the watchful eyes of judging men to put her off. 

So far, she wasn’t doing a good job of doing that. 

When she walked over to board twenty, she was shocked to find a women sat at the opposite side of the table from where she was about to about to sit. 

“Hello.” The girl says, standing up and holding her hand out for YN to shake, which she does, “I’m Sarah Jones.” 

“YN YLN.” She replies, sitting down across from her, “Um, do you have a clock? I don’t have one and I was told to ask.” 

“Oh!” The girl immediately picks up her bag that was rested upon the floor and lifted a large wooden rectangular block out of it, one with two clock faces on it and two small buttons on the top, “I do.” 

As awkward as YN felt, she knew that if she was to understand the concept of clocks, then she would have to open her mouth and ask, “Can you explain to me how they work?” 

“Sure!” Sarah smiles as though she can’t contain her excitement to explain what YN didn’t understand, “The clock nearest to you is yours. We both have ninety minutes each to play the game, if you’re still playing by the time the little red flag comes down then you’ve lost. Once you move, you click the little button on the top of your clock and that starts your opponents time.” 

“Thank you.” She smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Sarah smiles back, and suddenly YN feels at ease in the girls presence, “I wish I had somebody to tell me these things when I first started. I did learn, slowly, but it would’ve been nice to have a little more help when I first started.” 

“I’ve been playing for years.” YN’s quick to say, just to make sure that the girl knows that she isn’t a complete imbecile when it comes to the game, “This is just my first tournament.” 

“How exciting!” She gushes, “This is my third. I’m waiting for my rating to come through. They aren’t as quick with women’s ratings as they are with mens.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” YN says, a hint of humour within her voice. Sarah chuckles and YN can’t help the little smile that falls over her cheeks, “I’ve been here less than an hour and they’ve already tried to make me feel smaller than I am because I’m a woman.” 

“Get used to that.” Sarah offers her a small smile, “Your turn first.” YN’s about to pick up a piece when Sarah moves to say something else, “Another thing I’ve forgotten to mention! Games in tournaments are touch move.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“If you touch a piece, you have to move it.” YN nods her head and looks back down at the board, taking in the board briefly before she made her decision.

 “Do you press your button to start my time?” YN asks. 

“Yes.” Sarah smiles sheepishly, reaching forward to press the small button, “Sorry about that.” 

Without hesitation, YN reached out and firmly moved her queen bishop’s pawn to its fourth square. The Sicilian Defence was the first chess opening she had ever read about, in one of the more advanced chess books her grandfather had given her, and it consequently became her favourite. It was the one that she found worked more effectively than any of the other openings she had learnt about, and was certainly the one that she used more often than others. 

Without really thinking, once she’d placed her piece down, she pressed the small button that stopped her time and started Sarah’s and placed her elbows upon the table, resting her hands upon her hands just as she had seen lime-green trousers do earlier. She was unsure whether people would notice, but it added a sense of confidence to the girl once she’d done it. When she played with her grandfather, she only ever let her hands rest upon her lap once she’d made her move, and after a few seconds of resting the way that she did, she starting to like this way of resting in between her moves. 

She allowed Sarah to make her moves, which she reciprocated with hers and it wasn’t until she was around her seventh move that she began to attack with them. Sometimes she waits longer to make her attacking moves, and other times she makes them earlier. It all depended on how she was feeling and how she suspected the game to go with each of the different moves. On the eleventh move of the game, she captured one of Sarah’s bishops, and then a few moves after on her nineteenth — her queen. 

She looked up slightly at Sarah, and saw the way she furrowed her eyebrows slightly at the board before dropping all of the worry that glazed over her features. What surprised YN even more was when she reached forward and knocked her king over, even though it shouldn’t have. There wasn’t anywhere else she could have. 

“Wow.” Sarah says, almost sounding flabbergasted about what she had just witnessed, “That was, well, quick.” 

“I’m sorry.” YN’s quick to say but Sarah shakes her head. 

“Don’t be.” She smiles, “I think you’re one of the best players I’ve ever played. Make sure to take your card back, and circle that you’ve won!” 

With that, Sarah was up and walking away from the table. YN picked up the small pencil that she had been given earlier and wrote the game down with Sarah and herself, recording that she had won. She made her way back towards the desk where she had signed up, ignoring the shocked faces of the two men that sat behind the desk once she’d placed her card in the winner’s basket. It was the first card back she noticed, in both the winners and the losers side. It was at this point she noticed the man in the lime-green trousers stood against the side wall looking directly at her. She wasn’t too sure, but it didn’t look as if he was watching her every move. She tried her hardest to not make it too obvious that he had seen her staring and made her way around the room, looking at all of the different games that had started to be played. 

She made her way past board number five, the one lime-green trousers had been stood near, only to see it being the man that he had played a game of speed chess with earlier. It was absolutely certain to YN now that they did know each other, it would be a little odd if they didn’t, maybe even a little bit stalker-ish. What else she was quite surprised at was seeing Sarah stood watching over the same board. YN offered her a smile and went to stand next to her. 

Looking over the board slightly, YN noticed straight away that the man who was playing Black, not the man who was playing speed chess but his opponent, had a chance to win a rook after moving his bishop, but he instead exchanged his pawns. In her mind, she knew that he had just placed himself in a position that a good player would know how to immediately win him over. 

“One of them has a rating of 1450, and the other has a rating of 1689.” Sarah whispers to her, “They’re two of the headliners to win.” 

“Well one of them just made a mistake.” YN immediately whispers back. 

“Who?” Sarah’s eyebrows furrow as she says the words, a little two loudly because all of the eyes around them flutter in their direction. 

“Black.” YN whispers discretely back, “He should’ve moved his bishop, winning white’s rook but instead he exchanged pawns, leaving him wide open.” 

“My god.” She says, dropping her mouth open in shock as she looked at the girl, “You’re insane. How did you notice that.” 

She shrugs, “I just observe games well, I suppose.” 

“You’re telling me.” 

The two of them look back at the game in front of them, and just as she had suspected, the man playing white managed to take black’s rook, and then the queen that was conveniently left wide open, leaving his opponent no other option but to topple his king over. The shake hands and the winner immediately turns around, smiling as lime-green trousers claps him on the back and wraps his arms around his shoulders. They make their way over to the desk, presumably dropping their cards into the baskets. 

“What is their deal?” YN asks Sarah, feeling comfortable enough with the girl to do so. 

“Harry and Mitch?” She nods at Sarah’s words, “They’re best friends, met a few years ago when they drew at a tournament. Harry’s already an expert after winning a game a couple of towns over but Mitch is yet to do so. Harry’s just here to offer moral support to his friend.” 

“I’m sure making him loose at speed chess beforehand is great moral support.” YN’s mutters.

She laughs, “You’d be surprised. They’re forever psyching each other out with games of skittles. They drive me absolutely insane with it.” 

“You know them?” YN is quite baffled at his revelation. 

Sarah nods, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, “Mitch is my boyfriend. The person who taught me chess, actually.” 

YN’s lips part slightly but she immediately shuts them, “Wow.” 

“I know.” She laughs, scratching her forehead sightly, “They’re pretentious twats when it comes to their chess but when you get to know them, they’re alright.” 

YN casts her eyes to them for a second, watching as they look at the board, obviously trying to pinpoint their competition, “I’ll take your word for it.” 

YN next game started twenty minutes later, once everyone else had finished their games, returned their complete cards and paired everyone up for their next games, she made her back over to the board to see who her next opponent was. She was at board ten, which she was pleasantly shocked about, seeing as though the last board she played at was board twenty

‘Scott - 332 - White’ which sat next to, ‘YLN - Unr - Black’ 

She was playing black, which meant that she had to work a little bit harder to make sure that she would start just as strong as she would if she were playing white. She weaved her way through the abundance of people either lingering or making their way to their boards ever so slowly because they don’t want to be seen going to their looser game. She smiles at that thought, they should embrace it, their opponent may just have been better, and they’d have to work from that. Once she made it to table ten, she was surprised to see a man who looked around his mid-thirties, maybe earlier-forties sat waiting for her with a grimace upon his face. Chess players aren’t the nicest of people ever, so YN really isn’t surprised when he doesn’t even respond to her hello, instead just looks down at the board. She doesn’t even hesitate when she leans forward and presses the little button above the clock by the side of them, starting his time. 

He made his opening move, which she followed by moving pawn to queen’s four and pressed his time again. He moved again straight after her movement, instantly with pawn to his queen’s four as well. She quickly noticed that he never looked at her, and instead kept his eyes darting around the room whenever he wasn’t studying the board. She just sat with her elbows placed neatly each side of the board and rested her chin on her hands, staring at both him and the board in intervals. 

He played fast, but she could play even faster and she was beginning to see a little impatience in the man, as though he wanting to play even faster and have the game to be over faster. It had taken them roughly five or six minutes to both develop their pieces, ready to start attacking the other. He started attacking her queen first, which she wasn’t too surprised about because if the shoe was on the other foot she probably would have done the same thing — in a more skilful way, if she may add. 

Ignoring his attack, she starts to advance her knight. He responded by pushing a pawn up, and she was surprised that him doing so meant that she couldn’t take it without being on the responding end of a nasty double attack. She raised her eyebrow, knowing that she could so without him noticing that she was doing so, because his eyes were still fluttering around the room.

He was obviously a very skilled player, and he had to be with the impressive rating of 332. He was better than her grandfather, which pained her to say, but her grandfather always used to say that he was only ever playing the game for fun, and never professionally. As a small child, hearing the word ‘professional’ tricked her mind into thinking that she may actually be able to get a career out of this, but from this experience right now she wondered whether that would be the case or not. 

He surprised her with his next move, picking up his queen bishop and taking one of the pawns next to her king with it, checking her as he did so and sacrificing the piece. To say it threw her off guard for a second would be an understatement, and she did have to go through every option she could before she made her decision. 

She moved her king over in that direction, but didn’t take the bishop. 

He brought his knight down, and she traded the pawns on the other side, meaning she opened the file for her rook. He kept chipping away at her king with complicated moves, but none that she could see had any real danger to her. She brought her rook out, and doubled it with her queen. It was an arrangement that she didn’t quite mind, and she felt ready to fire at any second with whatever she had left in her. 

It only took her three moves to fire and he seemed too entranced by his complicated moves to truly pick up on what she was doing. He was only focusing on chipping away at her king, not paying any attention to the full board, meaning he was missing out on the moves she was making. If he hadn’t been so focused on trying to checkmate her, he would have had her by the fourth move he made, after the first check with the bishop. She had him with her third move, and she saw an opportunity to fire her rook. She moved her queen to the last rank, and captured the white rook, one that still start there unmoved. He was a very messy player, even if a skilled one. 

She looked up at him, and for the first time this entire game he looked up at her. It was almost as though he knew he was over, but he was determined as he reached out and took her queen with his rook.

Looking down, she almost didn’t want to look at him as she tried to hide her smile. She leaned her hand forward, picked her bishop up and moved it one square and muttered the single word of, “Check.” 

YN was surprised when he leant forward, picking up his king before he hesitated. He had finally noticed what what she had done. If he made the move that he had wanted, he was going to loose his queen and the rook that he had just captured. He looked at her and without hesitating said, “Draw?” 

“No.” She hook her head. 

“Okay.” He held out his hand, “I resign.” 

She has to bite her lip to hold in her smile, one that was only there because she had taken her time and actually thought about what she was doing. 

“You play a good game, kid.” He says, and with that he leaves the table. She can’t even contain her excitement when she writes the game down on her card, circling her name to say that she had won. Placing it in the basket, and seeing the two men looking at her again with shocked expressions on their faces, she couldn’t contain her smile. 

To say she had just beaten the first person she had played who actually had a rating that she had to watch out for, she was happy to say the least. The idea of her possibly winning this whole tournament starting itching closer and closer, and to say that she was happy was an understatement. She goes to stand by the back wall, watching over as people around her still played their games, using their own tactics to hopefully win. She didn’t really have a lot of tactics, she just had moves that worked for her and a strategy of whizzing through all of the best options in her head before she played them, making sure that she wasn’t leaving herself open like Sarah had done and then Scott afterwards. 

The clearing of a throat and the feeling of a presence near her was the thing that snapped her out of her winner’s gloat and back into the real world of being in a room with snobby chess players. Lime-green trousers was now stood directly next to her, seeming to be the snobbiest of them all from first impressions, but she certainly isn’t one to pre-judge. 

“It seems to me that you’re getting a little too big for your boots, aren’t you?” 

She definitely should pre-judge, certainly more so when it comes to snobby chess players and especially ones that wear vans she has noticed. 

“Big for my boots?” She raises her eyebrow at him slightly, “You mean winning?” 

“For an unrated player, yes.” He responds, “You’re just on a streak of luck. I’ll be happy once I see you loose next game.” 

This man. YN couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to say those things to her, more so that once she’d looked at him she was absolutely disgusted. He stood there, next to her with one hand tucked within the pocket of his trousers, smirking at her as though she should laugh with him at the words he had just said. 

She cannot at all say that she cared very much about this man, in fact, the questions she had about him were only because she wanted to know why he felt like he ran the place. To have him, someone who she had never met before, say so openly that he was waiting for her to fail sparked something within her, anger to be honest. To anybody else they might have allowed it to get into their head, but YN didn’t have the opportunity to do that — she needed to do well in this tournament and she wasn’t going to allow some snobbish expert to say something of that sort to her ruin it. 

She cleared her throat, dropping her eyes down to floor, “If I recall correctly, you aren’t even playing in this tournament Mr. Styles.” 

“Mr. Styles?” He chuckles, raising his eyebrows at her once she’d said it, “You’ve heard of me?” 

“Not before today, no.” She shakes her head, allowing a little smile to grace over her lips as his falters slightly, “In fact, I had no idea who you were. I had to ask somebody.” 

“And yet you know that I’m not playing.” He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and shrugs his shoulders. 

“And yet again, I asked someone.” She tilts her head, “I only asked your name, they felt the need to give me all the information they knew about you.” 

“Which was?” 

“You think you’re semi-decent at chess and feel the need to make sure everyone knows.” 

It was a low blow, and she certainly knew that but she can’t lie and say that it didn’t feel good to see his face falter at her words. Whether it be snobbish boys at school, or snobbish chess players like this Harry Styles himself, she knew it was always the most fun to hit them right where it hurts. For normal members of the male species specifically, they hated when people attacked their masculinity, as though it was fragile and if someone flicked it too harsh it may explode and they might be nice to others for one (Shock! Horror!). For chess players, they already had people keeping their masculinity in check by them playing a predominately male-played game, so, if she just hit that stabbed and twisted that specifically, reminding them that she was also a female at the same time, well it killed two birds with one stone.

So what if she was an unrated player? It just meant that she didn’t have the experience of other. She presumes that people like him forget that at one point he too didn’t have a rating, and had to start off from the beginning. She wondered if someone had plagued him then, meaning that he felt the need to also do it to her. She knew that wouldn’t have been the case, and she was sure if she searched his name up, she’d find thousands of articles that labelled him as a ‘child-prodigy’, which she had also been called in her youth but not by anybody of real power.

That title was tossed around in chess a little too much for her liking. 

“Semi-decent?” His voice is laced with venom and she can tell straight away, “I’m an expert, love, not some wannabe that doesn’t know the difference between skill and sheer luck.” 

For a few seconds, she thought about whether or not she had done something horrid in her past life that meant she had to meet this man. Sheer luck was something that you’d get if you knew how to play chess, but thought you were better than you actually were. YN knew that she was good, the hours she spent studying over different senior master’s games to make sure she knew every trick in the book meant that she was good. Skill came in many different forms, but the main thing that all skilled people of this sport knew was that it took time. She’s sure Harry’s familiar with that himself, but he has too much of a precious ego to ever let anyone know such a thing. 

Even if he did have a precious ego that he felt he needed to protect, there were other ways to do it then degrading herself. 

YN turned to look at him, making sure that the message her eyes sent let him know that he wasn’t to make a peep, “I may be unrated, but if you forget, sunshine, at some point you were too.” She sighs, “To me, sheer luck between us is the idea that you’ve managed to finesse your way so far up this games arse that nobody has realised what an absolute monstrosity of a person you actually are.” 

Lime-green trousers, as she was now going to call him forever, threw her a look that she knew would kill her if they were able too, “Monstrosity? Have you heard yourself, love?” 

“At least I’m not trying to hide the fact that I’m actually horrid, which I’m certainly not, by using the excuse of being a fantastic chess player, as you like to boast that you are.” 

“Have you seen any of my games?” He raises his eyebrows, “Seen how good I actually am?” 

She laughs and shakes her head, seeing that he’s fallen directly into her trap, “I’ve never once said that you weren’t a good player, in fact, I would never say something like that.” 

“But you’ve —”

“If you recall, Mr. Styles, I never said anything about your chess other than you think you’re semi-decent, which isn’t an insult at all.” She says, leaning back on your heel slightly, “I never insulted your chess, only your personality. You decide which one you cherish the most.” 

“What if I take semi-decent as an insult?” 

She shrugs, “Then you’re even shallower than I thought. Think back to what you said about my chess, which I quote was that I played with ‘sheer luck’ and that ‘you’ll be happy to see me loose my next game’.” 

YN feels proud of herself that she’d managed to stick up for herself in front of the shell of a man, not allowing his shitty behaviour and rudeness to bring her down from her high. She had won her first two games in the tournament for christ’s sake, and it meant she was a hell of a lot closer to maybe winning this thing. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get home.” She says, “Need to get some rest, have a full day tomorrow of winning on sheer luck. I have some praying to do, I suppose.” 

With that, YN turns and walks away from him, leaving him in a stunned silence in the corner of the room at the words that she had said to him. She wasn’t going to let that man do what she supposes he has done to many other people to her. She didn’t deserve that. 

As she left the village hall after the first day of the tournament she realised that if she was going to make it amongst these chess players, she was going to have to learn that she wasn’t some push over, and she deserved the respect that other players received. 

She was going to prove to lime-green trousers that she was a good player, one with skill and show him that the ‘sheer luck’ nonsense he was going on about was something that he had just made up in her case. 

To do this, the first thing YN had to do was search up this man, and learn the tricks of his trade. She was going to beat him at his own game, whether or not he was playing. 

The next day YN walked into the village hall with a spring in her step. When she had returned home, she had immediately bolted upstairs and locked herself within her room, sat on her bed with her chessboard in front of her, running through all of her games to see if there were any weaknesses in her play. There weren’t, and that made her smile. Her grandfather had always said that she was a wonder, someone who was so young but knew more then him about the game that he had taught her how to play. YN truly couldn’t understand how she was better than her grandfather at chess, but she thinks it has something to do with the hours upon hours she spent as a child when she should’ve been doing schoolwork going over games and moves until she had them memorised. 

The next thing she did was open her laptop up and search up, ‘Harry Styles’. She couldn’t stop herself from doing so, and just as she had thought, the man was some sort of child prodigy. Reading one of the articles on the Chess Weekly website, he had won his first tournament at aged eight, and ever since, he had just excelled. It said if he wins the next regional championships he will be on his way to being national master, and if he wins the next national championships he will be senior master. YN had no idea that there were so many different championships and tournaments to play in chess. 

She had read through all of his games that were publish on the Chess Weekly website and she wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t find any fault in his game. She played them out on her board as she read them, and tried her very hardest to find errors where she would’ve done differently but she couldn’t. He had the title of expert for something, and the skill he had certainly was the thing that gave him that. 

YN also found out that he had won another tournament close by to the one that she was playing, and he already had an invitation to the regional championships that were taking place in Manchester in three months so he didn’t have to play. It was at this point she learnt that if she was to win this tournament, she wouldn’t just win the prize money but also an invitation to play at regional’s with all of the other winners. It certainly gave her something to look forward to which she hadn’t had before. 

That morning, she had dressed in an outfit that was smart, yet also casual. She had paired some high-waisted black trousers with a black turtle-neck and added a chunky-knit tan cardigan with large black pin-stripes on it. The belt she added hugged in her waist and made her feel as though she could do anything. She couldn’t lie and say that she wasn’t doing this as an ode to lime-green trousers, wearing something similar to what he was wearing just to spite him that even though they were of different genders, they were both playing the same sport as people. 

The village hall looked exactly the same as it did yesterday, and the people that were there were also the same as yesterday, YN noticed. She offered a closed-lipped smile to the men that were sat at the table, the same two as yesterday. They looked at her with a shocked look upon their features, as though they couldn’t believe that she was actually still playing. She made her way over to the notice board, skimming her eyes over to find that she was on board eight, and that she was actually the only unrated player still left in the tournament. A grin threatened to cross her features but she didn’t allow it. She had to look tough. 

“YN YLN.” She said, holding her hand out to shake his hand. 

“James Wortley.” 

The board had told her that his rating was 1065, meaning that he would be the best player she had played all weekend, but that certainly didn’t mean that he would beat her. He wasn’t going to beat her, she wouldn’t allow it. YN was playing white, giving her the advantage that she was going to start the game. She played pawn to king four, hoping that he’d play the Sicilian, the one move she knew better than any other. 

He didn’t. 

Wortley copied and played pawn to king four, and then moved his king’s bishop so it was in the corner, above his castled king. She hadn’t seen anything like this before, and she wondered whether he had made it up. It seemed to be one of those moves that people make up to try and hurt their opponents brain. 

It hadn’t worked then, but during the middle of the game it started to get a little more complex, and YN started to make decisions without actually thinking them through. Without thinking everything through, she made the decision to retreat her bishop, lifting it up slightly off the board. It was at this point she noticed that she had a better move of pawn to queen four. She dropped it back down to the board. 

“Touch move.” Wortley interrupted. She looked up at him and wanted nothing more than to smack the smile that had crossed his lips off him “You have to move your bishop.” 

She tried to not make her mistake obvious and moved her bishop to bishop four. It was the first time in any of her chess games that she had played previously. Even when she played with only her grandfather, her moves were all clean and precise and she hardly made any mistakes. When she was learning, she made mistakes, but one needs that to become good at whatever they are doing. After the first period or so of learning, when she could say that she wasn’t a beginner, the mistakes started to become less and less until she could proudly say that she made none. 

Wortley had a grin on his face that she knew was because he had noticed her little tumble. He moved his queen’s pawn to the fifth square, tapping his clock button smugly and leaning back in his chair as if to psych her out. She wasn’t going to let him know that it was working. 

If she didn’t think about this, he was going to capture one of her bishops, and she wasn’t about to let him do that and leave her in a vulnerable position. It took her ten minutes of studying the board over and over again until she found a move that meant that he wasn’t going to do that. He took her bishop, thinking he had actually done something, but then she advanced the queen rook pawn over on the opposite side of the board. She saw his face drop for a moment, but his next move was quick as he pushed the queen pawn forward again. 

He wasn’t as good a player as she thought, because he fell delicately into her trap that she had laid out for him. She moved her knight, attacking his rook. Doing so, she knew that he would move the rook to the square that she had thought he would, and that allowed her to bring her queen out to bishop five, right above where he had left his castled king. She could feel the anger bubbling within his body as she lifted her queen, and took the pawn directly under the king, sacrificing her queen. 

He took the queen, there was nothing else he could do. 

She brought her bishop out for another check, and he halted her pawn, just as she reckoned he would, “You’ll be checkmate in two.” 

Wortley had a sour look upon his face, lifting his eye to look at her calm ones, “What?” 

“The rook will come over, mate.” She tilts her head as she watches him play out her words as he stares at the board, “Then the knight mates afterwards.” 

“But my queen—”

“Will be pinned after I move my king.” 

YN quite liked watching him crumble before her, spitting out a, “Fuck!” as he knew she was right. Just as the snobby chess player he was, he stood up without turning his king or shaking her hand and stormed away from the table, leaving her with a small smile upon her lips. She enjoyed writing her game down on the card and circling her name. As she stood up, she tucked her chair underneath the table, she was shocked to see lime-green trousers stood directly behind her, this time wearing blue flared jeans and an orange jumper. She was still going to call him lime-green trousers in her head. 

He had his arms crossed and a stern look upon his face, one that she supposed came from just watching her game. She hoped he had enjoyed himself. 

“Still sheer luck?” She asked, with a playful smile and the tilt of her head. 

“You made a mistake.” 

“But I got myself out of it.” 

“You still made it.” 

YN shook her head, knowing that nothing would be good enough for this man. He thrived on making players like her feel like shit because they made one mistake. Some people would crumble from the move that she made — but she didn’t, and she won. 

“Are you genuinely telling me that you’ve never made a mistake playing before?” 

If he said no, she certainly wouldn’t believe him. She hadn’t before today, but she hadn’t played in professional tournaments before today also. 

“I’ve never made a mistake playing in an important game, no.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Well you better believe it, rookie.” 

“I think I’ve proven that I’m no rookie.” She purses her features for emphasis. 

He chuckles, “You’ll prove that you’re no rookie if you win this whole thing. But I can’t say that I have belief that you will.” 

With that he’s walking past her, brushing her shoulder with his so hard that it almost sends her off balance. He was one of the people that YN found hard to not get angry with all of the time. It was his taunting and his teasing and the fact that he has virtually no belief that she’s good enough to win this thing. If he had watched her game, which she was guessing he had, then he would certainly know that she was a skilled player. She would’ve liked to see him play that game as well as she did, making the mistake and all. 

Her next game was an hour or so later, and when she checked the notice board she was on board four. She was playing someone called Reid, and they had a rating of 1602. She was shocked to know that this person was one of the two people with ratings over 1600 that she had been told about when she joined yesterday. She wasn’t going to let intimidate her. 

She shook his hand and sat down across from him. She wasn’t going to lie, he looked like he had just walked out of a movie set, with blonde waves and a nice smile. She was surprised that once he sat down, he didn’t stop smiling at her. She returned it, only for it to drop once she saw who was sat behind him. Lime-green trousers, with a smirk on his face as his eyes never left her. This was the last game she had to play, she noticed. There was only one other board in use at board one. She hadn’t even realised that had been the case. He was trying to psych her out, and she noticed this because his friend was the other player sat on the other board. 

It was a low blow, even for him. If lime-green trousers believed that she was a threat to his friend, then he should have more faith in his friend. It was one thing to stalk out your opponents and try to get into their heads, but Harry wasn’t even playing her. His friend, who is called Mitch if she remembers correctly, hadn’t even batted an eyelid in her direction, and if he didn’t care about her then she was unsure why his friend cared so much. It wasn’t even as though he was doing a good job of it either. Did he think that standing there with his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed was going to distract her? It certainly wasn’t. 

“Are you ready?” Stopping the rant in her head, she flutters her eyes down to movie-star and offers him a smile. 

She wasn’t going to let him distract her after this point, “Ready.” 

YN was playing black, meaning he had the advantage but it wasn’t going to be something that she worried herself over. Reid played pawn to king four and then pressed his clock. She could feel not only his eyes staring at her, but lime-green trousers as well. This was going to be a long game, and she could already feel that.

She played pawn to queen bishop four. By the time the middle of the game came around, after every move she made she was looking up at lime-green trousers, who still had his eyes on her. She wondered whether she did so to spite him that he was trying to get under her skin or she did so because she found herself being drawn to him. He was one of the only people that had ever been to do so to her whilst she was playing the game. 

There were no weaknesses on either side of their play, and it was just a case of waiting and finding the best squares for her knights and bishops. It started to become like a routine, and she really was starting to get bored. Harry’s stern face had grown now into a smirk that she knew would be etched into her brain for hours to come, reminding her that he thinks she’s not going to win at all. 

Reid brought a knight to queen five, and it caused a frown to cross YN’s face because she knew she wouldn’t be able to dis-lodge it. She didn’t look up at lime-green trousers after her next movement because she knew that his smirk would have grown to cover the entirety of his face. Reid had finally started to creep up on her, but the only thing that YN could actually think was that it was about time. 

YN had her elbows on the table, her head rested upon her fists as she looked over the board with a keen eye. She decided it was time to fight back, pushing her pawn up so that it opened up her bishop, meaning that the bishop’s power had tripled. She hoped that lime-green trousers would have noticed that she had done this, and that the smirk he had upon his face had left. 

Reid kept bringing his pieces up and he knew that there were limits to what he could do to her. YN focused on the left-hand corner of the board where his queen was. Strategically, she moved her bishop down in the middle of his clustered pieces and set it on his knight two square. If he decided to capture it, he would be in trouble. She looked up at him and she could tell that he was starting to get nervous, and his clock was certainly ticking. 

Fifteen minutes later he made his move, taking the bishop with his rook. It was as though he couldn’t see that moving the rook of the back rank was a foolish move. He was supposed to be one of the top players of this competition and he hadn’t spotted this. She was shocked. Checking that it was right, she brought out her queen. 

He didn’t notice it until after his next move, and that was when his game fell apart. Six moves later when she got her queen’s pawn passed to the sixth rank, he brought his rook under the pawn. She attacked it with her bishop. He studied the board for a few seconds and she tried her hardest to not allow a winning smile to cross her lips. 

He lifted his hand up and set his king on the side, “I resign. You win.” 

He held his hand out which she shook, and the applause was defining. She stands up and sees that lime-green trousers had already disappeared, walking towards his friend that had also finished his game. She did smile at that. She was one step closer to winning the tournament and proving that she was actually a good player, and she hoped that she would be able to rub it in his face.

“YN!” It’s Sarah who calls her name after she had moved away from the board. The girl walks over and wraps her arms around YN, who does stiffen for a few a seconds before relaxing in her touch, “That was amazing!” 

YN tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, “Thank you.” 

They moved away from the board and out into the open, “The way you tricked him was insane! I’ve never seen anything like that before. ” 

YN wasn’t used to receiving compliments, and especially not about her chess. She hadn’t received compliments about her chess in a long time, and certainly not in situations like this one. Her grandfather always complimented the way she played, but he sort of had to because of their relations and all. Maybe this tournament would start more people complimenting her chess. 

As they walked, Sarah slipped her arm through YN’s, “Are you sure you’re not rated?” 

“I haven’t played in years.” YN shook her head, “There’s no way that I am.” 

She had played with herself over the past years but nobody else, and that’s how she knew for certain that there would be no way that she had a rating. 

“Years?” Sarah’s tone is shocked, “You haven’t played in years and you’re that good? I don’t play for a few days and I’ve completely forgotten everything.” 

YN chuckles at her words lightly, “I played with myself.” 

“Yourself?” She smiled, “You must have had some rivalries with yourself.” 

“I played other people’s games.” She clarified, “I played through games that were in Chess Weekly  and tried to find any faults in it.” 

“Did you find any?” She asks.

“A few.” YN shrugs, “Mainly people missing things that are directly in front of them.” 

“Like Reid?” Sarah questioned and YN nodded. 

“They focus on something too much and miss what their opponents are doing.” 

Sarah turned to the side slightly to look at her, “You’re right. I’ll have to check to see if I do that.” 

“You did in our game.” YN teases. 

“I know I did.” Sarah bumps her shoulder slightly, “And now I have the Queen of chess as a friend who can teach me the tricks of the trade.” 

YN didn’t have many friends, so it was nice to hear that she had a friend coming from somebodies lips. 

YN nodded her head at Sarah, “I can do that.” 

“I’m counting on it.” 

When YN returned the next day, it was to play the final game, the one that if she wins she would win the prize money of two hundred and fifty pounds — something that would help her and her grandmother out dearly. Yesterday, she had wiped out her opponent Harris in under forty moves, thirty-six to be exact. She arrived and saw a group of people already stood around board one, where she knew she would be playing the game. Boards two and three were ready to start again, playing to find who would be in the places third, fourth, fifth and sixth. 

Mitch Rowland was the man she was playing, with a rating of 1689, and she knew that rating could be exactly how good he was or be hiding the truth, just like it had been with movie-star. When he sat down and she looked around the room, she could see Sarah sat there, cheering on her boyfriend obviously whilst he played his final game.

“YN YLN.” The words slip out of his lips easily, “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Mitch Rowland.” 

She smiles and shakes the hand he holds out, “I can say the same about you.” 

YN was playing white, and the second he had punched her clock, she moved pawn to king four and punched his clock. He immediately responded by moving his king pawn to the third square, punching her clock smugly. The French Defence. She had read about it in one of her books before, but she had never played it. She hesitated for a second on what was the best move to make, and after steady contemplation of all of the different outcomes, she played her pawn to queen four. She couldn’t help but wonder whether she had made a mistake or not. 

Rowland hastily picked up his queen pawn and put it on queen four, and pressed the button of his clock. The opening had thrown her off, and she wondered whether Mitch had noticed that. He had to have. Deciding to bring out one of her knights, she decided to struggle in the centre squares. He was moving fast, and captured one of her pawns and she saw that she couldn’t do the same with it. 

He had an advantage and she tried her very best to shrug it off. He was certainly the first player that she’d played that matched his rating, that was the truth. 

Taking the pieces of the back rank, she castles and looks up at Mitch. He looked completely calm, as though he knew exactly what he was doing and wasn’t worried about the consequences of it. For the first time, she started to feel uncomfortable in her seat, and moves slightly within it. She found herself pushing her fingers into her chin as they rested in the new position she had found herself liking. She wondered if lime-green trousers was here, and if he knew that she had seen the way he rested within his game and tried to copy that, if he had, it would be another thing to be teased on.

Looking down at the board, there was a cluster of pieces and pawns on the board that seemed to have no real sense of why they were there. She knew her clock was ticking, and looking at it, she saw that she had used twenty-three minutes of it. Mitch had only used twenty minutes of his. He was leant back in his chair, clearing enjoying that she had no idea what she was she was going to do. 

After a few more minutes of staring at the board, she found what she thought would be a good square for her knight, and she reached out her hand but then stopped. If she had done that, it wouldn’t have been good for her at all. She needed to do something about his queen before he had it on the rook file and ready to threaten. She needed to find someway to protect it, but no matter how much she stared at them, she couldn’t see a possible move. 

Eventually she did find a sensible move and quickly made it, bringing a knight back near the king which protected it from Rowland’s queen. She could see that it had shocked him, because his features dropped for a second before he took a pawn on the other side of the board. That opened up his bishop, which was aimed at the knight that she had brought back, and now she was down by another pawn. He now had a small smile by his face, and she knew that if she didn’t do something quickly, it would be all over for her. The king would have been taken in four or five moves. 

It took her a few minutes but she found her move and made it, punching her clock. Rowland studied the board for a minute before taking her knight with his bishop, like she had hoped that he would. She didn’t retake the move, and instead brought a bishop over to attack one of his rooks. He moved the rook out of the line of fire, like he had too. She brought her queen from the back to the centre and that now threatened to take the rook, pinning the king’s knight pawn so she could take the bishop with a check. It was now Mitch’s turn to study the board, and now his clock was ticking. 

Fifteen minutes later he found the rook move that she had thought of earlier. It allowed her rook to come over her queen and from the deep breath he took, she knew she had got him. Ten more minutes later he moved his queen into a defensive position, but it certainly wouldn’t work. She reached out and advanced her pawn, attacking his queen. He stared at the pawn for a moment as though it was something that would hurt him if he touched it. If he moved his queen, YN would be able to attack him in an abundance of ways. 

“Fucking hell.” He shock his head, trying to figure out what to do until he had ten minutes left on his clock. She had forty five, but she wasn’t one to brag. 

There was only one move he could make, even though it would be the end of the game for him. She brought up a bishop behind her queen, threatening checkmate that he had to parry with his queen. She ignored it and pushed her rook to the third rank, where it could move either left or right. She would get either his queen or a checkmate, whatever he did. 

“Fucking hell.” He repeated again, shaking his head and placing his hand upon his forehead. 

“You can’t get out of it.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I can.” He says, “I will.” 

She shrugged, “If you say so.” 

With four minutes on the clock, he stared and stared at the board as though it was going to jump out and tell him what to do. Thirty seconds to go he picked up his queen and slammed it in front of the rook, offering to sacrifice it for the rook. He pressed the button, letting out a deep breath. 

“I told you it doesn’t work.” She said, “There’s other options but the queen.” 

“Make your move.” He said sourly. 

“I can check you—”

“Just move.” He sounded as though she was giving up. 

Nodding, she checked with the bishop and he retorted by moving his king away and pressing the button. Without a hesitation, she brought her queen down next to the king which sacrificed it. He could hardly believe that he had done it and snatched up her queen and stopped the clock. She pushed her bishop from the back rank to the middle and said, “Check. Mate next move.” 

He looked at it, and shook his head, “Fucking hell.” 

She wondered whether or not that was his favourite phrase. 

“The rook will mate.” She responds to him, “I was trying to tell you that.” 

“Fucking hell.” He shakes his head and holds his hand out for YN to shake, which she does, “They told me you were good.” 

She couldn’t believe it. 

People cheered around the room, clapping for her of all people. She was shocked to say the least.  People who she didn’t even know congratulated her for her win, and it was something that she knew that she could get used to. She was given a cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds, and although it wasn’t a lot, it would certainly help her and her grandmother slightly. 

YN couldn’t wait to get home and tell her grandmother the good news. The bus had been ten minutes late, and she spent the entire time with the cheque laying heavy in her pocket. She allowed her mind to wonder, but not too much. The thing that she thought of the most was how she hadn’t seen lime-green trousers there for the final. She would’ve thought that if anybody was there for the final, it would’ve been him, but he was no where to be seen. YN knew that it was probably really petty to want to rub it in his face that she had won, but she felt as though she deserved to do so with the shit he had said to her. 

YN couldn’t contain her excitement as she finally burst her way into the house, immediately kicking her shoes off and placing her jacket over the banister. 

“Grandma?” She called out, “Where are you?” 

“In the kitchen!” She called back, which YN certainly wasn’t surprised at. 

YN had realised from a young age that when her grandmother was nervous, she found herself always cooking or baking. They don’t have a lot of money but they always had things to make sweet treats with. Her grandmother was an excellent baker and she would choose her grandmothers sweets any day but her grandmother never had the confidence to believe that was the case. 

When YN walks in the kitchen, she’s immediately met by all of the different aromas of what her grandmother had been cooking and baking throughout the day whilst she had been playing the tournament. 

“It smells nice in here.” YN says, walking over to the counter and leaning down upon it, beaming up at her grandmother. 

“It should do.” She responds, stirring the stew that was in the crock pot, probably having been in the majority of the day, “I’ve been slaving around all day in this kitchen.” 

“For me?” YN smiles, placing a hand upon her chest, “You shouldn’t have.” 

“I should.” She nods, taking two plates out of the cupboard so she could serve up, “We had to have something that was as celebratory as it was a pick me up.” 

YN smiled, unable to hide her love for her grandmother. Her grandmother had always been a loving person and a person that always thought about other people rather than herself. YN had always aspired to be like her grandmother, and she hoped that she would be, even though it could be hard at times to do so. 

“Anyways.” She wipes her hand upon a teacloth that she did have over her shoulder, “How did it go?” 

“How did what go?” YN teases, walking over to sit down at the dining table that she had set out. 

The next thing YN feels is the teacloth that her grandmother did have over her shoulder, hitting her on the head. 

“What was that for?” She exclaimed.

“You know exactly what that was for!” YN chuckles at her grandmothers response, “Now tell me. What happened?” 

“Oh, you know. I played some chess.” 

Her grandmother rolls her eyes, “I gathered that.” 

“And. . .” YN takes the cheque out of her pocket and holds it up for her grandmother, “I won this.” 

“YN!” She exclaims, clapping her hand to her mouth, immediately walking over to where her granddaughter was stood to lift the cheque out of her hand, “You won! I can’t believe it!” 

“Well then.” YN chuckles, “It’s nice to know you had faith in me grandma.” 

“Oh shut it with you.” She places the cheque back down, “I’m the first person to admit that you’re crazy good at chess, but, you haven’t played another person in how many years?” 

“Uh.” YN thinks for a second, “Four, maybe five.” 

“That’s a long time, YN.” 

It was a long time, she was right. Apart from playing her grandfather, YN had only ever played people who were on her grandfather’s chess team. They were all older than her, and more experienced, but she always managed to win. Her grandfather always said that she was a wonder. Chess wasn’t popular within her age group, and she wasn’t one to really put herself out there so she spent her days locked up within her room playing through other peoples games rather than her own. It probably wasn’t the best way to learn chess but it certainly had some benefits. 

“I know.” She nods, “It was odd. They all had ratings to be impressed of but made silly mistakes. They concentrated on other things rather than what I was doing.” 

“Maybe you were just too good of a player for them to handle.” 

YN chuckled, “I highly doubt that.” 

“No. That’s what I believe.” 

YN, for one, had a good memory. To be able to learn to play chess the way that she did, playing through games over and over again until she had them memorised hinted at that. YN wasn’t really a fan of school, and even though she passed with okay grades she knew that after that she was finished with learning. Instead, she started to work in her grandfather’s bookshop, and it meant that she could read all the chess books she wanted whilst she was on the job, even though she probably wasn’t supposed to. 

“They just made silly mistakes.” 

“I’m sure.” 

“I even made some.” 

“We’re all human.” Her grandma says, “That still doesn’t take away from the fact that you have real skill, YN. Skill that could take you places.” 

Not knowing how to handle the compliment she had just been given, YN looks down at the table, running her finger along the edge of it. 

“I could do.” She says, shrugging her shoulders slightly, “Take it somewhere.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“All the winners of the tournaments get invited to play in the Regional Championships.” 

“That’s amazing!” 

YN tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and nods, “It’s in three months. In Manchester. The prize money is double, maybe triple what the tournaments was. I don’t know yet.” 

“Wow.” Her grandmother shakes her head, “He always knew that you’d go somewhere with chess. Always told me that you would.” 

He hadn’t even told YN that he thought she would be able to play chess professionally, only ever briefly mentioning that people can play it professionally if they want, but knowing that he had told her grandmother about it was something that caused butterflies to flutter within her stomach as well as a heart-wrenching twist. 

A part of her wished he was still around to tell her that to her face. 

“I’d have to really practice to win.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do it.” 

YN had already orchestrated a plan of what she was going to do to prepare for the championships. She was sure that she could find a list of all of the winners of the different tournaments, probably on Chess Weekly the more she thought of it, and she would learn each and everyone of their more important games. It mean that whoever she played, she would’ve been able to familiarise herself with their strategies and make sure she knew what they preferred to play out of everything. It would be tough, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do. 

“You know, YN.” She says, reaching out and placing her hand on YN’s, “He’d be so very proud of everything you’ve achieved. Even if it had been a little delayed.” 

YN chuckles at her grandmothers words. It had actually taken her a while to psych herself up to play the tournament because she knew that it would be hard to do so without her grandfather, but at the same time she knew that she had to do it for him because he wasn’t here. 

“I know.” She grips her grandmother’s hand just as tightly back, “I’m doing it all for him.” 

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @havethetimeofyourstyles  @stylesfics-xx  @ill-be-your-honey-bri  @millennial-teenybopper  @burberryharold  @heartbreakweatherharry  @ucancallmechlo  @hipslikejagger  @kylos-empress  @itsbuckysworld  @afire-hes  @lolapuffs  @cutemint  @the-tumbl-r-of-my-youth @njpic @caprisunstyles

[mummybear]

Borrowed Time - Chapter One - The New Guy

Words: 3173

Warnings: Swearing... think that’s it for this chapter :)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Mark (OC), Tiffany (OC), Mentions of Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: So this is the first series I’ve written in a while or at least the first one I’ve posted! So I hope you guys like it! The next chapters will be out every Friday, until it’s finished :) The series will probably only be around 6 chapters long, but I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know If you want to be tagged in this series or in any of my other taglists :D

Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr​ Thanks babe ❤😘

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/mummybear

Series Masterlist

You let out a shaky breath as you take your seat at the back of the class, hoping that he will just leave you alone today. One of the new guys at school had developed a thing for you, ever since you’d ignored him on his first day, it was like he was determined to get you to talk to him. Lately though he’s been getting under your skin, and you’re so close to giving in. Sure the guy was hot, in fact, he may have been the hottest guy you’d ever seen, but he was also one of the biggest players in the school. The exception being in the last two weeks, where he had barely spoken to another girl who wasn’t you. Safe to say that had started the rumour mill. Then you hear the murmuring starting in the room, and that unmistakable feeling prickles across your skin.

You fight the urge to look up, but it’s like your eyes are drawn to him, like some kind of magnet is connecting the two of you. You finally give in and look up to find him already watching you, gorgeous green eyes locked on yours. Trying to look away is pointless, you know that by now. You do you best to calm your nerves enough so that you’re finally able to drop your eyes to your desk, and start pulling out the things you need for the upcoming lesson. 

That doesn’t stop your entire body tensing when the chair beside you scrapes along the floor loudly as it’s pulled out. It’s almost like you can feel the eyes of everyone in the hall turn on you. You can’t control the way that your body responds to the sound of his deep voice.

“Mind if I sit here, Y/N?” he asks quietly. You try and ignore the gasps that practically echo around the large room, as you force yourself to look up at him again.

Swallowing around the lump in your throat you nod.

“Um, yeah, sure. If you want to,” you answer shakily. You hate how your voice sounds, but if he’s noticed then he doesn’t let on. He gives you one of those panty dropping smiles as he takes the seat next to you, and you could swear your entire face flames bright red.

You inwardly roll your eyes when you see Tiffany Chase heading over to your table. You never understood how she had come to be the most popular girl on the campus, but clearly dating every guy in existence was a good trait to have these days. That was yet another reason you were glad about not being “popular”, whatever the hell that even meant. 

She leans on your desk, until her tits are practically in Dean’s face, but to his credit, and your surprise he doesn’t look. Instead he sits back in his chair, eyes immediately fixed on hers, not wandering her body, or the cleavage she's so blatantly offering him. She makes a point not to even spare you a glance, which is completely fine since you have no interest in what she’s giving away.

“I thought you were gonna show me your car, baby? Why don’t you ditch the charity case and come and have some fun with a real woman?” she purrs seductively, curling her fingers around Dean’s loose tie.

You wish you were anywhere but here, but you know there’s no other seats in class now, so your only other option is to pray for the ground to swallow you whole. You’re a little taken aback though when Dean’s large hand wraps around her tiny wrist and pulls her hand away, still remaining surprisingly gentle, especially with the look of thunder that’s overtaken his features.

“Sorry, Tilly. Change of plans, I told you last week, and a few times this week… if memory serves. Besides, there’s only room for one woman in my life.” As he says this you feel his hand resting on your knee, and you turn to look at him to tell him to move. But you stop yourself when you see the pleading look on his face.

Tiffany scoffs in disbelief, and has a look on her face like he just slapped her. 

“It’s Tiffany,” she corrects him sharply, before she turns her gaze on you. And you have to fight every instinct not to push your body back into your chair, instead you sit straighter, trying to keep your face neutral.

“Can you like… move or something. Dean and I really need to talk, I think you’re making him uncomfortable,” she huffs, as if your mere presence disgusts her. 

“Sorry, Tiff. I think you're the one  who’s making my boyfriend uncomfortable, actually. He’s just being too polite, could you please just leave us alone now? I believe he’s asked you enough.” 

It takes everything you have not to throw up the contents of your stomach, where the fuck did that come from?! You inwardly scold yourself, trying to hold your nerve. But to your surprise, Dean takes your hand and gives it a squeeze, and throws his other arm over your shoulder.

His lips press to your ear, and you can’t hold back the shiver.

“Thank you, I owe you,” he whispers, and you can already feel the blush creeping up your neck, the entire class is staring at the three of you like you’re aliens. But Dean’s currently more than enough of a distraction.

Her shrill laugh echoes around the room, followed by most of her bitch club behind her.

“Oh sweetie, no. Don’t be silly now. There is no way on this planet that you could be his girlfriend, you’d be extremely lucky to get a pity fuck with a normal guy, but Dean? No way. Now move, before I move you.” 

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you refuse to look away from her. However, before you can even utter a word, Dean’s voice drops to a low growl.

“I don’t give a shit about your name, or you. You don’t get to talk to her like that, and you lay a finger on her, I promise you’ll regret it. So, whatever your name is, unless you want me to tell Mark that you’re trying to fuck me... and just about every other guy you set your eyes on, I suggest you go back to your own seat. But first, I think you owe my girlfriend a fucking apology.” You watch the colour all but drain from her face.

You lick your lips nervously as you turn to look at him, seeing the fire burning in his eyes, but his eyes don’t move from Tiffany’s face. 

“Dean, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” you whisper sounding a little desperate even to your own ears. You rest your hand on his tensed bicep, trying to ignore the way you're clamping your thighs together, because this might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever been a part of. Even if you had only started this ruse to get him out of an awkward situation. Nobody had ever defended you like this before, especially not this publicly.

“Oh, it does matter, baby girl. Isn’t that right?” Dean asks, mock sweetness in his voice and his arm tightens around your shoulders.

“F-Fine. I’m sorry, Y/N,” she responds the best she can with the amount her voice is shaking, before hurrying back to her friends.

The teacher walks in the classroom, forcing everyone's attention to the front, and you try to ignore the sense of loss you feel when his arm leaves your shoulders. But that feeling is quickly replaced when he takes your hand and links your fingers with his, and rests them on the table top between you.

“Dean, we should talk,” you whisper, when the teacher turns back to the board.

“Later, sweetheart, wouldn’t want you getting in trouble,” he smirks, pressing a lingering kiss to your already flaming red cheek.

-

Unfortunately, you don’t get time to talk to Dean, and you don’t see him after your last lesson either. You try to ignore the snickering and staring as you start to walk through the parking lot to make your way home, though it affects you more than you’d care to admit. When you don’t see any sign of him, you continue to walk lost in thought, knowing that it will take you at least half an hour but it’s worth it, because you can’t stay here. 

You’ve been walking for about ten minutes when you hear a car roll to a stop behind you, the soft purr of the engine calming slightly as the window is wound down. You can’t help but smile as you turn around, and sure enough, there he is. Sitting in the driver's seat with a cocky smirk on his face. He leans over to the passenger side and pushes the door open, “you gonna get in, sweetheart? We can talk while I drive you home.” 

You walk closer and fold your arms over your chest, raising your eyebrows at him through the now open car door.

“And what makes you so sure I wanna get in your car?” you ask through your own smirk.

“Come on now, is that any way to speak to your boyfriend? Just get that sexy ass in the car so that we can talk.” There’s a teasing note to his voice, and your smile widens despite yourself.

“Fine. I’ll get in… but only because we do need to talk,” you tell him, trying not to laugh as you climb in the front seat and close the door behind you.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, princess,” he laughs, tossing his sunglasses in the backseat. You give him your address, and he quickly works out the new route, before starting to drive again. He clears his throat and shifts awkwardly where he sits, before glancing between you and the road.

“I owe you, for what you did today in class. You didn’t need to save my ass, but you did it anyway. I really appreciate that.”

You blush shyly as you look at him, “I was going to apologise honestly. I don’t know what came over me, I guess I just wanted to help out… somehow, I know people can be a lot for anyone, no matter who you are,” you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your clammy hands over your skirt.

Dean shakes his head, and a smile crosses his plump lips. 

“Sweetheart, don’t apologise, you did me a massive favour and I really can’t thank you enough,” he sighs regretfully, as he pulls into your driveway. 

You thank him for the ride, but before you move to climb out of the car he grabs hold of your wrist gently, and you turn back to him questioningly.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” you ask nervously, wondering what he might say. You’re not sure whether to lean in or turn away when he turns in his seat to face you.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you with a smile, “can I have your number?” You’re a little surprised at how shy he sounds, but you smile as you take his phone. 

“I just think it might be a little odd trying to play along with this, especially if we can’t even get ahold of each other.”

“You make a good point there, Winchester. But for the record, I would’ve given it to you anyway,” you smile fondly, phoning yourself from his phone, so that you have each other’s numbers, before handing it back.

“So… How long do you wanna play boyfriend and girlfriend?” you wonder aloud, noticing the way that he blushes and scratches at the back of his neck, before focusing back on you again.

Dean clears his throat and shifts closer to you.

“About that…” he trails off, and you feel a blanket of nervous confusion settle between the two of you.

“What about it?” you question nervously.

“Would you be okay if we stayed together, at least until I have to leave town, I know it’s a lot to ask, but…” before he can continue you cut him off, resting a hand on his thigh.

His eyes snap to yours, and you quickly pull your hand away and clear your throat.

“You don’t need to explain, Dean. Besides, it was my dumb ass that got us into this mess. It’s really the least I can do,” you smile genuinely, and an obvious moment passes between the two of you, a moment which is completely unexplainable. But there’s a knock on the window closest to you that pulls the two of you out of it.

You jump back harshly, your back practically slamming into Dean’s shoulder when someone leans against his car, and his head is already half way through the window.

“Damn, I almost didn’t believe it when Tiff told me you were seein’ some frigid bitch, Dean. You hit that yet?”

Dean growls, and you can feel him stiffen beside you as he wraps a protective arm around your waist, like he can shield you from Mark’s words. It’s actually really sweet of him.

“Maybe you should tell your girlfriend to mind her own fucking business, and you should do the same, Mark. Before I put you on your skinny little ass.” 

Mark lets out a deep boom of a laugh, and leans further into the car, his eyes sweeping over your body, clearly not taking Dean’s words seriously. It makes you feel nothing like Dean makes you feel when he looks at you, this guy makes your skin crawl and your stomach lurch.

“Shit, that’s gotta be one sweet pussy if she’s got you so whipped already.” 

Before Dean can speak, you sit up a little straighter, and glare at Mark. Feeling Dean stiffen behind you gives you the confidence you need to get these words out.

“Why don’t you tell your whore of a girlfriend to stop trying to fuck my man, it’s really kind of pathetic. He’s not interested,” you huff out, hardly able to stand looking at him, so you turn to face Dean who’s smirking right at you, and way closer than you’d first imagined.

Mark starts to grumble something behind the two of you, but neither of you are really listening, and you can’t stop staring at Dean as he cups your cheek in his big hand.

“What she said,” Dean agrees easily, his husky voice sending shivers up your spine. You let his thumb brush your bottom lip, “you’re even sexier than usual when you’re jealous,” he smirks confidently, leaning in a little closer.

You swallow thickly, your fingers just barely manage to wrap around his wrist.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, watching as his eyes flick down to your lips, and he licks his own. There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, but for the life of you you can’t currently think of any. 

Dean doesn’t even hesitate, before you can blink his lips are pressing against yours. The kiss is firm and his lips are so soft that you quickly lose yourself in the kiss, and you feel like your entire body is being drawn in by him. 

He pulls back all too soon. His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, and his hand moves from your jaw, to cup the back of your neck. His hands feel huge, as he tugs lightly at your hair and you gasp against his parted lips. 

“I s-should probably get going,” you whisper shakily, letting your fingers trace over the skin of his chest, where his shirt buttons are undone.

Neither of you even attempt to move, and before you think about it too much your lips are brushing against his again. He pulls you against him tightly and deepens the kiss, making you all but melt against him, and his hands remain firm against you as he effortlessly takes control of the kiss. You feel yourself edging closer, heart pounding in your ears and your head foggy, it takes everything you have to pull away from him, but you just about manage it. Looking up into his lidded eyes as you both pant hard, you swallow thickly and look over your shoulder, relieved to find that Mark has gone.

Dean cups your cheek when you turn back to him, his face the perfect picture of lust. 

“You should go in, sweetheart. Or I might change my mind about letting you go… but I’ll text you tonight, okay?” he rasps, pecking your lips.

You can feel yourself blushing as you nervously bite your lip. 

“What makes you think I want you to let me go?” you giggle as he leans in closer again, he’s so warm and smells incredible. 

“Oh trust me, if this had anything to do with what I want to do, you’d already be screaming my name,” Dean all but growls.

“Dean.” His name is a whisper on your lips, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears again.

Dean lets out a deep groan and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

“Shit, you don’t make it easy on a guy, sweetheart,” he smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You live here by yourself?” he asks suddenly, nodding over to your house, clearly trying to change the subject.

You shake yourself from your heady daze, trying your best to concentrate on what he’s saying.  Clearing your throat you give him a small nod, unable to stop the smile from crossing your lips.

“At the minute, yeah. It’s usually me and my best friend, but she’s away visiting family this week. It’s good though, much closer to campus than my parents’ house,” you explain happily, remembering the way that she had told you to take advantage of the free house, but then you notice a strange look crossing his face.

“Sounds nice. I’ve never really had anywhere like this, my family didn’t really stay anywhere too long, not since my mom died. My dad has to travel a lot for work, and I’m learning the ropes, so I can take over one day.”

Your heart aches for him, and you have no idea how it’s even possible to feel this close to someone you’ve only known for a little over a month.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. It doesn’t sound like you’ve had much time to just be you. If you ever need to get away, I have no intention of moving any time soon, you’re welcome to stay here,” you tell him softly, resting a gentle hand on his arm, until he finally looks at you again.

“Thanks, sweetheart. That means more than you know, and I promise I’ll text you later. We can talk more then, okay?” 

You lean in close and press your lips against his, the kiss lingers a little, before you finally pull away and whisper against his lips, “I’ll be holding you to that, Dean.”

Bold wont tag guys sorry!

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